"I believe I've been said by some to be a remorseless bastard," John admits freely. His eyes alight to the marks around Harry's neck. It's a gorget of discoloration, potentially ugly if not for the recognizable shapes of the bruises. They aren't from hands or cruel fingers. If he wanted to, John could lean down and renew each one with his mouth. But he imagines that's nicer in theory than actuality-- it'd hurt.
That Harry asks, John closes his eyes, committing the sound of the words and the rasp of his voice to memory. Then he looks at the man again, determined. "I can do that."
He first takes Harry's wrists in his hands and stretches them up, pushing them against the bed above Harry's head. Not in a solid hold, but enough that there is a suggestion: stay like this, for me. Then, John picks out another fruit at random, another strawberry, and sets it against Harry's skin. It starts melting against the heat, and John drags it fast enough to keep the cold from really biting into Harry. It leave a dark line of almost blood red that fades to pink when John licks away the excess.
Pleased with the result and the inevitable play of hot and cold, John pops the fruit into his mouth.
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timeasmymeasure
prose > brackets aw yeah
Date: 2012-12-05 02:27 am (UTC)That Harry asks, John closes his eyes, committing the sound of the words and the rasp of his voice to memory. Then he looks at the man again, determined. "I can do that."
He first takes Harry's wrists in his hands and stretches them up, pushing them against the bed above Harry's head. Not in a solid hold, but enough that there is a suggestion: stay like this, for me. Then, John picks out another fruit at random, another strawberry, and sets it against Harry's skin. It starts melting against the heat, and John drags it fast enough to keep the cold from really biting into Harry. It leave a dark line of almost blood red that fades to pink when John licks away the excess.
Pleased with the result and the inevitable play of hot and cold, John pops the fruit into his mouth.