a song called/ hold on, hold on

“The pulsing of the needles is starting to fade into a crawling ache across his side. Adam thinks he understands now what Ronan meant about how getting the tattoo hadn’t hurt enough. This creeping stinging feels a little like a building orgasm that just won’t break. A monotonous, euphoric anticipation that can’t be forced to completion. He thinks about a terrified Ronan sitting hunched forward over a chair back, or maybe even fully prone, for hours and hours of this and praying for the release that never came. Thinking that if he could just tip it over into something overpowering he could stop feeling like he wanted to be released from so many parts of his life full stop.” 

fak 

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