[ It should be Kaveh's stopping point too— and unless Wriothesley thinks to offer him any more of the drink, it will be. For now, he's content, enjoying the warmth not only of the Firewater scalding his veins, but of the other leaning into him
(and if he startles a little at the sudden sensation of a strong hand high on his thigh, he hopes he hides it well enough so as not to paint his attraction all over the walls for Wriothesley to see yet again— they've moved past this, he can't drag them back— but he can imagine how good those hands would feel, pressing him down into a mattress or maybe even this couch, stern mouth hot at his ear, his throat—)
and the sound of his laugh, throaty in a way that sends shivers down Kaveh's spine, and surprisingly warm— or maybe that's just the liquor. His own eyes are half-lidded as he peers in return. ]
Mm. As long as it's not about family, or money, you can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer honestly.
( Their spines are curved towards one another, lazily inching down on the couch without proper posture. Wriothesley keeps his gaze on Kaveh, drunken and enjoying the sight of him. He has never felt so enthralled by someone’s appearance, though he feels similarly for Navia. It’s not like his heart bleeds like it is now, pumping harder than normal at a chance with him. Who knows if another will come up?
If he makes a wrong move, everything they worked for will be gone. He looks down at his lips, at the parting of his shirt, strained for more. )
If you could get anything you want right this second, what would it be?
[ Kaveh's eyes have never left Wriothesley's face, not since this conversation started; somehow, though, he's unaware of the fact that the other is watching him in much the same way, gazing down at him with thoughts in his mind that echo in some way Kaveh's own.
His own—
anything you want
Ah, maybe he made a mistake after all. To answer this question honestly is to shatter all over again everything they've worked so carefully toward rebuilding, to destroy any trust he's managed to earn back— Kaveh chews at his lower lip, but the answer is on the tip of his tongue nonetheless.
He promised honesty.
His lips part. He wets them with an anxious swipe of his tongue. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse— but his eyes, locked on Wriothesley's face, are bright with sincerity. ]
( Plenty of time has etched between them, enough of time for any wishes or feelings to fall through the crevasse. Not even the element within his vision feels as cold as losing the opportunity with him. His mind is in a jam, taking all those decisions because he knows this is a bad idea. But if not now then when?
He thought Kaveh would have moved on then, with the guy at the bar or someone else. He could have anybody, so why is he still single?
Wriothesley stares at those lips, gaze alternating up to those red eyes. He’s always so shimmery, so full of passion and dreams. The answer takes off a weight off his shoulders, and that same hand that was once on his thighs lifts up over his jaw. Through his hair and around his skull so he can bring their faces closer. )
Don’t be scared.
( Forehead to forehead now, he feels his throbbing heart at his throat. The scent and taste of Firewater is hot on Kaveh’s lips, so he leans closer, tilting his head gradually so they can lock. His lips are soft and warm and they feel just right against him. Fingers curl around the back of his hairline so he can gently tangle them through golden locks.
Fuck.
The self control has to be immense for Wriothesley to not bury himself into him, clothes on and everything. He breathes hot through his nostrils, breathlessly rolling his tongue between their lips for a better taste. It changes nothing. Whether he’s a man or a woman, he realizes none of it matters. )
[ But Kaveh silences himself, because that would be a lie, and he promised he wouldn't lie.
(Of course, he also promised himself he'd stop chasing after the Duke's affections, and look where he is now— all but draped in his lap, their foreheads pressed together, Wriothesley's fingers in his hair and Snezhnayan Firewater on his breath.)
Instead, he just sits there, looking at him, red eyes on blue, breath trembling and heart pounding in his chest that he's irrationally sure the other will hear it. Surely the other won't actually kiss him, surely it will be just another of those frustrating, teasing little pecks that drove him crazy the first time; after all, Wriothesley doesn't like men, does he, so—
It's his thoughts this time that are silenced by the press of the warden's mouth onto his, by the fingers tangling into his hair as he's pulled close, and there's a moment where Kaveh's eyes widen and he forgets to answer with anything but a surprised, molten sound, because oh he didn't expect this, could never predict the lock of those firm lips against his, or the way the sensation sends butterflies racing down his veins.
