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The pile of worms made an awful sound, a groaning and a growling all at once, and Bell flinched. A few of the worms had pulled free from the nest. They stood as tall as him, taller, and drew closer. He backed away, wanting to run but too weak to move fast, crawling over cold concrete. He was naked. Why was he naked? What had happened? His heart was racing, his head growing lighter with each passing second as panic stoked his heart faster than it could go. Why was he so weak?
A hand touched his chest. The worms shivered and changed, became a distorted, gross face, a broad chest adorned with thick hair, a pair of trunk-like legs. The man touched his chest, his hand, and he was slimy, like the worms, hot and dry and slimy; Bell flinched away, petrified. What was he doing here? He couldn't be here. He was dead. "G-go away," he snapped, then dashed for the corner, got his back to the wall and hunkered there, in as defensive a stance as he could manage. "Go away!"
The man moved closer, and something shifted again, the man's distorted face becoming a woman's, rotten and bruised and smiling. The worms were a part of her, crawling through her, controlled by her; the wall at his back turned soft, slimy, and worms crawled out of it, hugging his shoulders and sliding down his chest. He pushed away from the wall and cowered on the floor, head hidden between his arms, legs curled under him. Even the floor wasn't safe; it slipped and slid around him, giving away with a gross softness that swallowed him up, until he was coated in worms. The worms still pushed and probed, searching for an opening, a way in. He felt them sliding in his nose, forcing their way past his eyeballs; he opened his mouth to breathe, and one crawled down his throat. He shut his mouth, but it was too late; the worms were inside him.
"Landon," he cried out again, searching. The whole world was crawling, crawling with them, with the worms. They were everywhere. Inside everything. Inside him. He could feel them squirming, like sick in his gut. He wanted Landon, but he didn't want Landon, because Landon might have the worms in him too, and he didn't want to see them in Landon, wanted to believe he was still safe.
Bell was restless. Landon gave the man a sad smile when he asked why the delusions couldn’t ever be anything other than shitty. He remembered quite vividly the time after that nurse-goat gave Bell her blood and he’d gone on the bender. It’d been painful to watch.
“I don’t know, Bell, I’m sorry,” Landon sighed out. It was his fault. He could’ve just let Bell-goat solve it, but then, Landon’s paranoia reasoned that might’ve lead to the hunters picking back up on their trail.
Bell turned in his arms, confused blue eyes watching him without actually focussing. Landon knew the man had to be seeing something that wasn’t there. Bell’s hand reached out and stroked his cheek next. All he could do was watch and wait. For now, things didn’t seem too bad. Beautiful, was it?
And then things shifted for the worse. Like a scale that was suddenly tipped, Bell’s demeanour flipped and he retreated. Landon was too late to react and confine the man. Maybe that was for the best.
“Easy, it’s alright, Bell, I’m still here,” Landon eased, not even sure his voice would reach Bellwether. It’d been ages since he'd had Bellwether-goat’s blood, but Landon knew he’d be too out of it to actually hear anything. All that would calm down the delusions was the repetitive motion of drawing.
For him at least.
Landon didn’t want Bell to bolt -fortunately the door was chained up. Still, running outside, confused and naked would definitely draw unwanted attention. He sat up, breathing deeply through the linger nausea and approached Bell slowly, carefully.
“It’s alright, Bell, I’m right here,” he comforted. Bell was lost. It was heart-breaking to know Bell couldn’t see he was right there. Landon imagined this was what Bell went through whenever he had one of his episodes. He hoped that wouldn’t happen while Bell was still confused. Nice couple they’d make.
Daniel would take over then, wouldn’t he?
Or maybe Spot would do something.
Landon reached Bell and reached out to the man slowly, making sure not to make any sudden moves. He touched Bellwether’s hand, then pressed the palm of his other hand to Bell’s chest. This way, if Bell did bolt, he’d be quick enough to grab and restrain the man.
“It’s alright. Aren’t you tired? We can sleep?” Landon offered.
Landon had to help him back to the bed. It wax pathetic. Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one? But here be was, passing out on Landon, being healed by Landon, being carried by Landon. It was somehow reassuring that he could feel Landon trembling as well, the other's body as much traitor to him as Bell's was.
