[ He doesnât know why he feels that pull, a current heâs lost in. Upside down, upright, side to side⌠Lyney is pulled in so many directions but the one that makes sense is against Wriothesleyâs mouth, salvaging things that cured his loneliness.
He never kissed anyone so truly as he did now besides Lynette â no lovers he took to complete jobs or make ends meet. So when the hands he fantasized about touches him, secured him firm on to his lap⌠Lyney caves. A hot whimper, frustrations all but a choked sob into his messy embrace. ]
Wriothesley.
[ Lyney murmurs, lips hovering over his before diving back in. Playing with fire he shouldnât. Why did he have to prod? Why did he have to try and unshackle the chains that leave them bound to the Fatui?
This was less painful to think about.
The scent of cologne, the taste of bitter tea sweeter on his tongue⌠]
[ His heart seizes with the way Lyney says his name--has him wondering for a moment if he's done wrong by Lyney, if he's hurting him, clutching him too close in the sheer sense of need--but Lyney comes back for him, and he kisses him in kind, slipping his tongue past his lips and into his mouth. The hand at his hip moves to the small of his back, rubbing small soothing circles there; the hand curved at Lyney's head caresses his hair lightly.
He's back to where he was before: a head so full of everything, it ultimately amounts to nothing. There are a million different things that kick and scream inside him; the meeting with Arlecchino, the hopeless will to save Lyney if he can, the heat rising in him to thaw what he never knew was cold. All of them he expresses in his kiss, his touch, pulling Lyney closer, closer. He's distantly aware of papers that have scattered under their movements, an inkwell kicked over. None of it matters. Closer. Anything to be close to him, this boy who's walled him off for so long. ]
[ Touches do so much for someone so young and starved. The canvassing rub of his fingers heat the boy up, but they never settle him. Lyney is moving fast, stealing his breath with each kiss.
Desperate as he was for answers, heâs scared of them. What if at the end of the kiss nothing is that? He is left dragging those balled fists instead to grab on the back of Wriothesleyâs hair for naught? A shift turns into a grind and want was so clear on him now. Wriothesley gives in, holding him tenderly and Lyney knows it. Where the boy is rough, pawing and full of tension... Wriothesley braces him just to keep him there.
Their kiss is not like his and Lynetteâs and part of him is thankful for it. He lets aggressions out, tongue wrestling with the Dukeâs with that same competitive edge theyâve had. The one that felt fun and okay to have.
Why did Wriothesley have to care and why did Lyney have to bite back those moans with pitiful croaks of need? He doesnât stop, not now. It distracts him, deep down. Stops him from asking those same fucking questions... the kind that would go against the very vows he took and the debt rooted in his soul. His Lynette, his sweet Lynette is alone â alive, but alone because of her. Father...
A million thoughts flutter in his mind, but with each second of their kiss, Father slips from his mind... The card game, the teasing jokes about tea, the banter... all little moments stolen from something that shouldn't be. Something growing... and Lyney had never had that. Not as a magician, not as an orphan, and not as a lover especially. The confusion makes him slow the kiss over time, but he doesn't stop.
A creature of heat seeks out the warmth any way he can. ]
Edited (REWORDING BC IM AWAKE ) 2024-01-27 21:16 (UTC)
[ Wriothesley recognizes the competitive edge in Lyney's kiss, the ever-present need to get a one-up on him even now as they float lost in a new sea, and Wriothesley does his best to match the pace. It's been long, so long since he's felt another person in this way--before he became the Administrator, sometime and someplace dead and gone to him--but he doesn't find that he missed it so much as he's captured something new in Lyney, greater than lust, bigger than any simple means of sating desire.
He holds fast to him as Lyney paws and searches and grabs--I've got you, he thinks, wonders if they're close enough that Lyney might hear his thoughts, wonders if the heartbeat thudding against his ribs spells the words somehow. It's the closest he has to an anchor in all of this, the only thing that's sure as so many other thoughts fly by and fall apart: what comes next? Does anything at all come next? Do they carry on as they were when this is over?
Could he even stand to?