He recovers quickly, hands reaching, grasping the other man by the front of his shirt and pulling him yet closer, tongue arching to meet that which pushes into his mouth, another soft sound on his lips. The Duke's mouth tastes like the same Firewater Kaveh knows is on his own tongue, but beyond that there's a vague hint of some type of tea, something so distinctly him that it makes the blonde shudder in delight as much as the kiss itself does. ]
( The more he rejects himself from having him, the more intense his need to conquer him becomes. It's not that Wriothesley can hear Kaveh's heart, not whatsoever, but he is aware of his own. Every single chamber blasting and thundering, turning utterly insane at the thought of tasting Kaveh's mouth while he's in his arms. It's wrong, he knows it is. At least the calculated aspect of it. He'll stop if Kaveh stops, of course.
The sounds Kaveh makes against his mouth are a blessing to his ears and they are responsible for the heat rushing to his face as well as his groin. He shifts uncomfortably, complying with Kaveh's hands tugging him closer while Wriothesley's hand once again helps itself to Kaveh's thigh. Only this time, he lets it roam languid between his legs to grasp at his cock through his pants. That's when Wriothesley pauses, gasping, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with an apology stuck in his throat. Only he's not sorry.
He does, however, resume grabbing Kaveh's face with both hands to keep on kissing him, pushing him over until he's awkwardly over his body. He drinks up everything Kaveh offers, namely the pretty sight of him, his eyes. He bites at his bottom lip and tugs in hunger and desperation like he's racing against time. )
[ The problem for Wriothesley, then, is that Kaveh won't stop. Pressed right into his arms is the one thing for which he's been wanting, yearning, aching, and he's drunk enough to ignore that panicked little part of him that tries to warn him that it's only happening because they're drunk. How can he say no, even if he knows it's the right thing to do? When this is over, he probably won't get another chance—
And for a single sharp second, it is over— a hand grasps firm at his cock, earning a melodic moan from Kaveh's mouth, only for Wriothesley to pull back with a gasp, the back of his hand swiping across his mouth in a way that makes Kaveh feel sick to his stomach.
It's over, just as quickly as it's begun.
His lips part, trembling, searching for words of apology or something, but his face is seized again in the next moment, and Kaveh groans; one hand stays anchored in Wriothesley's clothes, but the other slides up, curls up over his neck and ear, skimming over the piercings before landing in his hair, tangling in the strands to pull him closer. That low, sinful murmur of his name is answered with another moan, and Kaveh seeks to reward him by angling his leg between both of the Duke's, lifting his knee to nudge against his groin. ]
( He knows he's ruining everything by humoring this idea, whether they're drunk or sober. There's just this essence about Kaveh that transcends his inner inhibitions and dilemmas and etches right into his core. Touching him should be reserved for the gods, yet here he is, these bloody, sinful hands curling around his nape and down his shoulders until they find themselves up into his shirt. Practiced and experienced in the field, and as soft as Kaveh is, he can tell he's not as soft as Navia. He's not thinking about her out of desire, but rather obligation. His mind can only juggle so much at once and if he were to focus solely on Kaveh and all his sounds, he might go feral.