The room was writhing, coming alive with sick, twisted motion. He watched it for a second, pausing in their slow trek back to bed. A piece of the wall squirmed harder than the rest and fell free, plopping to the floor with a wet, gross plopping sound--it wasn't real, it wasn't real. He tore his eyes away and kept moving.
Landon would watch him. Landon would watch him. He giggled suddenly, as he was lowered down to the bed. "Why can't it ever be a good trip?" he asked Landon, looking deep into his eyes as though he held the answer. "Why's it always shitty?"
The pile shifted under him like a great beast. He felt warmth to his back. Landon? He turned, eyes seeking in the twisting room for a familiar face; instead, he found two, a dark, uncertain shape superimposed over Landon's body. A child. It didn't understand so much, and at the same time, knew everything. He reached out and stroked it comfortingly, running a hand over Landon's face. The creature and Landon; they were both his. "You're beautiful," he said, almost astonished by it. The both of them. The two and one.
The pile wouldn't stop shifting. It was squirming under him, a nest of worms, coiled up on one another. The worms climbed over him, probing him for a way in, twinning and slimy. He pulled away, disgusted, rolling free of the pile, but Landon was swallowed up, drowned in the sea of worms. He could smell blood; were they eating him? Eating Landon? He backed away in terror, eyes locked on the worm nest as it unraveled and chased after him.
No. No. This was--just a dream. Just a dream. A bad trip. Landon was fine. He had to be. "Landon," he called out, eyes darting. Landon was there, right? Right?
A hand on his back pulled Landon back to the here and now. He ran the back of his hand by his lips, spat again to get rid of the acrid taste in his mouth. Next time, huh? He’d rather there wouldn’t be a next time, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Landon laughed; a mad, desperate laugh he cut short as soon as he heard it. Spot interrupted the moment, taking interest in the puddle of puke. Bell told the dog off and Landon sat up on his knees, an arm around his stomach. As if one arm could ward off the soreness and prevent him from being sick again.
Bed? What was Bell on about? What was Bell on?
Oh. But it hadn’t been blood, but pure, reality-altered goat’s essence thrashing about Bellwether’s body now. Who knew what effect that would have? From what he did comprehend, Landon knew the goatling had altered the essence it’d left behind to be similar to Bellwether’s. Had it left some toxin while doing so? Was there something about a goat’s flesh, a goat’s body, that was upsetting a human body’s chemical balance? That would explain so much.
Landon nodded, relenting to Bell’s pulling, then, shaky as he was, supported Bellwether back to the bed. Spot got the better of them by having ‘breakfast’, but Landon didn’t care much. A dog’s digestive system was likely pretty capable of handling pre-digested human food. Or not and they’d have a new pile of puke, which wasn’t any different from their current situation.
“It’ll be okay, I’ll watch you, okay?” Landon said, more confident and steady than he was feeling. Maybe he ought to just chain Bell to a pole or something instead. He really didn’t want to fight Bell.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he reassured for good measure, even as he helped Bell back down on their makeshift bed. They were still both naked. Landon didn’t care. He laid down next to Bell, abusing the other man’s warmth by spooning up behind Bellwether. His trembling slowed down as his body relaxed. He was tired. So tired. But he couldn’t sleep. Bell already seemed panicked, which could only mean that whatever the goatling had done, had a more immediate effect than goat’s blood did.
They were in for a rough morning.
Landon wasn't the one looking back. Those eyes were too dark, still black. Bell felt scared of him for the first time, of--not of Landon, but of the goatling inside him. Of what it could do, had done. "Landon, give me back Landon," he begged, and then suddenly it did, disappearing back into Landon--not that he thought he had anything to do with it. The goats had their own schedule, and moved only by it.
"Landon, are you--" Bell started, but Landon pushed away, staggered off into the room. He pushed himself up to try and follow, but lightheadedness forced him back down, back onto the pile. Something metallic and bitter came up in his throat, and he swallowed it back down, trying to swallow down the lightheadedness as well. Landon puked, and the sound almost made Bell puke as well, squelching and retching, splashing against the floor. He swallowed his nausea as well and forced himself up onto his hands and knees, crawled over to Landon. A comforting hand on the other's back was about all he could manage; even that much, and darkness threatened.