The kiss slows in time, Wriothesley breathing heavy and hot against Lyney's face, brushing wayward hairs from the side of Lyney's face with a light hand. The sounds of the Fortress and its endless sprawl of pipes seem muted and distant against what the two of them generate: the slide of their tongues, the touch of their lips, the rustling of clothing between them. ]
[ One bitter thought was there and then swept away by relief. Lyney doesnât feel alone â doesnât think of Lynette much at all in some damn miracle of events. Strong, protective arms and those idle touches keep him centered nicely.
It takes an immense trust for this to continue on, Lyney knows that. Wriothesley sacrificed boundaries and gives into something like Lyney does. They werenât inmate and warden, subject and Duke â if was deeper than that. Lyney isnât sure why even as those fears in his heart and tears in his eyes keeps him kissing.
What had he done? What awaits after those lips pry themselves away and words beg to spill past their lips like spit? Lyney has to know.
Slowly the boy pulls back, webs connecting them and Lyneyâs palms on either side of Wriothesleyâs scarred neck. They share a breath, deep and heavy⌠and even then no words follow.
Fluttery gaze, the tip of his nose to the Dukeâs â hurt still rests under the gestures but he stays close and hopes it can be lost. Just for a short while to not feel alone. ]
[ He rests his forehead to Lyney's, eyes half-lidded. Heart in his throat. It's been so long since he was this close to someone--even longer since he was truly at a loss for what to do next, longer since he feared what someone might say or do to him. Everything else, there's been an answer to; the prophecy, his time as an inmate, the incident that sent him to Meropide in the first place. For once, Wriothesley sees no immediate path forward--just feels Lyney close to him, hands near his scars, the faint scrape of his stubble at Lyney's smooth unblemished cheeks. They breathe. Suspended in silence.
A current runs between them. Warm and electric and so much more fragile than anything that came before. He doesn't want it to break yet, doesn't want to let go now that he's finally holding on--and so after the drawn-out moment of their silence, he angles forward to kiss him again. Slow. Gentler now.
The closest thing to an answer--the only thing that seems certain in a time so fraught with question, abstract as it may be--comes to him as their lips touch once more. He has to protect Lyney. Has to find a secret space and build a structure anew, this time, on his own. A shelter to save a soul. ]
[ He has only been the one to nudge forward. Protect his twin, shower her with intimacy and let her navigate her feelings and attractions. The fire between them was burning â a necessity to keep each other alive, to keep them from growing frigid and cold to the world. But⌠what Wriothesley gives him here was similar â but Lyney has never been on the receiving end. Itâs⌠different.
Protection, vows unsaid and need on the tip of his tongue. Lyney was ready to be thrown into solitary, to make the choice so Wriothesley didnât need to. Stop chasing Father, stop saving him when he didnât need to be savedâŚ
Pulled from the maw of a wolf ready to devour what could hurt their pack, even their own. Lyney doesnât know what happens in the next few seconds that frees him momentarily but that kiss was welcomed again.
A coward, he decides, but he doesnât care. Lyney thumbs softly at the cheek of his ârivalâ, his other hand fumbling down between them. A palm to Wriothesleyâs chest, curling his tie around his wrist to keep him kissing. Slow, thoughtful, but just as distracting as the brutish force Lyney took first.
Between their kiss, Lyney speaks â lust crept in the back of his throat and voice a little more haggard. ]
You taste â [ Deep turns into a flutter of his lips, tongue curling against Wriothesleyâs lips. ] â so good.
[ He babbles, charm not working in his favor for his usual set of dirty talk but it works enough. Heâs stiff in his pants, aching for relief but they arenât there yet. Lyney can see that much. ]
Donât stop.
[ That was all he could fathom before tugging him into that deep kiss once more. ]
[ Lyney's words are all it takes. The years of solitude catch up with him in one fell swoop; he's achingly hard now, cock twitching from within his slacks, no doubt felt against the inside of Lyney's pale slender thigh. Wriothesley doesn't usually want for company, finds his desires tempered within the day-to-day and all the tasks it brings, but now--now it all seems to come back on him with a vengeance, a longing that would surprise him if not for the haze spreading fast within his head.
