He wasn't sure what hurt more. The physical sensation of being left empty, his body chilled when Dylan moved away, or the way his gut turned, bile rising in the back of his throat. Not at the words, but at that look.
His arm moved up, covering his breasts, looking away because he was disgusted with himself for asking, and kicking himself for ruining things. Not that he wasn't one hundred and ten percent perfect at destroying things just as they got good. Maybe it was the fear that it would be more, that it could be something and then it would be gone too. Or fear. It was likely stress of shooting someone and his body turning on him and then wanting to just beg for more. He had been seconds from going belly up and begging Dylan never to stop and that scared the hell out of him.
But the fear hadn't hurt as much as that dismissal as Dylan put himself back together.
Whimpering as his body changed, pain this time as tender, recently fucked flesh felt like it was falling out of him, heavier, thicker, twisting and he shifted, pushing his legs together as if to stop the sensation. It didn't stop though, stretching and burning and forming hard as it had been when the words had first been spoken. His arm dropped, flesh melting back into his chest, nipple shrinking and he closed his eyes tight, trying to hide the wetness that dampened his lashes.
"I'm..." He paused, voice cracking. Shit. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. "I'm..." He shook his head, sinking down the wall to sit down atop the tattered remains of his clothes. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he finally managed, words he didn't often say.
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His arm moved up, covering his breasts, looking away because he was disgusted with himself for asking, and kicking himself for ruining things. Not that he wasn't one hundred and ten percent perfect at destroying things just as they got good. Maybe it was the fear that it would be more, that it could be something and then it would be gone too. Or fear. It was likely stress of shooting someone and his body turning on him and then wanting to just beg for more. He had been seconds from going belly up and begging Dylan never to stop and that scared the hell out of him.
But the fear hadn't hurt as much as that dismissal as Dylan put himself back together.
Whimpering as his body changed, pain this time as tender, recently fucked flesh felt like it was falling out of him, heavier, thicker, twisting and he shifted, pushing his legs together as if to stop the sensation. It didn't stop though, stretching and burning and forming hard as it had been when the words had first been spoken. His arm dropped, flesh melting back into his chest, nipple shrinking and he closed his eyes tight, trying to hide the wetness that dampened his lashes.
"I'm..." He paused, voice cracking. Shit. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. "I'm..." He shook his head, sinking down the wall to sit down atop the tattered remains of his clothes. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he finally managed, words he didn't often say.