( it feels crass to him, to so blatantly point out the moral shortcomings of fitz's body, as if there should be a gentleman's agreement to simply not acknowledge his erection — then again, there isn't much innocence in embry's saunter forward, every movement designed as if to flaunt some particular portion of his body worthy of appraisal, or at least contemplation. corded thighs, muscled stomach, dimpled chin. proud cock. a warrior's body, fitz might think, if it was coming at him with any hint of malice, if it had a sword in it's hand, if it hissed the name piebald bastard while looking at the shock of white hair against fitz's forehead. instead, he finds inevitability in embry's eyes, the countenance of a man who has walked before a hundred men, who has knelt to the same, who knows what he's doing, who's confident in his ability to do it. a king, conquering.
and yet, fitz doesn't feel like a soldier saddling up for battle — he feels a boy, with an excuse on his tongue i do not bed with men. he has not, does not. will not? thinks not, but still there's his body to contend with, a traitor in his midst, cock bobbing with lust in embry's hand as his chest rises and falls, eyes screwed shut. his body likes the sting of it, the painful grip of embry's fist tightening around his sensitive flesh, pain to offset pleasure, which fitz has never understood how to receive. )
No.
( it doesn't feel good to want a man to touch him. it doesn't feel good to cum blood and bleed cum, but he's here, dripping onto embry's fingers, rose scented liquid that eventually thickens into the leathery flesh of petals, plastered to his hand. all of it is obscene, all of it embarrassing. his hips lift into him, instinctively trying to fuck his fist. )
I want. ( his teeth sink into his lip. whatever he says, he knows it will be equal parts lies and truth. he decides to go about this as he would go about torture — to focus on one thing he intends to say, and say nothing more, nothing less. ) I want — to be released.
( but he doesn't, not really. if he was free, he could stop embry — could do anything, with his big body and assassin hands, and then what? he'd still have flowers in his body, still have need of some assistance. at least like this he doesn't have to admit anything. he can be here, strangled, cumming, made to play a part, made to be victim, with no admittance of guilt from himself. he can say embry forced him. he can pretend not to like it — he plays no active role in his mentality's own demise. everything belongs to someone else, including the blame. )
👏👏👏 cw homophobia internalized or otherwise
and yet, fitz doesn't feel like a soldier saddling up for battle — he feels a boy, with an excuse on his tongue i do not bed with men. he has not, does not. will not? thinks not, but still there's his body to contend with, a traitor in his midst, cock bobbing with lust in embry's hand as his chest rises and falls, eyes screwed shut. his body likes the sting of it, the painful grip of embry's fist tightening around his sensitive flesh, pain to offset pleasure, which fitz has never understood how to receive. )
No.
( it doesn't feel good to want a man to touch him. it doesn't feel good to cum blood and bleed cum, but he's here, dripping onto embry's fingers, rose scented liquid that eventually thickens into the leathery flesh of petals, plastered to his hand. all of it is obscene, all of it embarrassing. his hips lift into him, instinctively trying to fuck his fist. )
I want. ( his teeth sink into his lip. whatever he says, he knows it will be equal parts lies and truth. he decides to go about this as he would go about torture — to focus on one thing he intends to say, and say nothing more, nothing less. ) I want — to be released.
( but he doesn't, not really. if he was free, he could stop embry — could do anything, with his big body and assassin hands, and then what? he'd still have flowers in his body, still have need of some assistance. at least like this he doesn't have to admit anything. he can be here, strangled, cumming, made to play a part, made to be victim, with no admittance of guilt from himself. he can say embry forced him. he can pretend not to like it — he plays no active role in his mentality's own demise. everything belongs to someone else, including the blame. )