[ He does let go, but it comes with a shove. One hand to throw Beecher's hand back, the other solid against his chest. And then he leans in the doorway, with just enough room for someone to pass close by him to get out. ]
Dude, did you think I was fucking kidding? Get the fuck out here and come to the goddamn Bahamas with me.
[ His stomach is still bleeding out. It'll be a couple minutes before that seals, but he ignores it. ]
[he stumbles back like some newborn foal (Jan's strength is nothing to scoff at), but manages to catch himself against the bed instead of ending up on the floor. It gives him a minute to catch his breath and sort out all these new things he's learned. New Things 1 & 2: Jan's way stronger than he looks, and he needs to see a dentist like yesterday.]
Or what? What're you going to do? I mean are you shitting me, this is insane! Don't you have friends?
[that... sounded less obvious inside his head.]
...And you're getting blood all over my floor, asshole. [petulantly]
[ The demand just amuses him — until he glances down, as pointed out, at the blood dropping to the floor. Then his eyes go wide, apologetic. ]
Oh, shit, my bad! I didn't mean to get it on your floor.
[ He pulls his shirt up to a tattooed (and now bloody) stomach, swabs his fingers around in it, and turns to begin fingerpainting it on the wall. F - U - C — ]
[which is about when Beecher goes ker-snap and rushes him, because we all know how well that worked last time. He at least has a clearer goal this go-around, which is to knock away Jan's painting hand (or at least the arm attached to it)]
[ Jan laughs, but lets his hand be batted away. Of course, on the rebound of it, he makes to grab for Beecher's jaw, instead. The goal here is definitely kissyface, cheeks squeezed in and lips forced to pucker out. He's sure a blood-smeared kissyface will look great on him. ]
You knock off stabbing me and I'll leave my masterpiece on your wall unfinished, how's that?
[it has to look ridiculous, the utter, lit and shining rage in Beecher's eyes contrasted against his sudden, unwanted fish face. He remembers the last time he let someone push him around like this, treat him like a bitch. The very last time.
He tries to twist his head back enough to speak normally, biting out his words.] Fine. But you touch me like that again and next time I'm stabbing your cock.
Uh huh. [ He shoves Beecher's face back (a little less hard than he'd shoved on his hand and chest, you're welcome), and pulls his shirt back down again, wiping blood off his hand on the fabric. ]
You stab my cock, and I rip out your goddamn throat with my teeth, how's that?
[ An empty threat — there's a hex on him stopping things like that. Not that he'll ever be saying it! ]
[ He starts out the door, but pauses to make sure he's being followed. And he'd better be, he has all sorts of more annoying tricks up his sleeve if not. ]
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Dude, did you think I was fucking kidding? Get the fuck out here and come to the goddamn Bahamas with me.
[ His stomach is still bleeding out. It'll be a couple minutes before that seals, but he ignores it. ]
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Or what? What're you going to do? I mean are you shitting me, this is insane! Don't you have friends?
[that... sounded less obvious inside his head.]
...And you're getting blood all over my floor, asshole. [petulantly]
no subject
Oh, shit, my bad! I didn't mean to get it on your floor.
[ He pulls his shirt up to a tattooed (and now bloody) stomach, swabs his fingers around in it, and turns to begin fingerpainting it on the wall. F - U - C — ]
I meant to get it on your wall.
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Stop that, you sick shit!
no subject
You knock off stabbing me and I'll leave my masterpiece on your wall unfinished, how's that?
no subject
He tries to twist his head back enough to speak normally, biting out his words.] Fine. But you touch me like that again and next time I'm stabbing your cock.
no subject
You stab my cock, and I rip out your goddamn throat with my teeth, how's that?
[ An empty threat — there's a hex on him stopping things like that. Not that he'll ever be saying it! ]
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...Now remind me what the fuck you're even here for? To drag me to the Bahamas?
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[ He starts out the door, but pauses to make sure he's being followed. And he'd better be, he has all sorts of more annoying tricks up his sleeve if not. ]
Maybe we'll be real lucky and get Disneyland.
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I'm going to need way more information before I even pretend to think about this.