[ Just as ironic as it was that Wriothesley ran into Lynette, the sound of that calm voice hitting his ears makes Lyney think great, just my luck. He wanted to get his chest looked at and go to bed and yet, here the man was. The cause for grief, the frustrations that boiled over in ways he couldn't just let go... Lyney listened to him when he said that the ring was a good way to get frustrations out, tried it and even if he got destroyed in it, he took the winnings as a sign that it was alright. Maybe, just maybe, this was worth it in the long run.
Something of a simple command falls on the air and the boy squints — watching as he turns and walks back to that sanctuary that Lyney was just starting to get comfortable in. He shouldn't – that's not his home nor place to lay claim. Ever the fool, Lyney follows without a complaint. Feet dragging, eyes downcast a little.
He's sore, able to work, but if he keeps this up – that's where Sigewinne suggests he will run into problems. A week of bottling up his feelings leave the kid feeling frustrated and lonely, but it makes him feel most like there's unfinished business.
When they make it into Wriothesley's office, the door creaks shut and his mouth is his worst enemy. ]
I'm not feeling up for tea, Your Grace.
[ A bit of a snarky hiss to his voice, but Lyney holds it well together to not be too antagonistic. ]
[ When they're seated, Wriothesley crosses his arms, gives Lyney a hard look. It's worse in this proximity and lighting; hardly even looks like a one-on-one. Wriothesley does what he can to temper the irritation building fast within him--wonders who he's even irritated with, Lyney, or the lowlife who actually agreed to knock him around--and finally speaks. ]
You don't look up to much of anything, frankly.
[ It's everything he can do to chase away the thoughts of what transpired last time they were here like this. The meantime has been spent in careful avoidance, both in thought and in person. But now he can't look the other way, can't hole himself up in his office and pretend Lyney belongs to another time and place. ]
Care to tell me what you were doing in the pankration ring?
[ He finds a seat all too familiar. It's stiff now, his back a bit tight and legs not daring to try and cross. Lyney sets the shirt over one of his thighs, eyes not daring to pull away from Wriothesley. It wasn't as if he was acting out to get his attention, to show him what it's like when one of his inmates is in pain.
It was... exactly what most men did when they were angry. Punch things, fight things, get better. ]
It's just temporary. Part of the whole thing.
[ The pankration ring and all it comes down to. That form was so small in the chair, so small when it was begging to be throw back on that large desk but – in the ring? It was a perfect target. Lyney gives a soft shrug. ]
The same thing you would be doing. Passing time. I've tried the cafeteria, done enough walking around, even picked up a few books but... figured it was time to see what's so appealing about throwing punches.
[ Wriothesley sits with that a moment, weighs it against his own irritation. Realistically, Lyney is allowed to do as he pleases within the Fortress' rules, up to and including having his ass kicked. Heaven knows he wouldn't be the first or last unlikely bet within the ring. But...even so, there are limits to these things. Limits to endangering oneself. Without them, the Fortress would become a free-for-all for those looking to harm themselves. He wonders if he'd be right terming it that way in Lyney's case: harming himself. ]
...You suddenly developed an interest in the ring after nearly two months of thinking it unsavory. [ At least, that's the impression Wriothesley got--Lyney did think of his last match as a sort of petty playtime, after all. ] You couldn't pass time in any of the myriad ways the Fortress offers, you had to take on a guy twice your size and wear the bruises to show it. Sorry, but I don't think I can accept that.
[ He didn't much prefer the ring, no. Lyney spent his entire life trying to be smart about things. Any fights he picked, he knew he was able to beat those who opposed him in the past. Quick, with weapons, sly surprises... that is how he beat enemies that threatened him but here?
It was fist to fist. Lyney would lose, every time.
He didn't want to harm himself but how else can he process this? Cry and lament his sister? Wear bruised egos from being turned down? Wriothesley shouldn't mean anything to him, but he consumes his thoughts more than he'd like. That challenge... those little moments of seeing him smile or seem impressed.
Wriothesley speaks and he's reminded why it hit deeps.
He thought they were working through something together. The revelation otherwise just made the boy feel dejected, alone. ]
So, what would you accept? You have your own story in your mind. Please, do indulge me. [ Lyney looks to his knuckles, red but not bruised like with the pipes. ] Are you going to reprimand me for using the facilities allotted to me?
