hehimrabies

[hehimrabies]

the passenger | my angel- adrienne lenker

[hehimrabies]

picturing randy and benson in their dingy motel bathroom sharing a bath.. the water is a little less than lukewarm, the tub is small so their bare knees are touching, water nearly falling over the edge of the tub, but it’s comfortable.. benson set his ashtray on the toilet seat so he can keep smoking his cigarette,, randy sits across from him, chin on his knees as he stares at the swirly smoke fill the air, dissolving into the yellow flickering light above..

[hehimrabies]

sending illi & friends to the Big Dance…!!!

[hehimrabies]

patrick zweig faggotry is so overlooked like…we all saw the same movie no? he’s a slut for anyone but i fully believe in the lost years he was cruising and becoming a regular at dive bars like it was the only thing left he could do falling sooooo deep into queer kink culture and exploring himself (but also using it as a distraction from the pain he felt from losing art and tashi) I DEMAND MORE!!!

2019 patrick zweig PETPLAY 💜 2019 patrick zweig PISS KINK 💜 2019 patrick zweig POPPERS 💜 2019 patrick zweig CUM 💜

hes been a slut we KNOW that but i just know the years after stanford had him just hooking up with anyone and everyone. at first its just sorority girls from stanford, and he feels a rush of accomplishment like he's invading artashi's home turf, but then he finds his way into frat houses... them mistaking him for a pledge and asking "blow or blow?" gesturing to a line of coke and the bulge in their frat prez's pants.. thats where it all starts i fear

after that he doesnt shy away from his attraction to men, he Actively seeks it out by heading to gay bars and going cruising with a group of friends he probably met on a seedy online kink website. gets dressed up in leather and has a pup hood. attends orgies every month and commits every detail to memory. and in his head, when he's high off of rush and has a cock in his ass and one pissing down his throat, he's winning.

[hehimrabies]

ranson x hannigram x pulldrone

[hehimrabies]

PATRICK ZWEIG WHEN HE… DOGGY-STYLE.

It’s a game to him. Not one he plays with a racket, but with your body—deliberate, slow, wickedly confident. Patrick’s not the kind of guy who rushes anything when he’s got you on all fours. He doesn’t need to. The moment he gets behind you, the air changes.

And he’s quiet. Always quiet at first. Just watching. Studying. His head tilts like he’s analyzing the tension in your spine, the way your thighs tremble a little when he exhales against your skin.

Before he’s even inside you, he grinds against you, slow and lazy, just to feel how warm you are, how slick you’ve already gotten from the anticipation alone. His cock drags along your folds, teasing your entrance, but never quite pressing in. Just hovering there—enough to make your hips push back on instinct.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just grips your waist tighter and tuts like you’re being greedy. “Patience, sweetheart.”

Patrick’s the type to fuck slow on purpose. Long, deep thrusts that make you feel every inch—like he’s trying to brand the shape of him inside you. He’s not chasing a quick release. He wants you ruined. He wants your voice wrecked from moaning his name, your body begging for more while he holds back.

Sometimes he pulls all the way out just to watch your cunt clench around nothing. Other times, he stays buried deep and doesn’t move at all—just sits there, cock twitching, hands spreading your ass to look at the mess he’s made of you. “So wet for me,” he’ll mutter, half in awe, half in smug amusement. “And I’ve barely even started.”

He talks through the whole thing, voice low and maddening. “You like it slow like this, don’t you?” “Bet no one else fucks you this good.” “Feel how deep I am?” It’s not just dirty talk—it’s strategy. He keeps you right on the edge, pushes you into that sweet spot and keeps you hovering there until you’re gasping, twitching, begging for him to go faster.

Sometimes he snaps. Not for long, but hard enough to make you cry out. A rough thrust, a hand yanking your hair back, teeth grazing your shoulder. But then he slows again—reels it in. He likes the edge. That teasing, drawn-out ache that makes you feel like you might go crazy before you finally come.