Don't ever do that again? Bell bowed his head, feeling more guilty than ever. "I'm sorry," he said. He shouldn't have pushed it. Should've figured the goat was still mending something, if he was feeling so weak. "Next time, I'll-- I'll be more careful," he promised. Next time. If there was a next time. If he could avoid getting shot again, there didn't have to be. That was what he should aim for. Not a next time, but a never again.
Spot wandered over, driven out of wherever he'd been hiding by the sound of Landon puking. He nosed at the both of them, then sniffed the pile of vomit when he was sure everyone was fine, giving it an experimental lick. "Bad," Bell told him, without much energy behind it. "Don't eat that, it's gross."
Spot looked up at him, and his eyes were black, completely and utterly black, churning on the inside, the same way Landon's had been. His grip on Landon tightened. Shit. It was kicking in. "Landon, we--should we, we should--bed," he said, yanking at Landon's shoulder. They had to get back somewhere safe before the goat's-blood effect kicked in for real.
Black tendrils coiled inside Bell. Landon could feel it, could feel Bellwether’s internal organs as they -he, it- shifted through the reach the bleed at last. Rather than inject the body with blood, as that who came before had done on occasion, it merely altered its structure to fit in with this mortal shell. Landon wasn’t sure what was going on, could only watch as slowly, Bellwether woke up and cried out in alarm and pain. He wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Landon didn’t have any control over what the goatling was doing. None. Bell’s pleading eyes bore a hole through his soul and still the goatling merely continued on its merry way, until Bellwether calmed down and he slowly protracted the last of his fingers, the last of his hand. He could tell Bell was relaxing. His muscles weren’t as rigid no more, he wasn’t writhing in pain.
The goatling pulled apart the human emotion and explored Landon’s reactions thoroughly. ‘Sorry’. Another emotion. Curious. Landon’s eyes were unblinking, black coiling in on itself, shifting and churning. His hand was still resting on Bellwether’s stomach. It had mended this shell satisfactorily.
One second Landon was mentally holding his breath and then he was thrust back into his body. He sagged for a second, then caught himself. Sensation came flooding back, alongside the overwhelming nausea over having just rooted around in Bellwether’s guts. Landon stood, then stumbled his way over to the kitchenette, failed to make it and threw up on the floor. His knees buckled as more heaves threatened. More came up. Half-digested Chinese food, the foul smell of alcohol laced through the contents of his stomach invading the space they occupied.
Landon had to hold himself up by putting his hands to the floor.
His stomach was sore by the time he managed to shake the sensation of holding Bell’s internal organs. He was trembling and feeling ill.
The goatling had saved Bellwether’s life. He was grateful. He was.
Landon just couldn’t handle it.
For a while he just breathed, then spat on the floor for good measure. He was feeling better now. Only a little. Better and tired. His body was capable of handling the goatling’s appearance now, or at least better than it had been able to, but it was still a tiring experience.
“Please don’t ever do that again,” he said, voice meek and frail.
There were no dreams at first, just darkness. He felt cold and empty, like everything was spilling out of him, but there was no higher awareness to it.
And then there was. He felt something speaking to him, calling out, and he tried to respond--but he didn't. Something else, deeper inside of him, replied, in a basso so deep that the very world seemed to tremble. There was pain, a deep pain that seemed to pierce right through his whole body, in one side and out the other. Unconscious yet, his face twitched, contorting into a grimace. The pain deepened, somehow, became more vibrant, more real; he screamed and heard himself, opened his eyes and found Landon looking down at him.
