[He's still in a daze, movements somewhat delayed in relation to Cole's sudden rush. Cole shoves himself off, leaves Petre empty and come dripping down his body as soon as he's on his feet. Half naked, clothes and hair completely disarranged, the markings on his neck a soft pink at best. He barely even tries to pick his clothes up as he stumbles, a pathetic display against Cole's regret and urgency.]
Where are you going? Stay a while. What's this 'this has gotta stop' bullshit?
[he tries to do something about his own clothes; instead he grows frustrated and lets them hang around his hips, barely covering his cock. He's absolutely filthy, but Cole is trying to leave and he doesn't want him to.]
You gotta feed into it. It's okay. It's like me, right? Look, I'm fine. Not a mark on me. I'm fucking fine - would you stop that?
[he finally grabs his arm, right below the wound.]
[He takes a couple of shaking breaths, still so aware of that pain in his arm but determined not to show it. His forearm is slick with blood now, the towel deep red.]
[he moves in, dangerously close, not quite nuzzling him as their lips almost meet. He's breathing hard, tension between them shooting through like electricity.]
[It won't be you if it's gone. That's his sick, deep down fear, that he can't be himself without the need for violence. To hurt someone, even, not just violence.]
I tried to kill you. [Again. But this time there was no back up plan.]
[Cole's seen and felt Petre's strength. He knows for a fact that the demon held back tremendously during their fight. Whatever happened here was because he wanted it to. Cole lost control while Petre held it the whole time.]
It's okay. Nobody has to know. You can pretend with them.
[But he doesn't stop. He holds both sides of Cole's neck, digging his fingers softly into his hair, pressing painfully light kisses to his jawline, his temple, his cheek, and finally his lips. Foreheads tucked against each other when he closes his eyes, disturbingly sweet and quiet.]
You'll keep an eye out for me. I'll keep this secret for you.
[It feels obscene, being treated this gently after what he's done. But it's more comfort, and he's so lost, not sure how he'll manage without this outlet but not wanting to be the sort of man who needs it anymore. He's changed a lot, hasn't he? He's changed. But always with Petre offering a body to bite and scratch and toss around and now choke.
He doesn't know if he can walk without that crutch.]
Never let it go that far again. [Because Petre does have control, and he allowed that to happen.] Never.
[It's clearly something they need to talk about. It's something he wants to keep happening, but if it'll only serve to freak out the man who choked him - terms need to be set.]
[He looks up sharply, breaking that warm contact where their foreheads met.]
I don't care if I can kill you or not. If it looks like it, if it's anything like it - [What? What does Petre do?] - stop me. Hurt me back if you have to.
What if he wants Cole to see the monster. What if he wants to remember what it's like to die just because he misses the adrenaline. It's that same restlessness that comes with everything being too fucking calm around here. It's too nice. Everybody's too nice, and Cole is an animal Petre wants to let out of the cage.]
[He's playing with very real, ingrained instinct here. Kill or be killed. Somehow it's all entwined with their sex, and it's getting worse.
And that's the adrenaline he needs, more desperation than excitement, but still similar.]
I need another towel. [His voice has gone oddly flat. The blood flowing down his arm, the sodden towel, they've finally caught his attention.] You got a needle? Might need to stitch this up after all.
I wasn't joking. It's how it's done. We use code, and that's how we know it's time to stop.
[He leans away, expression a little harder now. He stands up.]
No, I don't have anything like that. I'll get you another towel.
[he keeps nothing that can be used to patch up. Why would he need to.
After he returns, he starts to undo the first, letting it rest on his lap. Better a dirty pair of pants than a dirty floor, he supposes. Then it's time to tie it up again.]
Go to the hospital. Or just find someone you know. But you don't tell them about what we did. Any of it.
[He's pressing on the new bandage, as much as it hurts, trying to stanch the flow as much as possible in the hopes that the vigorous activity just started it up again and it can still clot without needing stitches. But he's very focussed on what Petre's saying now.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[He's still in a daze, movements somewhat delayed in relation to Cole's sudden rush. Cole shoves himself off, leaves Petre empty and come dripping down his body as soon as he's on his feet. Half naked, clothes and hair completely disarranged, the markings on his neck a soft pink at best. He barely even tries to pick his clothes up as he stumbles, a pathetic display against Cole's regret and urgency.]