He flinches as soon as Kaveh's knee rolls over his strained cock, pausing again for a moment to catch his breath. He expected to kiss him, that much is true, but he didn't expect to do more. Drunk as Wriothesley is, aching hard in his pants with the sole goal of splitting Kaveh in half, he knows they can't go that far. He groans softly as they press forehead to forehead and Kaveh is tugging and messing with his hair, piercings, and ear. It's irritatingly pleasing, so good he'd risk losing sight of himself through this entire ordeal. But, he's not that type of man after all, and he keeps on kissing him along his jaw, pulling on his hair to tilt his head up so he can tease his neck with an enduring bite. Nobody will know there's a mark if he makes it just at the crook of it, just where his pressure points are. The intensity begins to feel like an apology, ebbing into warmth as he sucks and kisses the other side of his neck while he rolls his shirt back into place. He'll kiss him all night long or until they black out, but that's as far as he's willing to go. )
[ The flinch hurts, cuts— but it's enough to tell Kaveh to back off. Wriothesley is hard, he can feel it even with his knee lowered back to the sofa. But he's nearly been scared off twice, and Kaveh doesn't want that. So his hips, aching to rock up against that enduring strength, remain still under sheer willpower, even as the other's hand tugs his hair sideways to kiss and suck a bite into the skin, carefully placing it where no one will see. Kaveh's head tilts back to allow him the space, breath soft and harsh at the same time into the cool air of the ship's office, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling—
What is he doing? ]
Y-Your Grace.
[ Hands tremble, catch on the other's cheeks, a gentle tug upwards so eyes can meet, and Kaveh can only hope the sudden pain he's feeling is hidden in the dim of the light. He wants this, he asked for this, but— ]
I'm sorry. I'm drunk, I—
[ —shouldn't have, is what Kaveh means to say, but looking into those piercing blue eyes is like falling into an abyss from which he can't escape, and the words are gone, swallowed by their intensity. The architect's arms lift once more, and circle Wriothesley's shoulders, pulling him into another hard, hungry kiss. He's drunk, he shouldn't have, he shouldn't be, but he can't stop himself from pulling the other closer again, teeth nipping and tongue searching his out once more.
He gets it. He won't push it any further than this. But is it so wrong to take what he's given? ]
( He mumbles against his neck, licking across the dip under his Adam's apple, familiarizing himself with his body. Just because they won't get further than this doesn't mean Wriothesley isn't capable of bringing Kaveh to his end with pleasure. He has other ways.
He sighs as Kaveh pulls him to look into each other's eyes. It might be too late to salvage everything, it's written across his face. It drips in every word and every breath like venom and it poisons Wriothesley to succession. His brows crease slightly and he barely shakes his head before Kaveh pulls him back, it's hard to avoid their teeth clashing while they find their bearings again. Kaveh definitely has more weight to his hands than others, he likes the thickness of his bones, and the mass of his muscles. The soft lines between the definition of his masculinity truly make up a stunning man.
It's not sex if their clothes stay on, right? He's already so wet with precum in his pants, it's stupid. Could Kaveh get off like this, he wonders? The deleted pictures of his from the past are so burnt into his memory, he knows just about how big he gets, he felt him, but he wants more.
His tongue rolls hotly around his, giving off a moan of his own. Then he lowers down his hips until they meet exactly where it matters. Wriothesley tries adjusting himself just right, grinding his clothed cock against Kaveh's. It would be too misleading if he undid his pants, so he doesn't. This isn't Kaveh's fault.
Hazed in pleasure and utter need, Wriothesley pulls back to look into his eyes while he's still dryly grinding him into the couch, feeling for his erection against him. )
[ Is it so wrong to take what he's given? No, he thinks in tune with the low sound Wriothesley makes into his mouth, there's not. He should take it and grasp it with both hands, show this man exactly what he's been missing out on by holding Kaveh at arm's length this entire time. His tongue rolls in tandem with the other man's, breath mingling in quick, Firewater-tinted gasps, and when the warden lowers his hips to grind down into the architect's cock, Kaveh cries out— too loud, too needy, too desperate, and relief swells alongside the arousal in the pit of his stomach, because he's wanted—
Wriothesley pulls back, and Kaveh's eyes, carmine flushed and full of affection, blink up into iced blue. So am I, says the Duke, and Kaveh's relief dissipates like air from a pierced balloon, and that pleasant aching coil in his stomach twists violently into something sharp and ugly. A splash of hurt crosses his features, and the blonde sits up, arms raising to shove the larger man off him before he scrambles off the couch, trembling as he stares down at him.
