Becoming Less Defined

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For a span of seconds, the man hovering over you is drawn in a disorienting double-image. He’s hyper-real, familiar to a point that is almost grotesque in its intimacy—yet, at the same time, he is completely a stranger. It’s as though you’re looking at something mundane from an unexpected angle; the ordinary made alien.

“Are you hurt?” the mans says, and then immediately, “No, of course you’re hurt, that was a hell of a drop. Okay… okay. You’re standing, so… legs… seem fine…”

There are hands smoothing over your limbs and torso, pressing firm but shaking, and it feels like something long coveted. At first you want to shiver under his touch and it feels like its root is in pleasure, but then there is a deep repulsion working its way out. It drags nebulous concepts with it, an abstract ideal, something about repercussions and moral lapses and forbidden, dangerous things.

The man frowns and hesitantly cups one hand around the back of your neck, and you remember suddenly that it’s Daniel.

In which concussions cause changes and dubious relationships.

Fluff: +

Angst: ++++

Smut: +++

Overall Rating: ++++

Read it here:

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