[Petre isn't unaware of the risk. Harry could just be the sadistic type and drain Petre completely, do to him what he'd done for telling him what to do. But he says So give, Harry complies and then they touch.
There's the obvious at first. Harry's hands are warm against Petre's cold fingers, tightening around skin, smooth. His eyes are down and locked on them when the energy crosses back to where it belongs, and just like he said Petre experiences a sense of ecstasy that wasn't quite there before. It's like looking at a photograph from an angle you've never seen - you know it's you, but it feels different somehow. No big surprise there.
Then it's Harry's turn. Spike of adrenaline, rush of power, rejuvenated and euphoric. Heart beating faster, goosebumps on his skin, a shiver running up his spine and down his stomach. His heart sinks in his chest; his own hand holds on just a little tighter as he shuts his eyes and parts his lips.
He can feel his heart in his chest, his throat, the tips of his fingers. It's never been like this, not even when he woke up and his entire world had been burnt to the ground. Not even when he was attacked with John's fire and remembered it couldn't touch him. Petre doesn't feel like other people. It's knowledge that's intrinsic to him, something he doesn't care about because he's never had it. You can't miss what you never knew.
Harry pulls his hand back and that's it. The spell's over, Petre's rushed back to reality like he was just struck with freezing water.
No. Petre reaches for Harry's shirt, clenching. His expression is lined with a quiet need.]
[ it's almost unpleasant on his end. he pulled his hand back and he's tired. a little drained - a more than he took from petre to begin with. not enough to harm but enough that it's tiring. he's not the most fueled right now. he inhales a breath and holds it because petre's clenching his shirt. wanting more. he understands.
it's addicting. it's his ability for so long that he has some control. some. for someone new it might be too much, he thinks. but harry doesn't comply with moderation. harry tilts his chin up, understanding. ]
So give me more. [ give and take. give him something. that's how he works. he's not free. ]
[Of course it's addicting, of course he wants more. He's all about having his every whim satisfied, even if it's the exact opposite of what he wanted just a second prior. Still so many things come to him as a novel experience, as a first time, and Petre considers himself lucky for it. What other grownup human being gets to enjoy everything and anything the world has to offer from scratch?
But Harry has wants, too. That much is made obvious by the way his eyes look straight up at him and don't relent.]
What - [A lopsided grin, breath escaping in what sounds like a laugh,] Money? Drugs? [Without skipping a beat, his grin widens to show more teeth, smile in his eyes.] A blow job?
[ so that leaves the last one. but that wouldn't be enough. he's looking petre over. a moment. there's not enough energy between them if he's going to be giving back here. he wants. petre wants.
his hand goes out and he's grabbing a lamp in the room. not by the bulb - he's not resistant to burns - but the bulb goes out. dead. it's still early enough that the place isn't going to be pitch black if he just drained a source of light. but he needed it.
needed it because he's going to pass it over to petre now in exchange for his own energy so he doesn't pass out but he gets that ecstacy and petre gets more. a charge and something to pass around.
and how he takes it is grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him into a kiss. and it's a zap. a straight electrical surge because of where the energy came from. a snort of cocaine maybe. a lightbulb gone off in the brain.
what harry wants is intimacy. contact. all the contact. give that and you get. ]
[He narrows his eyes after Harry's answer, almost wondering if he's serious. Not a lot of the boys or girls around here are so willing to be open about what they want, least of all when it comes to sex, not unless Petre pushes and shoves them into giving him what he wants. And the fact that they look so alike - wouldn't that be disconcerting to most? They'd be afraid of being seen as some kind of narcissistic egomaniac. Accused. Mocked.
Petre isn't one of them, and apparently neither is Harry, so the game of gay chicken is over before it even begins. The light's out and they're pressed together, a jerk and a shiver shooting right through Petre's body like some sort of metaphorical, instantaneous climax.