And he probably looks ridiculous standing there, a slender young man dwarfed by the size of the office, wavering on his feet from the alcohol even as he shakes with rage and hurt, visibly aroused and with mussed hair, yet with tears welling in his eyes as his fists clench into hands at each of his hips. ]
No. [ Despite the tremble in his words, his voice is strident, strong and loud with the same passion that glimmers behind his tears. ] I know what everyone thinks of me, but I'm not just some cheap fucking lay, and I'm not going to fuck you just because I'm drunk. I have feelings— I like you, and you know that. So don't— you're not allowed to just take advantage of that when it's obvious you don't feel the same way.
[ He hates the way his voice catches on the last few words, and he turns his head away, not wanting Wriothesley to see the wince, the cringe on his face as the tears slip down over his cheeks. ]
( A person's moan should not have this much power. Yet Kaveh's loud, velvety vocals rip through Wriothesley's defenses entirely. He's enchanting every corner there is to hide in, igniting a fire through his veins bigger than anything. The words said to Navia have never proven more true than now. He wants Kaveh all to himself.
Their kissing is bruising on the lips and their cocks feel so well against one another, heated through the clothes. It's different for him, a new experience of another flavor but essentially just the same as if he had other gear. At least he knows what a cock truly likes, having one himself. That should be advantageous.
Until the moment completely shatters before his eyes. Saliva still clings to his lips when he's pushed back all of a sudden. It's rare to see the Duke himself like a deer in headlights, drunken and silently watching Kaveh's rebuttals unfold the voice of reason. Feeling his lips wet, Wriothesley wipes them once again while staring at him, laying back against the couch with his legs spread. It shouldn't hurt as much as it does considering this entire ploy was doomed from the start, but it does and he hates that it does.
He wobbles up on his feet, clearing his throat to gain back a semblance of control in the situation. Not to claim Kaveh but to calm him. )
I shouldn't have, Kaveh.
( He nearly trips over the low coffee table as he tries to make his way around it towards him. )
For that, I'll take full responsibility. I wasn't thinking right.
( Well, he did think about it, he knew how wrong it was and now it's blowing up on his face, as it should. )
It'll be a long way back and the pipes are dangerous. There are plenty of free rooms here, or at least let me walk you back to yours. We can pretend that didn't happen. I'm sorry.
[ Wriothesley stands, and Kaveh stumbles back a step— and then another as the warden makes his way around the coffee table, and another until he's backed into the wide desk, the blueprints splayed open under his hands and his lips trembling in defiance and hurt as he somehow manages to hold the other's gaze.
How is he meant to pretend it didn't happen when he can feel the sensitivity of the kiss-marked skin at the crook of his neck, when his cock is throbbing in time with his quickened pulse, singing its own melody of desire, when he'll never again be able to unhear what Wriothesley sounds like when he moans, heady and throaty in the most delightful of ways. More tears spill over his lower lids, and he wipes them impatiently away, sniffling, refusing to meet the other's gaze as his arms fold defensively over his chest. Even now he wants to—
He bites the words off before they can rise to his lips. Shakes his head, a stubbornness finding its way over his features. ]
I'll stay in a room here. [ He likes his room, really, but he doesn't want to walk back with Wriothesley, not when he can practically smell the arousal on him, not when it's taking everything in him not to rush into his arms and pick up where they left off just moments ago. ] You don't— you don't have to worry about getting me back safely, you can just.
You should go, Your Grace. [ The title feels stiff in his mouth when he can still taste Wriothesley's tongue on his own. ] I'll find my way back in the morning.