But it wasn't Landon, because Landon's eyes weren't this black, this dark. He grabbed at Landon the same way he'd grabbed at him seconds ago, only now he was caught in the throes of pain, not pleasure, as something twisted inside of him, prickling places he'd never felt before. "Landon, what--" he gasped out, but it wasn't Landon, it wasn't Landon, and he didn't know how to get through to him. He couldn't breathe for the pain, every muscle and tendon standing out on his body. "It hurts, it hurts, Landon--"
As suddenly as it had begun, the pain abated, dying to a dull ache, then to nothing at all. Bell gasped for breath and swallowed back the saliva that had threatened to spill over, falling back into the clothes pile. Shit. Maybe they shouldn't have fucked. Wait, dammit, what'd Landon done to him? That was goat-shit, wasn't it? He put a hand to his stomach, looking down at the skin, but it was creamy and complete. Giving lie to that, fresh bloodstains painted his stomach a new shade of crimson and soaked into the clothes below, thick and hot. He touched the skin; soft. Healed. But the goat had done something to him. The goatling.
"Um," Bell said; he looked up, met Landon's eyes, contrite. "Sorry." Shouldn't have pushed it. Should've just waited. "Um, if we want to get supplies, we should probably do it now?" How long did it take for the hallucinations to set in? How long did they have? Was it different, if the goat-stuff was stuck directly into his guts?
Hands gripped at his back, as if Bell would lose himself otherwise and Landon realised that might very well be the case. He held the other man tight, holding Bell right there, holding him close, so that there was nothing to part them. Landon could sense Bell was only occasionally there, but when he was, it was overwhelming for Bellwether. He’d been there before, when high and dopey on anti-psychotics, or psychotic himself. Not right now however.
Right now, Bell helped Landon ground himself, kept him there with an overwhelming physical stimulation that kept growing and growing and growing.
Tighter, tighter still, until the strain became too much.
Bell grabbed his shoulder at that moment and finished it, fast and hard. Landon cried out, both out of surprise and pleasure, as they both finished in rapid succession.
Bell hadn’t been joking about passing out. Landon didn’t really have time to enjoy the aftermath as Bell crumpled all but bonelessly against his chest.
“Hey?” Landon held Bell, pushed the man’s hair from his face and instead of flushed cheek gazed at the pasty white skin of Bellwether’s face. Panic spurred Landon into action.
“Bell?” he carefully pushed Bell off of him, hand rushing down the man’s body. No bullet holes, no bleeding -no.
He should’ve known. The way Bell was light-headed despite having had several days to recover: internal bleeding.
Landon’s breathing stocked. No. Bell would die at this rate. Internal bleeding could be fatal fast. He sat up, hovered, a hand on Bell’s face, eyes on the blossoming bruise, the other hand hovering uselessly. He didn’t know what to do.
“Shit,” he choked. Bell was going to die and they’d have a very moody goat on their hands when he did. There had to be something? They couldn’t go to a hospital. It’d be too late if they did. And they were wanted men.
Landon pressed his hand against the bruise, gently, carefully. He wasn't the one doing it. Something else was in control. It was as if he was looking at himself from outside of his body. His pupils were overflowing with black. Landon could see the lines of reality fade, could see intricate patters and lines, and how Bellwether fit in there perfectly, as did he. His brain couldn’t comprehend it. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing. It didn’t matter.
Black leather unfurled from underneath the skin of his right hand, elongated and sharp, pressing through Bellwether’s now purple-coloured skin. Thick blood poured from the injury, but not for long. Black extended into Bell’s abdomen and with fine precision and astonishing control, started to mend what was causing Bell’s life to drain away.
Landon's hand on his chest alerted him to the man's return, and he looked up to find him licking his lips, eager to move along. His anchor was back. Now he wouldn't float away. "Maybe," he admitted with a grin, and then they kissed. Landon straddled him, the pile shifting beneath him as he climbed on, and it was Bell's turn to lick his lips. He ran his hands up Landon's legs, tilting his head a little to get a better look. If he hadn't already been hard as a rock, he would've gotten harder. He could see every angle of Landon from this position, and he liked everything he saw.
Floating along, his hands quested up a little further, teasing at the sensitive places in Landon's upper thighs, gently stroking his pride--not enough for Landon to really feel it, just enough to tease him. His eyes flicked up to Landon's, the dopey grin still wide on his face, and found Landon looking pleased as well. Good. But he wanted more. His hands slid back onto Landon's thighs and applied pressure, pushing him downward. Surely this was enough?