[ He sighs quietly, doing all that he can not to curse under his breath. No, he can't technically bar Lyney from the pankration ring simply on the grounds of having lost badly. Maybe if the boy had sustained worse injuries, but he'd rather not even think of that. As it stands, it's his to use as he sees fit. It's just...
What is it, really?
He'd like to cast his eyes elsewhere--would like to put out of his mind the bandages that wrap Lyney's skin, the bruises come to life in all the places he once touched. He can't: it's as if Lyney is holding his jaw again, keeping his eyes where they belong, making sure he sees exactly what's set before him. And what's before him isn't what he wants for Lyney, isn't the smile he's come to enjoy or the safety for the boy he imagines within Meropide's walls.
It's the same thing it always was. He wants Lyney to be happy, and this isn't happiness. Whatever drove this--whatever strains his voice now and puts him on the defensive--doesn't come from a place of healing. Of protection. That much, he's sure of. ]
...It's as you say. I can't deny you your right to the pankration ring. The facility is there for you to use as you like, as it is for all inmates at the Fortress.
[ It's his turn to reach out--to lean forward and gently tilt Lyney's chin up, to make him look at him when he speaks. ]
But I can't let you go on the wrong suppositions, either. Lyney. If this isn't about last time, then correct me as you see fit--but if it is, I never said you were my mistake.
Lyney's frustrated and conflicted, feeling like the only ally ... only friend he could have in this place brought such confusion in his heart. The infatuation he had only just begun to have about this man was not based solely on attractions but... on the freedoms of something just out of grasp. Lyney dislikes parts of Wriothesley because they remind him of his own failures but he liked how they spent their time in recent days more than he'd like to admit.
Chasing smiles, surpassing expectations and just being honest.
He retreats when Wriothesley has to put a stop to it, swallowing it with his own insecurities and sense of worth.
So, as Wriothesley is the one that demands something... Lyney looks at him with eyes less confident. Trembling, tired. ]
Why? [ Again, why. ] Why did you have to kiss me back?
[ It's forward, no magic or frills about it. Lyney was a cat, vulnerable when backed into a corner but here... he reaches up to hold onto Wriothesley's wrist with the same tightness of claws. His voice was strained to stay calm, he has to channel Lynette's own tone to do so. Masking only enough to hide his own insecurities. ]
Why do you care so much about – about Father, about me and what I do? It would be easy to chalk it up to a hero's ego... that you see and pity me. But, you kissed me. Welcomed me and wanted me for just a moment.
[ His ego was bruised, sure, but amplifying that with his own dependency on Lynette... he sees this for more than that. ]
Why did you have to make me see you as something other than a tea-loving jackass?
The answer is he can't: not until he puts a name to what he's feeling, what he's been sidestepping, what drove him to kiss Lyney the way he did. It's not often Wriothesley is so out of his depth. But he knows, at least, what drives his touch at Lyney's face now. He knows why it aches hearing Lyney take that tone. It's a matter of admitting it to himself.
Slowly, he lets go of Lyney's chin, moves out of his grip. He picks up his chair and walks with it, setting it down at Lyney's side of the desk. When he seats himself, he does it close to Lyney, takes his smaller hands in his own--loosely, so that Lyney can pull away if he'd like. So as not to hurt him further. ]
...For goodness' sake. I should be the one asking why. You've got me on the ropes, you know? Things like this don't happen to me.
[ He doesn't just want Lyney to be happy. He wants to be the one to make Lyney happy. And in that there are more problems than he can begin to unravel, each springing up like so many deadstops within a maze. ]
[ Distance closing means they're closer to the 'truth', even if both of them can't answer it. Lyney isn't angry, Wriothesley isn't shutting the conversation down. There's a small bit of progress, enough to have them both uncomfortable. The chair settles next to him and instead of that commanding, stern reaction – there's a softness in his grasp. ]
What are you even talking about? [ He huffs, childish but the way to counter how unsettling it was to hear Wriothesley, of all people, admit to pressure. This wasn't guarding some primordial sea or keeping inmates in line. Those tiny hands cling to his, holding tight like cat claws. ] I would be out of your hair in months time. You'd never have to worry about me, Lynette, or Freminet again... unless you come to the surface for a show or wish to learn to dive from our expert.
[ But, no. They shared something intimate and the way Wriothesley's held responsibility to Lyney becomes more and more clear. ]
...I could be gone with my mind on one thing, returning to Father but – you. You. [ He repeats. ] Frustrating as you are, I'm thinking of you when I shouldn't be.