[hehimrabies]

cillian murphy in 28 days later (2002) dir. danny boyle

[hehimrabies]

thinking about the first time Patrick gets a collar put on him ! cw: 18+ MDNI, m/m pairing, < 1k words, collaring, mentions of pup play, handjob (Patrick receiving), praise, use of good boy !

it starts as a night out at some underground nightclub, drenched in flashing neon lights and flooded with sweaty, rolling bodies. his usual haunt. but something’s different this time. he feels different, like something deep inside of him is pushing outwards, like a vine growing towards the sun. the sun just happens to be a guy dancing near the front of the DJ booth. he’s shorter, dark hair with green streaks in it, dressed in fishnets and tight shorts and dark collar around his neck, the tag jingling with every bounce of his body. it catches in the light, and catches Patrick’s eye. his stomach heats for some unknown reason, locked onto the way the leather is locked around his throat. it looks snug, comfortable. he swallows down the last of his drink and squares his shoulders, slipping off the stool and making his way onto the floor.

it’s messy and almost feels sinful, the way he lets this boy lick into his mouth, lets his hands roam across his body and press him down onto his backseat. Patrick smiles up at him, hazy and full of want and curiosity. and with him in his lap like this, he’s all but face-to-face with that collar and that tag. he hooks his fingers around it, reading the inscription. GOOD BOY in big bold letters. he swallows tightly, his cheeks going flush and he can feels himself growing in his jeans. the guy on top of him, of course, notices and smiles, grinding down against his raging boner a little as he speaks. “you like what you see?” Patrick groans and nods, eyes flitting up to him. “y-yeah..i don’t really see collars all that often.” he admits, and it’s true. sure, he wasn’t living under a rock, he knew about pup play. but seeing something this erotic in person was new for him. the guy hums, his hands moving to the back of the collar. “wanna try it on?”

that’s how he ends up with his back against this mystery guy’s chest in the back of his car, his legs spread wide and his hand stroking his weeping cock, the wide collar locked around his throat as he whimpers and whines and bucks into the pleasure his fist provides. the guy behind him lavishes his neck in wet kisses, nipping at the skin and his earlobe, whispering downright sinful things to him as he thumbs his head and strokes him with a vigor. “you like this, huh? being collared? being fucking owned?” Patrick gasps, his eyes rolling, his jolting. “y-yes—mngh—yeah—!” the tag jingles with every move of his body. the guy smiles, speeding up his hand as pre leaked down like a waterfall. “knew you would. couldn’t stop staring at it the whole time, knew you just needed to try it out. look at you now…” and Patrick should be fucking embarrassed how easily this made him fall apart, fall into the guy’s arms as a whining mess. but all he feels is pleasure, hot and tight in his gut. his hands tighten on the guys thighs. “c-close!” he almost cries out, his voice small and tight. “come..come for me…be a good boy and come for me..” that’s all it takes.

Patrick’s coming hard into his palm, soaking his knuckles with the hardest orgasm he’s had in a long time, his muscles all tensing up and contracting under his skin. he whines and groans through it, all high pitched like a dog. the guy kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek, whispering praise to him the whole time, his free hand coming to hold the front of his throat over the collar. “good boy…you did so good…looked so hot like that…” he mumbles, his thumb rubbing over Patrick’s adam’s apple through the leather. Patrick feels like he’s been wrung dry, spent and used—but good. so good. warm and safe and held. it’s unusual, new, but not unwelcome. he wants more. he turns his head to kiss the guy on the cheek, down his jaw. “thanks..for this..” he mumbles softly. “i should be thanking you for the show.” he replies with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

he drives the guy home, waving him goodbye, watching him walk up to his apartment building, collar in hand, tag bouncing. as soon as the door shuts, he’s grabbing his phone from the seat and googling collar and tag websites, his stomach churning with the memories of the guy and the way the leather felt on his skin. he wants it again. he needs it again. the feeling of belonging to someone, of being safe and welcomed and owned. of being loved. it opened something deep inside his chest that he hadn’t known was there, but now it couldn’t be closed. a deep blue collar with a white stripe in the center and a silver tag reading PUP is in his duffel bag by the end of the week.

[hehimrabies]

t4t ranson helping with each other’s t shot like if u agree

[hehimrabies]

hickies and bitemarks on thighs. thats it. thats the post.

[hehimrabies]

looking to partake in some fag shit this summer

[hehimrabies]

i need to be in a t4t pup4pup relationship A S A P. it’s not even funny anymore. i need a hot boyfriend with dyed hair and piercings (i can suck and lick on) and big ass shoes and a cute face and a hot bod and a good sense of humor and a good taste in movies who will make me feel special and handsome and respect me and love me who will teach me to stick and poke who will take me on cute dates and show me off and keep his hands on me who will treat me right who i can dominate until he cries but who will also bully me until im crying into my damn mattress.