[ He turns to leave, and it's only once he's safely in one of the cabins, door closed behind him, that he lets himself break. ]
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sempiternals2023-11-16 11:24 pm
no subject
(and if he startles a little at the sudden sensation of a strong hand high on his thigh, he hopes he hides it well enough so as not to paint his attraction all over the walls for Wriothesley to see yet again— they've moved past this, he can't drag them back— but he can imagine how good those hands would feel, pressing him down into a mattress or maybe even this couch, stern mouth hot at his ear, his throat—)
and the sound of his laugh, throaty in a way that sends shivers down Kaveh's spine, and surprisingly warm— or maybe that's just the liquor. His own eyes are half-lidded as he peers in return. ]
Mm. As long as it's not about family, or money, you can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer honestly.
no subject
If he makes a wrong move, everything they worked for will be gone. He looks down at his lips, at the parting of his shirt, strained for more. )
If you could get anything you want right this second, what would it be?
no subject
His own—
anything you want
Ah, maybe he made a mistake after all. To answer this question honestly is to shatter all over again everything they've worked so carefully toward rebuilding, to destroy any trust he's managed to earn back— Kaveh chews at his lower lip, but the answer is on the tip of his tongue nonetheless.
He promised honesty.
His lips part. He wets them with an anxious swipe of his tongue. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse— but his eyes, locked on Wriothesley's face, are bright with sincerity. ]
...You.
no subject
He thought Kaveh would have moved on then, with the guy at the bar or someone else. He could have anybody, so why is he still single?
Wriothesley stares at those lips, gaze alternating up to those red eyes. He’s always so shimmery, so full of passion and dreams.
The answer takes off a weight off his shoulders, and that same hand that was once on his thighs lifts up over his jaw. Through his hair and around his skull so he can bring their faces closer. )
Don’t be scared.
( Forehead to forehead now, he feels his throbbing heart at his throat. The scent and taste of Firewater is hot on Kaveh’s lips, so he leans closer, tilting his head gradually so they can lock. His lips are soft and warm and they feel just right against him. Fingers curl around the back of his hairline so he can gently tangle them through golden locks.
Fuck.
The self control has to be immense for Wriothesley to not bury himself into him, clothes on and everything. He breathes hot through his nostrils, breathlessly rolling his tongue between their lips for a better taste. It changes nothing. Whether he’s a man or a woman, he realizes none of it matters. )
no subject
[ But Kaveh silences himself, because that would be a lie, and he promised he wouldn't lie.
(Of course, he also promised himself he'd stop chasing after the Duke's affections, and look where he is now— all but draped in his lap, their foreheads pressed together, Wriothesley's fingers in his hair and Snezhnayan Firewater on his breath.)
Instead, he just sits there, looking at him, red eyes on blue, breath trembling and heart pounding in his chest that he's irrationally sure the other will hear it. Surely the other won't actually kiss him, surely it will be just another of those frustrating, teasing little pecks that drove him crazy the first time; after all, Wriothesley doesn't like men, does he, so—
It's his thoughts this time that are silenced by the press of the warden's mouth onto his, by the fingers tangling into his hair as he's pulled close, and there's a moment where Kaveh's eyes widen and he forgets to answer with anything but a surprised, molten sound, because oh he didn't expect this, could never predict the lock of those firm lips against his, or the way the sensation sends butterflies racing down his veins.
He recovers quickly, hands reaching, grasping the other man by the front of his shirt and pulling him yet closer, tongue arching to meet that which pushes into his mouth, another soft sound on his lips. The Duke's mouth tastes like the same Firewater Kaveh knows is on his own tongue, but beyond that there's a vague hint of some type of tea, something so distinctly him that it makes the blonde shudder in delight as much as the kiss itself does. ]
no subject
The sounds Kaveh makes against his mouth are a blessing to his ears and they are responsible for the heat rushing to his face as well as his groin. He shifts uncomfortably, complying with Kaveh's hands tugging him closer while Wriothesley's hand once again helps itself to Kaveh's thigh. Only this time, he lets it roam languid between his legs to grasp at his cock through his pants. That's when Wriothesley pauses, gasping, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with an apology stuck in his throat. Only he's not sorry.