[ Lonely nights, nights where he can't stop and touch himself, dreams, and wishes. All one big boiling pot of confusion. ]
[ Despite himself, he smiles. Small and tired. Yes, Lyney will be gone in a few months' time--another stop within the maze, another piece of this that sparks caution within him. Maybe by the time Lyney is a free man, he'll have put all this behind him, as he has with past infatuations. Maybe that's all it is: infatuation. But when he returns to those moments in his former life, the trysts and almost-lovers whose names and faces he can no longer make out, he wonders if it was like this. Wonders if he tried back then to fight what he was feeling, wonders if he felt the weight of that affection pushing back on him twice as hard.
He runs his thumbs over the back of Lyney's hands, up and over tendons, the bones that comprise his wrist. He can't remember if he ever wanted to make anyone happy. Their faces, names, warmth--all of it belongs to another time and place. Here, now, he knows he wants to see Lyney smiling. Carefree. Wriothesley wants to throw him the lifeline no one cared to spare him when he was 19, even as he feels every sense of security dropping from beneath him. ]
...Fine. If it has to be that way--
[ Carefully, he brings Lyney closer to him, embracing him loosely, mindful of the places that hurt. He murmurs lightly against his hair--makes it fast, expecting to be pushed away in quick order. ]
Say what? You never shut up about tea but something like this, you're –
[ Lyney didn't think he needed this. Yes, it starts as infatuation and some desire to challenge Wriothesley. To best him. Be a man worthy enough to not be looked down to. Keep his loved ones safe, be the best family man he can be – ... to serve Father as much as a son as a warrior. There were many things he's done to survive, but he doesn't attach those feelings to this.
Whatever this is.
It's jumbled in a thousand red strings, all more messy than the last and to unroll it is impossible. Lyney knows he'd fail every time but Wriothesley makes it easy to focus now on one thing at a time.
A 19 year-old hearing that he's wanted when he's feeling replaceable, alone, and insecure does terrible things but...
There's a trust there that makes him freeze instead of revolt. Mainly, because Lyney wants him too.
Lynette needed him, the two inseparable from the moment they were here on this Earth. His love for her was undeniable but this..? This was want – a desire that felt selfish but so human. Sinful but so simple. Embraced loosely, where ribs tighten and his heart thumps loud enough for Wriothesley to hear it – his features take turn to rest in the crook of that scarred neck and he just breathes. Seconds feel like an eternity, but he'll gather the words eventually. ]
Was that so hard? [ He makes it so with a comment like that, but it was well deserved. ] Before, when you asked about Father... That wasn't just to shut you up.
[ Lyney leans back just enough, his nose brushing to stubble and his eyes casting up to him – they're close enough, more than they should be. ]
The real magic in this place is how often you appear when I shouldn't think of you.
[ Frankly, it was easier than it should have been. Every alarm bell within him goes off, every active caution that seizes him by the heart and tells him he shouldn't do this. But the words are out there now, and Lyney isn't pulling away from him, and they're falling back into this thing that can never be. ]
...I'd say it's how you make my good sense disappear. [ Small sigh. ] An inmate is an inmate. Rules are rules. And the Administrator is meant to uphold all of that, lest the entire system fall to pieces. I've lived a relatively simple life these last few years, keeping everything running as intended. Forgive me, but you're kind of throwing a wrench in that.
[ He looks down into Lyney's eyes, threads his fingers through his hair. He says the words gently, but he means them. Whatever this is--it shouldn't be. ]
[ What system? The one he's been fair to maintain here? Lyney grumbles just a bit – defensive like he's on trial only because ... he reaches out to close the gaps that divides them. Keeps 'mistakes' from being made when want was but static in the air. They both feel it. ]
The only wrench is you kicking an inmate out later in curfew. Harmless stuff, really. [ Lyney sharply inhales when those fingers comb through his hair. Not quite as feline as his sister, Lyney still is stubborn as one. ] You make exceptions for comfort of other civilians. I heard about that wedding you allowed to happen here... My letters are the only thing I've asked for, curfew breaking is the only crime. Add a day to my sentence, if you must for fair compensation.