They can't go further than this--he knows, he knows--but he can't help the soft needy grunt from deep within his throat or the way his hands wander, first up Lyney's thighs, up and over his back, then settling at either of his hips. He's so slight beneath the greater spread of Wriothesley's hands, so tiny, nearly feminine. Nothing like the men Wriothesley has been with until now. Lyney is so many firsts in a life that doesn't seem to have room for any more, so many exceptions in a time and place where those can never be. He couldn't make sense of it even if he wanted to--not with Lyney's tongue so sweet against his, not with the way his hips pitch lightly into the heat against him. ]
[ Day-to-day keeps things busy... but at night? Lyney wondered if Wriothesley was lonely. Not in the same way he was â just if all work and no play had done a number on the Duke. The nights are what gets Lyney the most... how big the bed feels and how empty it feels. It's why their cardgame lingered on his mind, why he tried that silly tea so different than the blends Lynette made him...
It's only now that he realizes the company the Duke offered wasn't as bad as he thought.
Panting embraces, quick heartbeats were nothing now that they could feel how the other reacts. They're both stiff, unable to lie to themselves. Lyney presses down, his back slouching back into the edge of the desk to tug Wriothesley further into him. The kiss continues, at least another handful of minutes.
He's not sure where he wants those hands to settle but the slight wave of his body actively trying to rut down into that lap doesn't fight the hold on his hips. Wriothesley, most likely, could nearly touch his hands together in that grip. He's secure, safe, and guarded. He allows the Duke to touch him as he sees fit.
But... budding attractions won't be enough for them both to act out so crassly past this. All they do is ache in their pants for one another, bodies full of want and hearts full of conflict. Their mind stops things from going deeper â but Lyney still kisses with such a command it was hard to pull back.
It's only fair.
He wants to sink his teeth into Wriothesley's neck, unbuckle his pants and forget so many things but... Lyney has to be reasonable. Right? ]
You don't have to.
[ Touch him, kiss him, care about him â so many things unsaid with those hazed eyes vulnerable and lips raw. ]
[ But he does. He's known cold nights without shelter, known the gnaw of days-long hunger low in his stomach. Known how unbearable it is to go back once the need has finally been met. A floor to sleep on for one night only. A bowl of soup that resets hunger's timer. Now that he's known Lyney's warmth, been sated by his kiss, the thought of turning back--what they'll inevtitably have to do, he realizes, coming down from this high even as he claws to stay afloat within it--is intolerable. Now that Lyney's opened this door, he does have to do this. For himself. For his own heart beating out of control.
But he's not the only one in the picture.
Lyney is so many things he can't begin to put a pin in one and focus on it: an inmate. Quite a few years his junior. The next Knave. Unshakable in his loyalty to the Fatui. Someone else's lover. Due to be gone in just a matter of months. Lyney himself had said they might never see one another again. Would he prefer it that way?
This boy he's sworn to protect--does he even want protecting?
His grip at Lyney's hips relaxes, and now he finds he's not sure what to do with his hands. Not sure what to do with much of anything, really. He is, for the first time in years, in something like freefall. Old reflexes creak to life within him, past protections that once kept his heart safe when nothing else would. For a long time, he's silent. In one hand he touches Lyney's fingertips, barely feeling them at his own. ]
You worry too much. [ The words are faint in his ears, distant. ] ...If the guards catch you out past curfew again, they might not be so lenient.
[ The pain sets in that Wriothesley being one of the few people with a vested interest in him without asking for anything... presents problems. He can't ignore the interest in his mind, how Wriothesley had crept his way into fantasies and the bitterness he had for him eased away like a bruise.
Lyney's still catching his breath, his legs spread and that cock so undeniably defined pinned tight under his clothing. Everything is indicating how badly Lyney wants the Duke, how walls fell down and frustrations boil over. But fingers loosen around a tie and Wriothesley's replaces it. ]
I worry too much. Me. [ He thinks worry would have kept him angry and out of this room but here he is. Unable to say no to the man, just as Wriothesley called it. ] They report to you... do you mean you may not be lenient?
[ Technicalities. For every time Wriothesley lost in cards, he certainly reminded Lyney that the rules change on the fly here when Wriothesley finds them both suitable. But, the boy can read the room. Slouched back with the edge of the desk digging into his back, he knows he needs to move.
This kind of raw experience sits in his heart, unable to fully process what was happening. ]
I'm going to get up, dust myself off... and go, then. As you always do, you frustrate me. [ Makes him question everything. Even with his admittance of withdrawing â Lyney sounds like he didn't want to. There's a sadness still in his eyes, heavy enough to cast a shadow in such a warmth. ] Probably kick myself when I get to bed, but...
