"It's because it does belong to me. I could buy fucking Haiti if I wanted. Turn it into an amusement park." His voice bleeds sarcasm out its pores. "Bettering the world one carousel at a time."
He wonders how it would work, if it would work. And how easy it would be to conquer him, like it is for everyone. Funny, the masochist with this sadistic, animalistic side to him that could do what it wanted when it wanted - that could make anyone do what he wanted when he wanted. One look in Peter's eyes and that's it. Fuck me, fuck you, it would be simple, but it wouldn't feel like a victory.
He doesn't want to win Peter like a prize. He doesn't want him on his shelf like just another one of his trophies. He just wants him.
In his mind, his hand seeks out Peter's thigh and rubs there, he takes what he wants and he does get what he wants - he is a fucking Godfrey, and he may not deserve it but he sure as hell receives it anyway. Instead his hands are still on the steering wheel, white-knuckled and neurotic just like the rest of him. "Do what you want," he says carelessly, and thinks of things like the razor blades inside, how pretty Peter's skin could slit open underneath his hands, his nails. How easily Peter could claw him alive if he so wanted. He's got half a stiff in his pants already. It's annoying.
A cigarette's propped in his lips and he lights it easily, letting everything else fall by the wayside until now as he blows his smoke out the opened roof and lets his head fall back against the rest. The pecker wants what it wants. "If you had to fuck a melon, would you do it?" he asks conversationally, but when he does, he's looking at Peter, harshly, like it's meaningful. It's these questions sometimes, they just pop out of him like he needs to know right now. "Take a Klonopin. Maybe your fangs might shrink back into your skull. I'm not the one who touched her tits, you don't get to be mad."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-11-07 11:31 pm (UTC)He wonders how it would work, if it would work. And how easy it would be to conquer him, like it is for everyone. Funny, the masochist with this sadistic, animalistic side to him that could do what it wanted when it wanted - that could make anyone do what he wanted when he wanted. One look in Peter's eyes and that's it. Fuck me, fuck you, it would be simple, but it wouldn't feel like a victory.
He doesn't want to win Peter like a prize. He doesn't want him on his shelf like just another one of his trophies. He just wants him.
In his mind, his hand seeks out Peter's thigh and rubs there, he takes what he wants and he does get what he wants - he is a fucking Godfrey, and he may not deserve it but he sure as hell receives it anyway. Instead his hands are still on the steering wheel, white-knuckled and neurotic just like the rest of him. "Do what you want," he says carelessly, and thinks of things like the razor blades inside, how pretty Peter's skin could slit open underneath his hands, his nails. How easily Peter could claw him alive if he so wanted. He's got half a stiff in his pants already. It's annoying.
A cigarette's propped in his lips and he lights it easily, letting everything else fall by the wayside until now as he blows his smoke out the opened roof and lets his head fall back against the rest. The pecker wants what it wants. "If you had to fuck a melon, would you do it?" he asks conversationally, but when he does, he's looking at Peter, harshly, like it's meaningful. It's these questions sometimes, they just pop out of him like he needs to know right now. "Take a Klonopin. Maybe your fangs might shrink back into your skull. I'm not the one who touched her tits, you don't get to be mad."