[ Downplaying it makes it feel simpler to digest. Want and safety all two elements that draw Lyney closer. It's different than his desire to prove himself to Father – a worthiness tight to his heart in different ways that he's still navigating against. ]
... Tell me to leave and I'll count the days until I never have to be in this tin can. It'll be the easy option, wouldn't it? [ But, Lyney finds the end of his tie, gripping onto the end of it tightly with a soft breath. ] I just do not believe easy was ever in the cards for people like us.
[ This kid. The wedding may have been without precedent, but it wasn't strictly against one rule or another. This--this affection growing between them, the kiss Wriothesley itches to impart upon him now if he could--is another story. ]
The wedding was the first of its kind, yes, but... [ He tuts lightly, tired with himself, tired with the sheer force of feeling. ] You can see why this is different, right? This tea-loving jackass is the one who should be putting a stop to this. It's nothing to do with your sentence.
[ But still he doesn't tell Lyney to leave. The opposite--he threads his fingers with those on Lyney's free hand, squeezes lightly. ]
...I guess I never did trust anything that could be termed 'easy'.
[ That knot in his stomach binds tighter, making his limbs feel light and his heart race quick enough for a veil of sweat to his forehead. Lyney's not feeling his best, a dull ache in his ribs and a shiner blossomed just enough for tension under one eye but – making sense of something like this feels important. ]
... You've read my intake files, Wriothesley. Probably more than you needed to. [ Trying to find a place where Father could be pulled into this equation – Lyney's not ignorant to it. The chair Lyney claims is left lonely as a hand pushes Wriothesley back. The boy follows slowly, silent as he replaces chair with lap – confident in how he moves even with his impairment.
The welcomed squeeze of his free hand was comfort and Lyney doesn't shy away from it. ] As the Greatest Magician Fontaine has ever known... I keep secrets close to my chest. Things that were once mundane turn to magic in my hands. Tricks buried in time become props for me to play with. But this...
[ Lyney's free hand snaps, that napkin he left with Wriothesley slipping between his fingers and held between them as some proof of what remains between them. ]
We want the same thing. That's the most frustrating part of it all. Isn't it?
[ He eyes the napkin, then Lyney. In a sense, he's not wrong: if one of them were to turn back now, to consign this to the oblivion it deserves, that would be easier. They've chanced upon an occasion where the high road is the smoothest one after all. If either of them were to take it--move along, be warden and inmate again, forget every last sliver of this thing that's building between them--the other would follow, and everything would sort itself out in a few months' time.
Instead Lyney moves into his lap and he know that it can't be. He's not sending him away, and Lyney isn't going anywhere if Wriothesley gives him an out. It's another facet of himself reflected in the boy, maybe the worst similarity they have in terms of what to do going forward: they are stubborn people, neither capable of moving an inch in the face of a challenge. ]
Almost. [ He plucks the napkin from between Lyney's fingertips, feels the fabric in his own. After a moment, he discards it at his desk. No distractions--nothing that would take his eyes from the next mistake he's due to make. ] The most frustrating part is that I can't have you. A few years as a Duke, and I suppose I've become used to getting what I desire. I'm sure the same goes for you: you want it, and you make it appear.
[ It would be easy. Another secret he holds to himself. Something selfish, something buried under the surface of roles they define themselves as. Wriothesley found redemption in being the Duke, in allowing rebirth and Lyney found magic in the mundane that was cruel and cold.
But this... Wriothesley is warm and Lyney doesn't move an inch. They're in the twilight of their desires, lost in an afterglow of their first kiss.
With the napkin plucked from his hand, Lyney just shakes his head softly. The realization of 'having'... of what is expected is just so... grim. For once, Lyney just wants to forget the role he's being told to be, the one he has to play. ]
Some things. Not all. You're not greedy, neither am I. Yet, here we are. [ And Lyney wraps that tie around his wrist with a desperation that feels vulnerable. He doesn't want to be under some spell of what should be if it feels so simple. ] It's not wrong to want. I learned that long ago.
[ When he took care of Lynette in ways more than a brother, accepted a life to give them what they needed and deserved to survive. ]
... Just lie to me, then. Push me away and let me shake you from my mind. Tell me you don't want this.
[ If Lyney thinks that's happening--no, if either of them think that's on the table--then that expectation is as doomed as this thing that they've become.
Wriothesley leans in and all bets are off. He doesn't send Lyney away, doesn't put an end to what's his to stop--he makes himself the one to capture Lyney's lips this time, kisses him softly and slow. His duties, his senses, his very ethics blur and come apart at their seams, lost to warm skin and the gentle scent of Lyney. It's his kiss to take, he realizes, his opportunity to show Lyney that he means at least one thing he's said in all of this: that Lyney himself is no mistake, that he wants him, wants to satisfy him. A challenge he can't say no to.