[ His fingers drag over Wriothesley's knuckle, thoughtful. ]
[ God, he doesn't want him to go--he threads his fingers between Lyney's and squeezes his hand lightly with the thought--but he can't stay, either. Not like this. Not when Wriothesley is weaker than himself, a shadow of the man he knows he can be.
It should be easy. Tell him that's for the best, make sure he gets back to his dorm, or at least away from here. Anywhere but here. In his mind he envisions what should follow: a curt nod, helping Lyney to his feet, locking the door of his office behind him. He knows what to do. All that's left is to make it real. He steels himself, tries to find what should come to him naturally. He can't bring himself to meet Lyney's eyes. ]
I'm not going to punish you. [ Said flatly, measured. ] ...Rest assured. Think of this as my mistake.
[ He is, after all, the one who's been inappropriate. Perhaps he's made a joke of himself, thinking he could protect Lyney--he's gone and taken advantage of a troubled teen, one isolated beneath the waves, far from the people he loves most. Another sin to confront, an undoing of whatever virtue he's scraped together in this lifetime. But he can't take it back now. All he can do is collect himself--calm his head, put the brakes on, be the voice of reason this situation needs. ]
[ Each time Wriothesley reaches out in small ways, Lyney receives in kind. Fingertips light and soft to tough hands that had molded this place until it was safe. Squirms that keeps him rooted down into Wriothesley's lap, where the man vowed to ensure no harm came to him as they kissed. Explored... tested waters.
Wriothesley noticeably doesn't look at him and Lyney knows why now. The shock on his own face hollows all the joy from it and everything that tasted so sweet... feels bitter.
Think of this as my mistake.
He remembers nobles regretting their investment in him, favoring Lynette for reasons that churn his stomach. Mistakes that Father ensures never fill her home â mistake, mistake, mistake.
This was all a mistake. It had to be. He's right and Lyney was a fool for seeing it any other way.
Lyney pulls his hand from Wriothesley's and his hand snaps the man's gaze up. He doesn't get to say that and not stare at him in the eyes. The breathing from his own arousal and desperation is gone and a steady and calm voice, sad in its own way, was all that was left. ]
... Please ensure my letters are delivered timely.
[ One leg fumbles over as he pulls away â scrambling to his feet and away from the man. Legs shaky, hand coming up to wipe away at his mouth to pry away Wriothesley's taste as he walks towards the staircase. ]
My lips are sealed, Your Grace. I'll avoid breaking curfew from now on.
It's only fair. They had this discussion once, didn't they? What it means to accept one's sin. Right here, right now, that means looking at Lyney: beholding the hurt, the completely avoidable pain he's caused in letting this happen between them. He holds Lyney's gaze, eyes steely and even, until the boy turns away from him, headed for the staircase.
This is how it should be. He needn't say anything more. Let him go, and treat this as the momentary indiscretion it is. ]
Inmate 7646.
[ For someone who prides himself upon his ability to let go...Lyney sure has a way of undermining that. Of making it disappear. ]
...Don't misunderstand. I have a responsibility to put a stop to these things, no matter how I feel about them.
[ He straightens his tie, willing the warmth from his hands. ]
[ What is sin to a non-believer? Fontanians were born of it, forgiven and still... He believes in magic. Believes miracles are magic in their own way, not divine or holy.
The true magic spark was that catalyst of a kiss â one part need, one part frustration. Lyney trespasses into places in Wriothesley's mind where he shouldn't be. A supple, young body so willing, aching for Wriothesley and it's clear â but the restraint the man shows hurts. Why? This shouldn't happen and until the second Wriothesley asked about that meeting... on if the Knave was cruel to him â he didn't need for it to.
His hand holds onto the railing tight.
Perhaps the Duke was born for the stage as well, for how quickly he pulls the mask on under the sweet, thinly-veiled circumstances. Whatever Wriothesley feels... Lyney won't ever know. ]
Goodnight.