Where are you going? Stay a while. What's this 'this has gotta stop' bullshit?
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I'm not doing this again. I gotta - I gotta get rid of this thing in me, not keep feeding it with you. It's gonna get worse.
[His hands are shaking. He can't get the loops done for the life of him.]
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[he tries to do something about his own clothes; instead he grows frustrated and lets them hang around his hips, barely covering his cock. He's absolutely filthy, but Cole is trying to leave and he doesn't want him to.]
You gotta feed into it. It's okay. It's like me, right? Look, I'm fine. Not a mark on me. I'm fucking fine - would you stop that?
[he finally grabs his arm, right below the wound.]
You're bleeding. You can't leave like this.
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This isn't - what I am. It's what I had to be, it's not what I am. I can stop this.
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[he could laugh at Cole, but decides not to be so cruel.]
Don't. Then it will get worse. Look at me. You knew that when you came here. We're the same. We need each other.
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[Frustrated, still shaken by what he's done, he drops his head into his hands.]
- what if it comes out with someone else? Someone who doesn't just heal up? This isn't gonna be who I am forever. I'm not killing again.
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[and he should hope there's no one else. Petre quite likes owning this portion of the other man.]
You're the only one who's ever let me have some blood. I'll be the same for you. [and just to add to the performance...] I'll give you my blood.
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[fuck you cole.]
I'm letting you.
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[He takes a couple of shaking breaths, still so aware of that pain in his arm but determined not to show it. His forearm is slick with blood now, the towel deep red.]
- is to stop needing this.
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[he moves in, dangerously close, not quite nuzzling him as their lips almost meet. He's breathing hard, tension between them shooting through like electricity.]
It won't be you if it's gone. I'll help you.
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I tried to kill you. [Again. But this time there was no back up plan.]
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[Cole's seen and felt Petre's strength. He knows for a fact that the demon held back tremendously during their fight. Whatever happened here was because he wanted it to. Cole lost control while Petre held it the whole time.]
It's okay. Nobody has to know. You can pretend with them.
[You don't have to pretend with me.]
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Petre, stop it. [He's just sitting on the floor now, not crouched anymore, his voice soft and strained.] Please.
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You'll keep an eye out for me. I'll keep this secret for you.
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He doesn't know if he can walk without that crutch.]
Never let it go that far again. [Because Petre does have control, and he allowed that to happen.] Never.
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Then what do you want me to do.
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I don't care if I can kill you or not. If it looks like it, if it's anything like it - [What? What does Petre do?] - stop me. Hurt me back if you have to.
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What if he wants Cole to see the monster. What if he wants to remember what it's like to die just because he misses the adrenaline. It's that same restlessness that comes with everything being too fucking calm around here. It's too nice. Everybody's too nice, and Cole is an animal Petre wants to let out of the cage.]
... Something like a code.
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[He's playing with very real, ingrained instinct here. Kill or be killed. Somehow it's all entwined with their sex, and it's getting worse.
And that's the adrenaline he needs, more desperation than excitement, but still similar.]
I need another towel. [His voice has gone oddly flat. The blood flowing down his arm, the sodden towel, they've finally caught his attention.] You got a needle? Might need to stitch this up after all.
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[He leans away, expression a little harder now. He stands up.]
No, I don't have anything like that. I'll get you another towel.
[he keeps nothing that can be used to patch up. Why would he need to.
After he returns, he starts to undo the first, letting it rest on his lap. Better a dirty pair of pants than a dirty floor, he supposes. Then it's time to tie it up again.]
Go to the hospital. Or just find someone you know. But you don't tell them about what we did. Any of it.
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[This is a regular thing? Never mind, though, Petre's gone to find another towel. Once he's cinched up again, he shakes his head.]
I can do it myself at home. Won't take long to heal anyway. What kind of code?
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[yes they are talking about this]
You pick a word. When things get too rough for you, you say it and it all stops. No matter what.
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[He's pressing on the new bandage, as much as it hurts, trying to stanch the flow as much as possible in the hopes that the vigorous activity just started it up again and it can still clot without needing stitches. But he's very focussed on what Petre's saying now.]
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[He tilts his head, a not-smile on his lips. Cole won't understand, will he. Maybe just another thing to explain.
Not that he doesn't notice the blood. He could just lean in and drink it all up again. But he won't.]
We need something else, too. Can't say much while you're choking me, can I.
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