Landon agreed. Fingers touched him, not even enough to tease; but they didn't have to, because the next thing he knew, Landon was swallowing him up, heat drawing him into a place that was unbelievably tight. He squirmed under Landon, pushing up into him with the strength he could muster, wanting more, more, to be deeper, move faster. Landon set the pace, though, slow and steady, hands in Bell's hair to let him kiss Bell's neck. Bell gripped at Landon's back, trying not to float away. He only felt half in his body, the rest of him wandering, not quite grounded, but he didn't want to leave this behind. It felt so good.
Kisses as Landon pushed deeper, stifling what would have otherwise been a pathetic moan. He wasn't going to make it much longer. It was weird like this, the sensation floating around him, not quite together--but it was building; when he felt it come back, it was nearly crippling, before it vanished again in another bout of lightheadedness. His breath matched Landon, short and sharp, the two of them panting in sync. Deeper, faster-- more, he wanted more.
Finding strength he didn't even know he still had, Bell grabbed Landon's shoulders and flipped them over, coming back on top. Before the lightheadedness could strike, he pushed into Landon, going faster and harder, the way he liked it, chasing down sensation even as it built to a head, everything pulled tight and needy. He reached up and kissed Landon as heat burst through his body, a wildfire, sensation rolling out of his loins and up his spine, electric and tingling; he twitched helplessly in the throes even as the world went dark and he passed out, going limp on top of Landon. Hidden between them, a dark bruise spread rapidly over his stomach.
Only Bell’s tight grip on his hair had been signal Bell wasn’t entirely floating on cloud nine, even though by now most of his blood should’ve recovered. Shouldn’t take over twenty-four hours, but with a goat for a body, who knew? Bell looked pale in the face regardless, with only a bit of a flush because he was aroused. It was actually turning him on, seeing Bell so helplessly unable to resist anything Landon did to the man’s body. He returned to their pile of clothes with the jelly in hand, teasing Bell’s nipples, licking his lips. Perhaps he’d play a little more -but no, that’d probably mean there’d be no happy end.
“You going to pass out?” Landon teased Bell, trapping the man’s lips.
It’d feel better, sure, but Landon wasn’t sure whether this was responsible.
The second brain calling for attention in the southern regions of his body did a great job overriding that concern. Landon took the jelly and straddled Bell. One hand rested next to the man, one hand reached back. It was a pain to reach himself, but eventually Landon managed. At least this way, it wouldn’t feel painful, or rushed. He could set his own tempo. He could set Bellwether’s.
Slippery fingers danced across the proof of Bellwether’s desire at last, and Landon lined himself up. As long as Bellwether had that stupid grin on his face, he was pretty sure the man was enjoying himself.
Landon took it slow, almost sighing in relief to feel anything other than the pressure of lust. He set the tempo, slow, at first, but soon faster, once he got used to their coupling. One hand ran through Bell’s hair, forcing his head back so he could kiss the man’s neck and drown Bellwether in sensation.
Landon’s lips found Bellwether and he pressed his advantage, forcing Bell to go deeper. Everything was painfully tight. Like a rubber-band being stretched to breaking-point, ready to snap. For one moment, Landon forgot about last night, forgot about his fears and anxiety. For a moment, everything was balanced. He couldn’t stretch it out though -Bell wouldn’t last, and he didn’t want to. He sped up, knowing Bell liked it faster, deeper. His breathing came in quick pants now.
Landon kissed him all over, Bell eager for the attention and allowing Landon to guide him, each kiss finding a sensitive spot. It felt good, being the center of everything. Having Landon cater to him like this. He barely even noticed they were swapping places again until his back hit the pile, and he looked up at Landon--but not for long, because Landon descended down his body.
He giggled and tangled his fingers in Landon's hair, massaging the other's back as Landon lavished him with attention. Now things were getting interesting. Lower and lower, Landon's lips leaving a trail of heat down his body, even right through the bloodstains that still marked his chest. Then there was a pause. Landon's breath brushed against a most sensitive part, and he shifted in anticipation, eyes wide, biting his lip. Then Landon took him in.