[ A young man that was use to someone at his side, use to being with someone is left alone with his thoughts and that will be the torture. Each light step echoes in the office and with the resounding thud of his door... Wriothesley is alone and Lyney is just another mistake. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
He never kissed anyone so truly as he did now besides Lynette â no lovers he took to complete jobs or make ends meet. So when the hands he fantasized about touches him, secured him firm on to his lap⌠Lyney caves. A hot whimper, frustrations all but a choked sob into his messy embrace. ]
Wriothesley.
[ Lyney murmurs, lips hovering over his before diving back in. Playing with fire he shouldnât. Why did he have to prod? Why did he have to try and unshackle the chains that leave them bound to the Fatui?
This was less painful to think about.
The scent of cologne, the taste of bitter tea sweeter on his tongue⌠]
no subject
He's back to where he was before: a head so full of everything, it ultimately amounts to nothing. There are a million different things that kick and scream inside him; the meeting with Arlecchino, the hopeless will to save Lyney if he can, the heat rising in him to thaw what he never knew was cold. All of them he expresses in his kiss, his touch, pulling Lyney closer, closer. He's distantly aware of papers that have scattered under their movements, an inkwell kicked over. None of it matters. Closer. Anything to be close to him, this boy who's walled him off for so long. ]
no subject
Desperate as he was for answers, heâs scared of them. What if at the end of the kiss nothing is that? He is left dragging those balled fists instead to grab on the back of Wriothesleyâs hair for naught? A shift turns into a grind and want was so clear on him now. Wriothesley gives in, holding him tenderly and Lyney knows it. Where the boy is rough, pawing and full of tension... Wriothesley braces him just to keep him there.
Their kiss is not like his and Lynetteâs and part of him is thankful for it. He lets aggressions out, tongue wrestling with the Dukeâs with that same competitive edge theyâve had. The one that felt fun and okay to have.
Why did Wriothesley have to care and why did Lyney have to bite back those moans with pitiful croaks of need? He doesnât stop, not now. It distracts him, deep down. Stops him from asking those same fucking questions... the kind that would go against the very vows he took and the debt rooted in his soul. His Lynette, his sweet Lynette is alone â alive, but alone because of her. Father...
A million thoughts flutter in his mind, but with each second of their kiss, Father slips from his mind... The card game, the teasing jokes about tea, the banter... all little moments stolen from something that shouldn't be. Something growing... and Lyney had never had that. Not as a magician, not as an orphan, and not as a lover especially. The confusion makes him slow the kiss over time, but he doesn't stop.
A creature of heat seeks out the warmth any way he can. ]
no subject
He holds fast to him as Lyney paws and searches and grabs--I've got you, he thinks, wonders if they're close enough that Lyney might hear his thoughts, wonders if the heartbeat thudding against his ribs spells the words somehow. It's the closest he has to an anchor in all of this, the only thing that's sure as so many other thoughts fly by and fall apart: what comes next? Does anything at all come next? Do they carry on as they were when this is over?
Could he even stand to?
The kiss slows in time, Wriothesley breathing heavy and hot against Lyney's face, brushing wayward hairs from the side of Lyney's face with a light hand. The sounds of the Fortress and its endless sprawl of pipes seem muted and distant against what the two of them generate: the slide of their tongues, the touch of their lips, the rustling of clothing between them. ]
no subject
It takes an immense trust for this to continue on, Lyney knows that. Wriothesley sacrificed boundaries and gives into something like Lyney does. They werenât inmate and warden, subject and Duke â if was deeper than that. Lyney isnât sure why even as those fears in his heart and tears in his eyes keeps him kissing.
What had he done? What awaits after those lips pry themselves away and words beg to spill past their lips like spit? Lyney has to know.
Slowly the boy pulls back, webs connecting them and Lyneyâs palms on either side of Wriothesleyâs scarred neck. They share a breath, deep and heavy⌠and even then no words follow.
Fluttery gaze, the tip of his nose to the Dukeâs â hurt still rests under the gestures but he stays close and hopes it can be lost. Just for a short while to not feel alone. ]
no subject
A current runs between them. Warm and electric and so much more fragile than anything that came before. He doesn't want it to break yet, doesn't want to let go now that he's finally holding on--and so after the drawn-out moment of their silence, he angles forward to kiss him again. Slow. Gentler now.