He does, however, resume grabbing Kaveh's face with both hands to keep on kissing him, pushing him over until he's awkwardly over his body. He drinks up everything Kaveh offers, namely the pretty sight of him, his eyes. He bites at his bottom lip and tugs in hunger and desperation like he's racing against time. )
Kaveh.
no subject
And for a single sharp second, it is over— a hand grasps firm at his cock, earning a melodic moan from Kaveh's mouth, only for Wriothesley to pull back with a gasp, the back of his hand swiping across his mouth in a way that makes Kaveh feel sick to his stomach.
It's over, just as quickly as it's begun.
His lips part, trembling, searching for words of apology or something, but his face is seized again in the next moment, and Kaveh groans; one hand stays anchored in Wriothesley's clothes, but the other slides up, curls up over his neck and ear, skimming over the piercings before landing in his hair, tangling in the strands to pull him closer. That low, sinful murmur of his name is answered with another moan, and Kaveh seeks to reward him by angling his leg between both of the Duke's, lifting his knee to nudge against his groin. ]
no subject
He flinches as soon as Kaveh's knee rolls over his strained cock, pausing again for a moment to catch his breath. He expected to kiss him, that much is true, but he didn't expect to do more. Drunk as Wriothesley is, aching hard in his pants with the sole goal of splitting Kaveh in half, he knows they can't go that far. He groans softly as they press forehead to forehead and Kaveh is tugging and messing with his hair, piercings, and ear. It's irritatingly pleasing, so good he'd risk losing sight of himself through this entire ordeal. But, he's not that type of man after all, and he keeps on kissing him along his jaw, pulling on his hair to tilt his head up so he can tease his neck with an enduring bite. Nobody will know there's a mark if he makes it just at the crook of it, just where his pressure points are. The intensity begins to feel like an apology, ebbing into warmth as he sucks and kisses the other side of his neck while he rolls his shirt back into place. He'll kiss him all night long or until they black out, but that's as far as he's willing to go. )
no subject
What is he doing? ]
Y-Your Grace.
[ Hands tremble, catch on the other's cheeks, a gentle tug upwards so eyes can meet, and Kaveh can only hope the sudden pain he's feeling is hidden in the dim of the light. He wants this, he asked for this, but— ]
I'm sorry. I'm drunk, I—
[ —shouldn't have, is what Kaveh means to say, but looking into those piercing blue eyes is like falling into an abyss from which he can't escape, and the words are gone, swallowed by their intensity. The architect's arms lift once more, and circle Wriothesley's shoulders, pulling him into another hard, hungry kiss. He's drunk, he shouldn't have, he shouldn't be, but he can't stop himself from pulling the other closer again, teeth nipping and tongue searching his out once more.
He gets it. He won't push it any further than this. But is it so wrong to take what he's given? ]
no subject
He sighs as Kaveh pulls him to look into each other's eyes. It might be too late to salvage everything, it's written across his face. It drips in every word and every breath like venom and it poisons Wriothesley to succession. His brows crease slightly and he barely shakes his head before Kaveh pulls him back, it's hard to avoid their teeth clashing while they find their bearings again. Kaveh definitely has more weight to his hands than others, he likes the thickness of his bones, and the mass of his muscles. The soft lines between the definition of his masculinity truly make up a stunning man.
It's not sex if their clothes stay on, right? He's already so wet with precum in his pants, it's stupid. Could Kaveh get off like this, he wonders? The deleted pictures of his from the past are so burnt into his memory, he knows just about how big he gets, he felt him, but he wants more.
His tongue rolls hotly around his, giving off a moan of his own. Then he lowers down his hips until they meet exactly where it matters. Wriothesley tries adjusting himself just right, grinding his clothed cock against Kaveh's. It would be too misleading if he undid his pants, so he doesn't. This isn't Kaveh's fault.