The moan he releases is half-deliberate and half-involuntary, hands lifting for a moment of pause before they're grabbing Harry by his nape, then digging into his hair. Ugh - where the fuck has this guy been all this time? He's a walking, talking drug. He's never experienced anything like this, and he wants it until it wears him out, even - especially - if it wears him out. Even being drained proved to be an enjoyable experience once his energy was placed back in its place, even more intensely than the surge he was given.]
Fuck, [A hiss more than a whisper, eyes closed when his mouth hangs open over Harry's to breathe. He's trembling, he can feel it, feet grounded to the floor and head in the clouds.] Is this how you feel all the time?
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There's the obvious at first. Harry's hands are warm against Petre's cold fingers, tightening around skin, smooth. His eyes are down and locked on them when the energy crosses back to where it belongs, and just like he said Petre experiences a sense of ecstasy that wasn't quite there before. It's like looking at a photograph from an angle you've never seen - you know it's you, but it feels different somehow. No big surprise there.
Then it's Harry's turn. Spike of adrenaline, rush of power, rejuvenated and euphoric. Heart beating faster, goosebumps on his skin, a shiver running up his spine and down his stomach. His heart sinks in his chest; his own hand holds on just a little tighter as he shuts his eyes and parts his lips.
He can feel his heart in his chest, his throat, the tips of his fingers. It's never been like this, not even when he woke up and his entire world had been burnt to the ground. Not even when he was attacked with John's fire and remembered it couldn't touch him. Petre doesn't feel like other people. It's knowledge that's intrinsic to him, something he doesn't care about because he's never had it. You can't miss what you never knew.
Harry pulls his hand back and that's it. The spell's over, Petre's rushed back to reality like he was just struck with freezing water.
No. Petre reaches for Harry's shirt, clenching. His expression is lined with a quiet need.]
More.
no subject
it's addicting. it's his ability for so long that he has some control. some. for someone new it might be too much, he thinks. but harry doesn't comply with moderation. harry tilts his chin up, understanding. ]
So give me more. [ give and take. give him something. that's how he works. he's not free. ]
no subject
But Harry has wants, too. That much is made obvious by the way his eyes look straight up at him and don't relent.]
What - [A lopsided grin, breath escaping in what sounds like a laugh,] Money? Drugs? [Without skipping a beat, his grin widens to show more teeth, smile in his eyes.] A blow job?
no subject
[ so that leaves the last one. but that wouldn't be enough. he's looking petre over. a moment. there's not enough energy between them if he's going to be giving back here. he wants. petre wants.
his hand goes out and he's grabbing a lamp in the room. not by the bulb - he's not resistant to burns - but the bulb goes out. dead. it's still early enough that the place isn't going to be pitch black if he just drained a source of light. but he needed it.
needed it because he's going to pass it over to petre now in exchange for his own energy so he doesn't pass out but he gets that ecstacy and petre gets more. a charge and something to pass around.
and how he takes it is grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him into a kiss. and it's a zap. a straight electrical surge because of where the energy came from. a snort of cocaine maybe. a lightbulb gone off in the brain.
what harry wants is intimacy. contact. all the contact. give that and you get. ]
no subject
Petre isn't one of them, and apparently neither is Harry, so the game of gay chicken is over before it even begins. The light's out and they're pressed together, a jerk and a shiver shooting right through Petre's body like some sort of metaphorical, instantaneous climax.
The moan he releases is half-deliberate and half-involuntary, hands lifting for a moment of pause before they're grabbing Harry by his nape, then digging into his hair. Ugh - where the fuck has this guy been all this time? He's a walking, talking drug. He's never experienced anything like this, and he wants it until it wears him out, even - especially - if it wears him out. Even being drained proved to be an enjoyable experience once his energy was placed back in its place, even more intensely than the surge he was given.]
Fuck, [A hiss more than a whisper, eyes closed when his mouth hangs open over Harry's to breathe. He's trembling, he can feel it, feet grounded to the floor and head in the clouds.] Is this how you feel all the time?