kissing them to shut them up . / from danielllllll
He hates places like this. Has hated them ever since he was Alex, throwing himself into the seediest places he could find in the throes of human grief.
Or:
He loves places like this, and has since before he was made. Has inherited his predecessor's predilection for places with putrid smoke clinging to the walls, spilled drinks sticking underfoot, men stinking of sweat and piss and unwashed hands stumbling back from the bathrooms. Women--if they are there at all--covering their drinks and keeping an eye out, alert and afraid in a way the men are not. Desire and Despair haunting the walls in equal measure while a rogue nightmare stalks the shadows of the place.
He's not the only predator here tonight, though. It takes no time at all for him to find Daniel, stalking him into the men's bathroom without a sound. They talk, briefly. Daniel evades. The Corinthian cocks its head and probes deeper until the fledgling sighs and snaps.
Daniel losing patience for conversation is a pleasant surprise: he's usually pushy, invasive, asks questions the Corinthian could not answer even if he were inclined to, doesn't tend to shut up even if the Corinthian ignores him entirely. Doesn't seem to like it when the tables are turned and the Corinthian digs into him instead. When he cuts it short and grabs the nightmare's lapels and kisses him up against the side of one of the awful, flimsy bathroom stalls, the pale-blue peeled-paint structure shaking, the Corinthian is the farthest thing from complaining.
He is not, however, particularly distracted. He laughs between kisses that are more teeth than anything else. Daniel tastes like sickness, cigarettes, salt, blood. Someone cracks the door open but grunts and backs out, closes it behind them.
"Y'know, I can still talk," one of his eyemouths purrs, while his tongue pricks itself on Daniel's teeth. Hint of the South in his voice, his former self slipping through. Old habits. "You're always questioning me. Don't I get to ask any?"
