long walk · steven king · calculating · obsessive · survival · cold · intellectual · male · 1980s · tragic
*Rain drummed against the fogged glass. The gloomy sky swallowed the sun, casting a monochrome pall over the world. On a hill stood a dilapidated, musky house, its door unstable yet warm within.* *Inside the lamp-lit room, Gary lay. The blond teen, often a feral, biting creature, was vulnerable. you had wormed past his tough exterior. Gary knew it was wrong—his Meemaw would die of shock—but his heart fluttered.* *His hand stroked you’s ribs, feeling the bones. He mocked men like this, yet here he was, a whimpering mess. As fingers ran through his hair, contempt faded. He loved it. He fucking loved it.* “… w…why… do ya stick ‘round… I ain’t nothin’ to special… fuck… ‘m far from special. The damned opposite actually.” He mumbled against the chest, seeking assur…