He fought the urge to squirm, holding on tight to Landon's hair. Everything felt kind of weird right now, his heart beating faster than usual, his head light as a balloon. Not enough blood to go around. It probably wasn't a good sign, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It felt so good. Landon's heat and his tongue--he shifted a bit, worried he might be wandering too close to the edge. It was hard to tell where he was, if he was close or only halfway there. The world was starting to spin, in a kind of slow, lazy way, but he didn't mind. Landon felt solid and immovable.
Then Landon backed away. Bell sighed and sprawled out on the pile, floating somewhere between here and there but enjoying himself immensely. His body felt disconnected from his mind, his heart toiling along, racing to try and make up for the displaced blood, but he didn't mind. It was kind of a fun sensation. Like the tension when they were fucking somewhere they shouldn't--was he going to be able to go the whole time without passing out? He didn't know. He'd find out.
Lazily, he turned his head and found Landon fetching the jelly. Ah, so that was where he'd gotten to. He beckoned Landon closer. "I wanna see you prepare yourself," he said, grinning. He didn't think he'd be able to sit up off the pile without passing out right now, but that didn't mean he couldn't top, as long as Landon got a little creative.
A pathetic whine came from Bell’s throat, frustration finding a voice. Landon realised belatedly Bell still wasn’t back to his old self. The man seemed to tire easily -probably because he'd been shot just hours ago. Shit. But he wanted this. So badly.
They both did apparently, because despite the frustration, Bell seemed eager to lose his pants and tease him about the difference in their state of undress. So much so, the rough denim was starting to chafe and cut into his skin uncomfortably.
He was almost inclined to solve the problem himself when Bell finally undid the buttons and got the pants out of the way. Finally. Landon breathed a sigh of relief when the cool air hit his skin.
Bell wasn’t going to be able to top him, was he? Not all the way anyway.
That didn’t stop Landon from enjoying Bellwether’s body while they were still deciding. Bell’s warm skin rubbed against his in a gratifying way and distracted Landon. He countered with well-aimed kisses, guiding Bell’s movements to get better access. Maybe he ought to take lead then. Landon figured their bodies could sort that one out. No need for words there. He remembered last time, with Spot there as well. Both at the same time. It’d been crazy. They’d been drunk.
It was good.
This was good. Landon lavished himself on Bellwether’s body, switching roles around so Bell could rest on the bottom for the time being. He took his time exploring every inch of Bellwether, uncaring of the blood-stains, careful around the still healing injuries, all the way down to Bell’s growing problem.
There was a short pause where his heated breath hit Bell’s exposed skin and then Landon started taking revenge. Two could play that game. Perhaps they shouldn’t go all the way, with Bell in this state. The man wouldn’t last. Worst case Bell was going to have a heart-attack. That’d be kind of funny. And concerning. Last thing they needed was the goat as a third sex-partner. Once he had Bell exactly where he wanted the man, Landon changed his mind. He reached over for Bell’s coat and got the jelly out -they needed a new batch.
He grinned as Landon squirmed under him. Like putty in his hands. All it took was a little effort, and Landon was ready to forget all about that nasty hangover, huh? It was definitely reassuring, having Landon like this, ready to do anything but run away from Bell.
Hands wandered down his back and pulled at his pants, undoing the buttons. Landon had a concerned look on his face for some reason, which Bell leaned down and kissed away. No need to be concerned. Everything was fine. Bell wasn't angry at him. Bare fingers on his ass made him shiver, Landon's hands a little chilled from having just woken up, but it didn't make him hesitate. Landon drew him in closer; he rubbed up against Landon some more, teasing him from the outside of his pants. Felt good just having a lazy day to sit here and enjoy each other. Felt good to be here with Landon again.
He rested against Landon while the other pushed his pants down a little further, taking his time just to kiss Landon and enjoy being with him. It was slightly frustrating, but he didn't have a lot of stamina. Probably because he'd just been shot and lost buckets of blood. He whined and squirmed into Landon, frustrated with himself. He'd wanted to fuck him, but he didn't know if he had the energy.
He'd find out.
