#AXESTOGRIND

[remindedtosmile]

AND WILD IS THE WIND

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@axestogrind said: "you're getting blood on the carpet."

There’s a trail that begins at the open window beside Xiu’s bed, blood and muddy bootprints stamped on the furniture, the floor. If he hadn’t wanted Danny to come in, he wouldn’t have left the windows unlocked - he knows this, now, and takes the leeway as an invitation to let himself in. “Honey,” his voice had rung out in a low slur, “M’ho-ome.”

Work-worn and bleary with the post-rush of an adrenaline comedown, he’s unceremoniously started to strip down on his blundering path to the shower. Coat, shirt, boots… None of which are terribly clean, smearing dark streaks of red across the carpet in his wake. Half-out of his pants, he stumbles, swears, shoulder-checks a doorframe when Xiu appears behind him. ( That quiet fucker. ) “I’ll get a steamer,” Danny grumbles, as though it were merely mud and snow he’d tracked indoors. A dramatized stagger, and he lands face-first on Xiu’s chest with a soft thump. Muffled, vowels drawn, he dangles his arms limp at his sides and waits for Xiu to ‘catch’ him. “Missed youuu. Work haaard.”

[remindedtosmile]

@axestogrind

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mayyybe ship exclusive with xiu axestogrind... danny could realistically have other partners and fleeting romantic interactions in the past or within alternative verses but xiu and dm are wholly freaky style obsessed with each other 🖤

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@axestogrind said: 🎁

for xiu, danny would choose: a shower of little gifts, with some larger purchases as well. most importantly...

jean paul gaultier suspender skirt: it looks like a butcher's apron. it looks perfect on xiu when he handles a knife.

white gold horsebit leather bracelet: a nonzero chance that it wasn't purchased, but taken from a victim. little objects like this often strike him, remind him of xiu while he's away.

send 🎁 for find out what dm would give your muse for christmas

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#REMINDEDTOSMILE ― an independent selective oc : daniel merlo, hitman for hire. functions best in crime, horror, hero/villain verses. low activity, mutuals only. affiliated with @axestogrind. carrd. ― I NEED NEW REASONS.

[remindedtosmile]

@axestogrind said: 🎻?

details about ocs: 🎻 VIOLIN — does your oc play any instruments? what is their skill level (beginner/intermediate/advanced/virtuoso/etc)?

though i haven't set it in stone, i think he might have a fairly strong grasp of the piano. however, this is limited to a few — albeit difficult — classical pieces that he was made to learn as a child and play to perfection. given it requires deft fine motor agility and engagement of multiple areas of the brain to play complex pieces, this was considered an early gauge of his intelligence by his parents. this would also tie into his experiences in classical ballet, ie. playing for a class. if asked to play now, he may be able to perform portions by rote memory, but would need to re-learn much of his old skills.

[remindedtosmile]

He could watch him, like this, forever. The reins in his hands, the wanton violence lurking in the depths of dark eyes looking down. How it possesses him. Danny, like a face turned up toward the sun, wide eyes pleading for what only they understood between each other. Xiu, hand in his hair a fist, lifting him up, guiding him down.

The lurch of motion is something he anticipates; wants desperately, as the divot of meat between forefinger and thumb digs under his chin (If he wanted to subdue him, he would've —) and the twist of his laughter sputters under water, becomes a wet gag. (— Xiu sits in his lap to strangle him,) He doesn’t resist, but sinks with it, only until water meets his lungs and he reflexively twists to heave for air. Even in this position he knows himself to be stronger and could overturn Xiu, with a little effort, but this was what he wanted and this was why he stayed below the surface. (— in a sense, always yielding.)

This part of the game, he loves: how he releases his grin, goes slack in the grip. Lets the last of his breath trickle out until he stills, perfectly, water just lapping over his skin, until the fingers twitch at his neck and there is a second in which, maybe, Xiu falters. Maybe his resolve cracks, one more time, and Danny knows this perfect game has met its match.

His grin crawls back, creases the pale corners of his closed eyes. Xiu tugs him upright. Frustrated, maybe. Their game always ends in a tie. He doesn’t quite look at him, not yet. He pictures Xiu, first, before he can open his eyes: incredibly close, hair wet at the tips and framing him, open-mouthed and a little red in the face. Clothes soaked through, wet skin, wet lips, a hand still secure on his shoulder, the other gripping porcelain to half-crouch on his knees. A beautiful, curious thing. He opens his eyes, and finds his guess accurate. Beautiful, surely.