Hazed in pleasure and utter need, Wriothesley pulls back to look into his eyes while he's still dryly grinding him into the couch, feeling for his erection against him. )
So am I.
The drunk part.
no subject
Wriothesley pulls back, and Kaveh's eyes, carmine flushed and full of affection, blink up into iced blue. So am I, says the Duke, and Kaveh's relief dissipates like air from a pierced balloon, and that pleasant aching coil in his stomach twists violently into something sharp and ugly. A splash of hurt crosses his features, and the blonde sits up, arms raising to shove the larger man off him before he scrambles off the couch, trembling as he stares down at him.
And he probably looks ridiculous standing there, a slender young man dwarfed by the size of the office, wavering on his feet from the alcohol even as he shakes with rage and hurt, visibly aroused and with mussed hair, yet with tears welling in his eyes as his fists clench into hands at each of his hips. ]
No. [ Despite the tremble in his words, his voice is strident, strong and loud with the same passion that glimmers behind his tears. ] I know what everyone thinks of me, but I'm not just some cheap fucking lay, and I'm not going to fuck you just because I'm drunk. I have feelings— I like you, and you know that. So don't— you're not allowed to just take advantage of that when it's obvious you don't feel the same way.
[ He hates the way his voice catches on the last few words, and he turns his head away, not wanting Wriothesley to see the wince, the cringe on his face as the tears slip down over his cheeks. ]
I want to go back to my room now.
no subject
Their kissing is bruising on the lips and their cocks feel so well against one another, heated through the clothes. It's different for him, a new experience of another flavor but essentially just the same as if he had other gear. At least he knows what a cock truly likes, having one himself. That should be advantageous.
Until the moment completely shatters before his eyes. Saliva still clings to his lips when he's pushed back all of a sudden. It's rare to see the Duke himself like a deer in headlights, drunken and silently watching Kaveh's rebuttals unfold the voice of reason. Feeling his lips wet, Wriothesley wipes them once again while staring at him, laying back against the couch with his legs spread. It shouldn't hurt as much as it does considering this entire ploy was doomed from the start, but it does and he hates that it does.
He wobbles up on his feet, clearing his throat to gain back a semblance of control in the situation. Not to claim Kaveh but to calm him. )
I shouldn't have, Kaveh.
( He nearly trips over the low coffee table as he tries to make his way around it towards him. )
For that, I'll take full responsibility. I wasn't thinking right.
( Well, he did think about it, he knew how wrong it was and now it's blowing up on his face, as it should. )
It'll be a long way back and the pipes are dangerous. There are plenty of free rooms here, or at least let me walk you back to yours. We can pretend that didn't happen. I'm sorry.
no subject
How is he meant to pretend it didn't happen when he can feel the sensitivity of the kiss-marked skin at the crook of his neck, when his cock is throbbing in time with his quickened pulse, singing its own melody of desire, when he'll never again be able to unhear what Wriothesley sounds like when he moans, heady and throaty in the most delightful of ways. More tears spill over his lower lids, and he wipes them impatiently away, sniffling, refusing to meet the other's gaze as his arms fold defensively over his chest. Even now he wants to—
He bites the words off before they can rise to his lips. Shakes his head, a stubbornness finding its way over his features. ]
I'll stay in a room here. [ He likes his room, really, but he doesn't want to walk back with Wriothesley, not when he can practically smell the arousal on him, not when it's taking everything in him not to rush into his arms and pick up where they left off just moments ago. ] You don't— you don't have to worry about getting me back safely, you can just.
You should go, Your Grace. [ The title feels stiff in his mouth when he can still taste Wriothesley's tongue on his own. ] I'll find my way back in the morning.
[ He turns to leave, and it's only once he's safely in one of the cabins, door closed behind him, that he lets himself break. ]