Bell kicked out of his pants and sat up a bit, fingers playing with the waistband of Landon's pants. Here he was naked, and he hadn't even undone Landon's zipper. He smirked. He thought he'd taught Landon a lesson about stripping him first? Playful, he slid his hand over the growing problem inside the denim, teasing with his fingers just the way Landon liked, trying to get Landon to squirm some more. Rather than make Landon beg for it, he undid the button himself once he had Landon where he wanted him, sliding the zipper down slowly. With the denim out of the way, he ground his hips into Landon again, relishing the feel of skin on skin, the warmth of Landon's body. He wanted this. Hopefully his body would keep up with him, because he wanted it bad.
Kept running? Did Bell fear he would? Might be out of fear, during a psychosis, but other than that, Landon couldn’t for the life of him think up a reason why he’d run away from Bellwether. But he might have before. Landon’s expression grew troubled for a second, even when Bell reassured him it was just a dream. Bell offered up enough distraction to forget all about it though. Kisses were pressed against his neck and further down, hands pushed and pulled at the shirt he wore until the article of clothing was removed from his body.
Some nausea threatened, but the sensation was swiftly undone by Bell grinding into his hips. Pleasure won out in the end. Landon squirmed underneath Bell. Where at first he was only barely engaging, his body was now awake and alert, following every of Bellwether’s actions with keen interest.
The hangover could wait.
His body agreed.
Landon let his hands roam down Bellwether’s back, toyed with the rim of the man’s pants and then, slowly, playfully, started to undo the buttons there. He looked up at Bell, pondering whether the man was ready for this so quickly after having been shot -twice- in places that were kind of vital organs and from which Bell would’ve died very fast, if he hadn’t had the goat there to heal him.
Once the last button popped, Landon cupped Bellwether’s ass and pulled the man in closer. He wanted to feel more. Wanted to be closer and reaffirm Bellwether was still alive, fine and breathing, living.
They were approaching the point of no return. Landon wasn’t sure whether he wanted to offer Bell an ‘out’. Hadn’t the man instigated this in the first place? He licked his lips, wanting more kisses, wanting to feel good. This was safe. He felt safe and not as if he would plummet off some cliff and lose himself. Bell was his anchor.
His hands explored further, pushing down the fabric of Bellwether’s pants. Familiar. He knew Bell’s body, had memorised every single bit of it, and would continue to do so each time they made love. His body didn’t need instructions to get where they both felt good.
Landon gave in, and they kissed, Landon meeting his eyes for the first time that morning. As he'd expected, Landon was lazy, slow to respond, but willing to accept his affection, uncurling his arms from his stomach to pull Bell closer. It was nice. Made him feel spoiled, being able to put the moves on Landon even when the man was feeling shitty. That was alright, though. It was kind of nice, every now and again.
Fingers played over his chest, prodding at the injury. He winced a bit on instinct, but it didn't really hurt. Just a kind of distant ache, like prodding an old bruise. "Hmm, mostly," he said. Still felt dehydrated, but he could forget that when he had Landon to play with. They kissed more, Bell leaning into it. He wanted to take it slow for once. Take their time and play.
The pile shifted as Spot got up and walked away with a doggy huff, disappointed in the humans--or jealous, more like. Bell ignored him. They'd shared Landon last time, but this time, he was keeping Landon all to himself.
"Dreaming?" he repeated. Hmm, dreams. Yep. Landon's kisses felt nice, warm on his chest, and he scooted a little closer, distracted. The memory filtered back; Landon pulling away from him, running away from his touch. "Oh yeah.... you kept running away from me. But it was just a dream," he said. Didn't want Landon to get all self-conscious about being crazy. It was just a dream, after all, and Landon definitely wasn't pulling away from him now. It was nice to reconfirm that, to see that Landon really did love him, even if he sometimes went a little nuts.
Landon pulled him on top. Bell took the role on happily, leaning low over Landon to nibble at his earlobe, run kisses down his neck. He ran into fabric before he could go any lower, and he frowned and pushed it up, yanking Landon's shirt off. Hmm. Better. He splayed his hands over Landon's chest just to feel it, running them more lightly over his stomach, mindful of the hangover. So hot, though. All those muscles. He bent down to lick them and ground his hips into Landon, moving just enough to feel something, teasing both of them. This was nice. Much better than last night.
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