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07. lips
He imagines losing his temper with Quinn. He imagines crashing into the blood elf after one of his sessions, taking advantage of him at his most vulnerable, and hotly forcing him to the ground in a haze of fury. He imagines Quinn's face twisting around emotions it isn't sure of, and he imagines fighting to keep Quinn on the ground.
He imagines this because Quinn has never once made him angry, least of all for having needs.
But nonetheless he imagines straddling his elf on cold, wet ground, all but screaming why and why do you do this to your beautiful self, and don't I do enough and won't you let me help you, Quinn, I fucking love you, Quinn.
He often wakes from these imaginings with traces of tears on his cheeks, not only because the traitor thoughts in his head bring them about but also because he can't stand being so cruel, even in his own mind. He takes Quinn exactly as he is and loves him exactly as he is, and sees no way how showing Quinn his temper, like he was some Alliance scum, would do either of them any good. Worst of all, he knows that it would hurt Quinn worse than almost anything else he could do.
So he imagines instead kissing those palms and coming away with blood on his lips, and holding Quinn to him tightly enough that neither of them can breathe. And Quinn wouldn't say it, but Daimd would lend his voice to both of them: “I love you.” He'd whisper.
(It was a wonder he never felt stupid for saying it, but he knew, he knew. He trusts Quinn like he does no one and nothing else in the world.)
Sometimes he imagines Quinn breaking down, and himself the pillar that holds the cracking blood elf up, but those never last. His elf breaks in his own perfect, subtle ways, and it's enough that Daimd can see them, even if he can do nothing about them.
He imagines this because Quinn has never once made him angry, least of all for having needs.
But nonetheless he imagines straddling his elf on cold, wet ground, all but screaming why and why do you do this to your beautiful self, and don't I do enough and won't you let me help you, Quinn, I fucking love you, Quinn.
He often wakes from these imaginings with traces of tears on his cheeks, not only because the traitor thoughts in his head bring them about but also because he can't stand being so cruel, even in his own mind. He takes Quinn exactly as he is and loves him exactly as he is, and sees no way how showing Quinn his temper, like he was some Alliance scum, would do either of them any good. Worst of all, he knows that it would hurt Quinn worse than almost anything else he could do.
So he imagines instead kissing those palms and coming away with blood on his lips, and holding Quinn to him tightly enough that neither of them can breathe. And Quinn wouldn't say it, but Daimd would lend his voice to both of them: “I love you.” He'd whisper.
(It was a wonder he never felt stupid for saying it, but he knew, he knew. He trusts Quinn like he does no one and nothing else in the world.)
Sometimes he imagines Quinn breaking down, and himself the pillar that holds the cracking blood elf up, but those never last. His elf breaks in his own perfect, subtle ways, and it's enough that Daimd can see them, even if he can do nothing about them.