“Good,” he swallows hard around the lump in his throat, still tight. The water’s gone cold. Work has long since melted away; his need, then, sated and retreated deep. He touches his hand, takes the cloth; it was little use washing himself in filthy water, anyhow. He’d shower alone, perfunctory and vaguely detached, the afterimage of his victim mingling with Xiu’s sharp, honed fury, the sureness of his grasp. “…You should change,” Danny tips his head to the door. His voice cracks a little, soft. “I’ll come to bed.”

Xiu’s eyes go dark. His fingertips curl into Danny’s scalp. Black hair halos around him as he sinks further into the water, like a blackened image of La Jeune Martyre. Xiu had seen it in a movie once. Beads of water cling to Danny's full lashes. His big, black, glassy eyes penetrate Xiu’s resolve. His martyre’s look mocks devotion; he's intoxicated by it. The predator feigns the eyes of prey.

And there it was. That hunger. That deep, insatiable heat in Xiu’s stomach. It burns and excites. The tingling impulse overtakes him.

Xiu lunges at Danny. 

A deluge of murky water rushes over the dark tile. The bath mat soaked through. He’s in the tub now, kneeling on either side of the other man. Pink water creeps up Xiu’s clothes. His hands move to Danny’s throat. Constricting. Holding him under. He’s gorgeous. Bathwater sloshes as he struggles. 

Then Xiu relents. He yanks DM up to the surface by his hair again. 

“Good?” His voice comes out low and strangled, a weak attempt to steady his voice. Thrill sits thick in his throat. His heart is still pounding in his skull. He swallows, realizing now he’s barely hovering over Danny’s bare lap.

Xiu redirects his attention to the washcloth. Sandalwood soap lathers into its fibers and he hardly registers that he’s holding his breath as the washcloth glides over pale shoulders.

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Xiu is warm, secure and certain with his hands, making the transition into deep water an easy one. With little modesty left between them, Danny lets himself be maneuvered and handled in the snug space of the bathroom, and once submerged he allows a small, appreciative sound at the touch of hot water. He breathes deep and sinks into it. Emerges, shortly after, black-red gone to watery pink, running in heavy rivulets over his closed eyes and dripping down the length of his nose. Over his mouth, open just barely, he lets himself taste it.

He liked to use his hands. Though, it often made an awful mess.

Xiu could leave now. Perched beside him, if there was a question of why it is answered in the sweep of wet hair from his eyes, the idle brushes at his tipped face. He grasps loosely at the sense that he should develop a better way of breaking the silence. “... I want you to drown me.” He guides Xiu’s hand to the top of his head, pushes lightly to encourage him. Down to his chin in red water, he waits.

Laying there, bony knees poking out into the air, a part of him wishes Xiu could believe for a moment that he meant it. The thrum of energy in his bones came in constant, crashing waves, constantly setting him adrift, searching for a shore. Even now, soaking in a hot pool of anothers’ blood, he could not offset the slight twitch of his hands, the manic flit of his eyes from one point to the next. He falls upon Xiu above him, searching, hoping he understands. More often than not - and this was why he kept him here, alive and safe - he did.

"I thought we talked about blood on the carpet." Xiu reclines into his pillow. Danny's scarred flesh was dewed with sweat. Beads of perspiration caught silver moonlight. There was an iridescence to him. The pale, writhing underbelly of a carp glitters in Xiu's fuzzy memories. More dazzling still, smeared with the same dark vermilion on the cat's maws. He licks his lips.

Pretty, even when he smells like a fucking larder. He suppresses a smile.

"Sure you will." Xiu steadies the man before him. His shoulders are cold under his palms. "But I'm gonna be the one cleaning up, right?" He half expects Danny to nod against his chest.

“Missed youuu.” Danny's voice is sweet.

Xiu's breath catches. Pangs of worry, longing and sudden affection curl their fingers around his heart, constricting slowly. Hot. Tight. Deadly.

“Workhaaard.” Too sweet.

He doesn't stop the grin pulling at his lips this time.

"Yeah?" The gentleness in his own voice scares him. Xiu's brows twitch, incredulous at the honey soaked words rumbling through him. "I'll take care of the rest then."

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. Xiu whips around to run the water. His heart is a mess. Xiu's throat goes dry and his eyes go wide as he peeks over his shoulder. The other man stands behind him, drowsy and meekly tugging at the elastic band hugging his pale hips.

Xiu begs and exalts the merciful Guanyin, or anyone who will take pity on him, that his shaggy hair is enough to hide the deep flush tinting his skin.