The closest thing to an answer--the only thing that seems certain in a time so fraught with question, abstract as it may be--comes to him as their lips touch once more. He has to protect Lyney. Has to find a secret space and build a structure anew, this time, on his own. A shelter to save a soul. ]
no subject
Protection, vows unsaid and need on the tip of his tongue. Lyney was ready to be thrown into solitary, to make the choice so Wriothesley didnât need to. Stop chasing Father, stop saving him when he didnât need to be savedâŚ
Pulled from the maw of a wolf ready to devour what could hurt their pack, even their own. Lyney doesnât know what happens in the next few seconds that frees him momentarily but that kiss was welcomed again.
A coward, he decides, but he doesnât care. Lyney thumbs softly at the cheek of his ârivalâ, his other hand fumbling down between them. A palm to Wriothesleyâs chest, curling his tie around his wrist to keep him kissing. Slow, thoughtful, but just as distracting as the brutish force Lyney took first.
Between their kiss, Lyney speaks â lust crept in the back of his throat and voice a little more haggard. ]
You taste â [ Deep turns into a flutter of his lips, tongue curling against Wriothesleyâs lips. ] â so good.
[ He babbles, charm not working in his favor for his usual set of dirty talk but it works enough. Heâs stiff in his pants, aching for relief but they arenât there yet. Lyney can see that much. ]
Donât stop.
[ That was all he could fathom before tugging him into that deep kiss once more. ]
no subject
They can't go further than this--he knows, he knows--but he can't help the soft needy grunt from deep within his throat or the way his hands wander, first up Lyney's thighs, up and over his back, then settling at either of his hips. He's so slight beneath the greater spread of Wriothesley's hands, so tiny, nearly feminine. Nothing like the men Wriothesley has been with until now. Lyney is so many firsts in a life that doesn't seem to have room for any more, so many exceptions in a time and place where those can never be. He couldn't make sense of it even if he wanted to--not with Lyney's tongue so sweet against his, not with the way his hips pitch lightly into the heat against him. ]
no subject
It's only now that he realizes the company the Duke offered wasn't as bad as he thought.
Panting embraces, quick heartbeats were nothing now that they could feel how the other reacts. They're both stiff, unable to lie to themselves. Lyney presses down, his back slouching back into the edge of the desk to tug Wriothesley further into him. The kiss continues, at least another handful of minutes.
He's not sure where he wants those hands to settle but the slight wave of his body actively trying to rut down into that lap doesn't fight the hold on his hips. Wriothesley, most likely, could nearly touch his hands together in that grip. He's secure, safe, and guarded. He allows the Duke to touch him as he sees fit.
But... budding attractions won't be enough for them both to act out so crassly past this. All they do is ache in their pants for one another, bodies full of want and hearts full of conflict. Their mind stops things from going deeper â but Lyney still kisses with such a command it was hard to pull back.
It's only fair.
He wants to sink his teeth into Wriothesley's neck, unbuckle his pants and forget so many things but... Lyney has to be reasonable. Right? ]
You don't have to.
[ Touch him, kiss him, care about him â so many things unsaid with those hazed eyes vulnerable and lips raw. ]
You know that, right?
no subject
But he's not the only one in the picture.
Lyney is so many things he can't begin to put a pin in one and focus on it: an inmate. Quite a few years his junior. The next Knave. Unshakable in his loyalty to the Fatui. Someone else's lover. Due to be gone in just a matter of months. Lyney himself had said they might never see one another again. Would he prefer it that way?
This boy he's sworn to protect--does he even want protecting?
His grip at Lyney's hips relaxes, and now he finds he's not sure what to do with his hands. Not sure what to do with much of anything, really. He is, for the first time in years, in something like freefall. Old reflexes creak to life within him, past protections that once kept his heart safe when nothing else would. For a long time, he's silent. In one hand he touches Lyney's fingertips, barely feeling them at his own. ]
You worry too much. [ The words are faint in his ears, distant. ] ...If the guards catch you out past curfew again, they might not be so lenient.
no subject
Lyney's still catching his breath, his legs spread and that cock so undeniably defined pinned tight under his clothing. Everything is indicating how badly Lyney wants the Duke, how walls fell down and frustrations boil over. But fingers loosen around a tie and Wriothesley's replaces it. ]
I worry too much. Me. [ He thinks worry would have kept him angry and out of this room but here he is. Unable to say no to the man, just as Wriothesley called it. ] They report to you... do you mean you may not be lenient?
