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“–– no, no, that's the fuckin' opposite of what i said.” but it was no use – dylan wore a smile that shone like the fourth of july, casting colour back into a complexion turned pallid by the violence to which he had been subjected. there was an unpleasant scrape at the small of his back as dylan tugged him roughly down to settle at his side and his shirt rose to expose skin to the rough texture of the cellar's floor. teeth gritted, it was a long moment before he released a heavy exhale through his nose, eyes hard on the dark ceiling. “i don't want to fuckin' cuddle with you, kid.”
maybe rhett would know what it felt like now, though that had not been at the forefront of dylan’s mind in terms of initial intentions. the floor was uncomfortable and unforgiving, a cold surface that bumped against the bones of the skeleton without care. “i don’t care what you want.” clearly rhett had not catered to dylan’s desires at any point during this entire ordeal and so returning the favor seemed just. with his good hand he tugged at rhett’s muscular arm in an attempt to throw it across his stomach. “stop complaining and don’t do a shit job for once.”
he held a deep frown that suddenly gave way to a deep, booming laugh. “of course you don't fucking care what i want.” eyes shut tight against his fit of laughter that carried on for a period that was likely far longer than dylan might have preferred, rhett's breath was heavy and laboured afterwards. “you've got a hell of a fuckin' mouth on you, y'know that?” and he shouldn't have found it endearing – the back-talking and the determined refusal to cooperate that coloured the bulk of their interactions – but in that moment endearment was precisely what bloomed in his chest, problematic as that might have been. “'s fucked up.”
yeah, he knew. but dylan thought, at this point, that his 'smart fuckin' mouth' may have been the only thing keeping him alive when you really thought about it. he'd taken a hell of a beating from tom but he'd also gained a relationship with rhett in a weird, ambiguous way that neither of them could really label and that seemed imperative to have down here, especially with the brains and brawn of the entire operation. "i know. am i the little spoon?"
it wasn't as though dylan was wrong. perhaps it had been a stretch to assume that his life was on the line – tom tended to exercise restraint before his victims got quite that far gone – but there was absolutely merit to the idea that dylan would be better off and less prone to being the subject of violence now that he had, somehow, managed to endear himself to rhett. “ain't no fucking spoons around here.”
“you are a spoon, big guy.” whether rhett knew it or not, whether he liked it or not, whether he wanted to break away or not. dylan turned to face the man with a groan of discomfort, faze nuzzling against a broad chest. if rhett was surprised, well, so was he. dylan had no idea how much he’d been missing and craving any and all human contact. “congrats.”
as always, it was a useless effort to argue and so, for the moment, dylan had won rhett's silence in their seemingly neverending struggle for dominance. there were worse ways to lose; dylan's lips dragging against the cotton of his shirt was far from an unwelcome sensation and for the moment rhett's fingers lost themselves in the boy's golden waves. “don't be a smug little shit.”
"you fucked up my hair, i can say whatever i want." and he may have cared more, if it wasn't for how good rhett's hand felt when it rested against his scalp. his heart was beating loud and rhett would have had a hard time not hearing it. "how bad does it look?"
“you should be thanking me that it wasn't your fuckin' thumbs like i said it was gonna be.” dylan's reminder conjured images of jerking hips and unsteady breaths and rhett closed his eyes against the images, trying to steer his train of thought back to neutral territory. “looks fine. don't be so fuckin' vain.”
dylan's kiss did little to ease the pounding of rhett's heart nor his mind's determined descent into impropriety. his throat cleared and a frown that would certainly go wasted settled itself across his features. “cut that shit out.”