[hehimrabies]

benson cruising truther 👁️

[hehimrabies]

hear me out. benson and randy meet outside of work at a club but neither one of them realize its the other bc they are both wearing pup hoods.

Oh my god I’m shaking. I wish there were more dice about the boys getting into pet play.

Randy in a cute border collie inspired hood and Benson in a German shepherd one. 😩😩😩

Rough housing together, taking in each others scent and Benson pinning Randy to the floor to fuck him.

[hehimrabies]

Randy got his nipples pierced, and Benson is completely obsessed and can't keep his mouth away

[hehimrabies]

i've seen fanart of benson in a collar but is there any of him in a pup hood/mask??

[hehimrabies]

preacher’s “daughter”!randy x drifter!benson → Randy, who’s stuck in a traditional household, who’s father is a follower of Christ, who can’t be the boy he wants to be deep down inside because he knows it’ll never go over well with his family. so he stays in the white, frilly, lacy dresses his mother buys for him. he goes to church, he prays, he attends confession on his knees, clutching his onyx rosary close to his chest—a chest he wishes were flatter. he can’t look at himself in mirrors, forces smiles in photos, feigns interest in most things, pulls at his hair at night and beats at his chest as he quietly sobs into the darkness. he feels like he’s dying, being trapped in this body, this house, this person he was never meant to be. this girl. he doesn’t believe he’ll ever be free to be himself, to escape the expectations and chains of religion and his family

that is, until Benson rolls into town.

Benson, who never stays in one place for more than a few days, 5 max. who lives on cigarettes, beer, and shitty Chinese food. he doesn’t care for authority, that much was evident with how much his father beat him for “disobedience” and how young he was when he finally left home in his mom’s truck. he stays in roach ridden motels and the bed of his truck, stealing blankets to layer it with. who never holds down a “steady” job, instead just doing freelance work for businesses and homeowners. they never comment on his musk or the cuts and scars on his knuckles. he shops at second hand places for clothes, and with no wash, he often ends up smelling musty, but it’s not like he cares what anyone else thinks anyhow. who indulges in meaningless gas station hookups for a free hotdog every now and then, but never lets anyone get closer than that.

he ends up at Randy’s church to fix a wiring issue for the lights. that’s how they meet, Randy’s doe eyes gazing up at him on the ladder how he feigns staring up at Christ for his father. Benson hears his father reprimand him quietly, telling him to “stop gawking” and smirks quietly to himself. Randy lays in bed that night thinking about him—his full mustache, his jawline, his hard gaze, his shoulders—debating if he wants to be him..or be with him. sinful thoughts his father wouldn’t approve of, but he can’t help himself, his thighs shifting together under his covers.

Benson who gets him high for the first time alone up in the church attic, swapping a blunt back and forth until Randy’s eyes are tinged red and he can’t stop talking. and surprisingly, Benson listens to him. he hears him, his struggle to be seen and accepted. who pats Randy’s shoulder, murmuring to him about how he’s almost 22, he doesn’t have to live like this if he doesn’t want to. how he can just leave, escape, have his own life somewhere far away from this. hell, he’d lend him clothes if he wanted. Randy, whose plush lips quiver with barely restrained emotions, his high state pushing him over the edge into Benson’s strong arms. Benson, who mumbles reassuringly to him, rubbing his back through the lace of his dress.

how he was made in God’s image, and what’s more holy than the act of creation?

it’s this acceptance, this affection, almost, that drives Randy to make a plan. to pass notes to Benson as he works slowly day by day in the church. to pile into the passenger seat of his truck one late night. he tosses his bag at his feet, dressed in some baggy hand me downs from Benson, his heart pounding in his throat as they quietly roll out and away from his creaky house, and onto the road that leads to the main highway. he feels sick with guilt and pride. he can barely focus, he can barely breathe, but he somehow feels alive like this. and Benson can see it in his cheeks, in his eyes, in the way his hands shake in his lap, rosary between his fingers. he smiles softly, tilting his head towards him.

“so…you got a better name in mind?”