[ Technicalities. For every time Wriothesley lost in cards, he certainly reminded Lyney that the rules change on the fly here when Wriothesley finds them both suitable. But, the boy can read the room. Slouched back with the edge of the desk digging into his back, he knows he needs to move.
This kind of raw experience sits in his heart, unable to fully process what was happening. ]
I'm going to get up, dust myself off... and go, then. As you always do, you frustrate me. [ Makes him question everything. Even with his admittance of withdrawing â Lyney sounds like he didn't want to. There's a sadness still in his eyes, heavy enough to cast a shadow in such a warmth. ] Probably kick myself when I get to bed, but...
[ His fingers drag over Wriothesley's knuckle, thoughtful. ]
You're not as cold as I thought you would be.
no subject
It should be easy. Tell him that's for the best, make sure he gets back to his dorm, or at least away from here. Anywhere but here. In his mind he envisions what should follow: a curt nod, helping Lyney to his feet, locking the door of his office behind him. He knows what to do. All that's left is to make it real. He steels himself, tries to find what should come to him naturally. He can't bring himself to meet Lyney's eyes. ]
I'm not going to punish you. [ Said flatly, measured. ] ...Rest assured. Think of this as my mistake.
[ He is, after all, the one who's been inappropriate. Perhaps he's made a joke of himself, thinking he could protect Lyney--he's gone and taken advantage of a troubled teen, one isolated beneath the waves, far from the people he loves most. Another sin to confront, an undoing of whatever virtue he's scraped together in this lifetime. But he can't take it back now. All he can do is collect himself--calm his head, put the brakes on, be the voice of reason this situation needs. ]
no subject
Wriothesley noticeably doesn't look at him and Lyney knows why now. The shock on his own face hollows all the joy from it and everything that tasted so sweet... feels bitter.
Think of this as my mistake.
He remembers nobles regretting their investment in him, favoring Lynette for reasons that churn his stomach. Mistakes that Father ensures never fill her home â mistake, mistake, mistake.
This was all a mistake. It had to be. He's right and Lyney was a fool for seeing it any other way.
Lyney pulls his hand from Wriothesley's and his hand snaps the man's gaze up. He doesn't get to say that and not stare at him in the eyes. The breathing from his own arousal and desperation is gone and a steady and calm voice, sad in its own way, was all that was left. ]
... Please ensure my letters are delivered timely.
[ One leg fumbles over as he pulls away â scrambling to his feet and away from the man. Legs shaky, hand coming up to wipe away at his mouth to pry away Wriothesley's taste as he walks towards the staircase. ]
My lips are sealed, Your Grace. I'll avoid breaking curfew from now on.
no subject
It's only fair. They had this discussion once, didn't they? What it means to accept one's sin. Right here, right now, that means looking at Lyney: beholding the hurt, the completely avoidable pain he's caused in letting this happen between them. He holds Lyney's gaze, eyes steely and even, until the boy turns away from him, headed for the staircase.
This is how it should be. He needn't say anything more. Let him go, and treat this as the momentary indiscretion it is. ]
Inmate 7646.
[ For someone who prides himself upon his ability to let go...Lyney sure has a way of undermining that. Of making it disappear. ]
...Don't misunderstand. I have a responsibility to put a stop to these things, no matter how I feel about them.
[ He straightens his tie, willing the warmth from his hands. ]
That will be all. Do take care.
no subject
The true magic spark was that catalyst of a kiss â one part need, one part frustration. Lyney trespasses into places in Wriothesley's mind where he shouldn't be. A supple, young body so willing, aching for Wriothesley and it's clear â but the restraint the man shows hurts. Why? This shouldn't happen and until the second Wriothesley asked about that meeting... on if the Knave was cruel to him â he didn't need for it to.
His hand holds onto the railing tight.
Perhaps the Duke was born for the stage as well, for how quickly he pulls the mask on under the sweet, thinly-veiled circumstances. Whatever Wriothesley feels... Lyney won't ever know. ]
Goodnight.
[ A young man that was use to someone at his side, use to being with someone is left alone with his thoughts and that will be the torture. Each light step echoes in the office and with the resounding thud of his door... Wriothesley is alone and Lyney is just another mistake. ]