But he doesn't draw it out, doesn't let the moment roll on the way he wants to. He pulls back after a few moments, makes Lyney look at him once more with a hand under his chin. Levels them with each other. ]
...Looks like it's my turn to warn you. I'm going to do that again, and if you don't want me to, then leave now. If even the tiniest voice inside you says this isn't right--go. Understood?
[ Lyney doesn’t make it clear what he thinks will happen at the end of this but Wriothesley is warm and he’s drawn. Captivated by tired smiles, strong hands and a voice that knots his stomach. It was curiosity first, infatuation and attraction but now he’s seeing a risk worth the reward. A selfish want he doesn’t know the core of.
Did he need to? Did he need to know the method behind the magic this time?
The kiss captured him and he’s practically whimpering into the slow workings of Wriothesley’s offer. He barely has a chance to kiss back before he’s pulling away and he longs for it more than he did when he was the only pushing the Duke for affection.
Their gaze doesn’t break and they’re left in this middle ground again. Two small hands take hold of a cut jaw, agreeing to terms and rules with his own kiss. Lyney is far more rough but he kisses deep — mouth open and teeth catching his bottom lip. Chasing that taste sweet on his tongue and trying to find sense of this all. None is there, so he doesn’t stop — not when the Duke is on the ropes again. The opportunist doesn’t care about what happens next, for now it validates something in him and banishes the cold all the same.
He pulls back eventually, two hands instead dragging down to the texture of his shirt to steady himself. ]
I want you in ways I didn’t know I did.
[ Shaky and heavy words but they’re real, peppered kisses catch Wriothesley’s jaw, working down to the side of his neck. ]
This moment is ours — no one else’s. No stage, no titles. Just us.
[ Leave it to Lyney to steal his promise right out from under him. He closes the gap between them before Wriothesley can make good on his word, kisses him open mouthed and greedy, Wriothesley meeting him there in need.
Warmth rises from somewhere low in his stomach, grows more intense with each taste of him, and Wriothesley finds himself inwardly cursing Lyney's decision to go to the ring and get himself injured. It's as if another two things have been swept from his reach by the magician's deft hand: first, the ability to protect him, and now the opportunity to carry him to the sofa and make a right mess of both of them. As it stands, he must be careful, must treat Lyney with the delicacy his injuries command. For now, he accepts it, forgives what he cursed just as soon, holding down the desires that play over within his mind. His hands find the curve of Lyney's waist and set themselves there lightly, poised to move if anything should hurt.
Lyney pulls back from the kiss, then sets his lips to his jawline, his neck--Wriothesley swallows thickly, throat bobbing, and admits aloud his earlier thoughts. ]
If you weren't injured... [ He sighs, tilts his head back. ] I don't know what I'd be doing to you right now. I'd...
[ The rest, whatever it is, catches in his throat, fades out with the slide of his hands over Lyney's thighs. ]
[ Lyney may use words like cards to stack higher and higher, but actions mean quite a bit to him as well. Perhaps that's the difference between a grifter and a magician. One makes sweet promises and the other... makes magic. Sparks between their lips prick at the budding arousal in his chest. Flushed in ways no fire from his hands or arrows could compare.
Care was the name of the game, but Lyney was terribly impatient. He leans inwards, body giving when Wriothesley takes hold so slightly to him. Teeth graze and a sly tongue finds comfort in the difference in texture of scars and smooth flesh. Knowing better than to leave marks Wriothesley can't cover, Lyney ups to keep moving south. Slow, dangerously over that throat to the top of his collarbone.
He imagined this so vividly alone. Strong hands, a body to brace to and that cologne he can't quite pinpoint. Lyney hates it, in a way, that he just can't shake the man and this curiosity for more. ...But, admittedly, it's a welcomed change. Lyney wants this, not out of obligation but out of his own attraction.
Rarely does he get to pursue that. ]
I'll live, I'm not made of glass. [ Lyney's ribs were sore, tight – but each second Wriothesley was touching him throws concern out of the window. ] You wouldn't hurt me.
[ And that is exactly why he's pawing downward, forcing his hand to rest at his belt line with diving fingers pushing under it. There's trust now, where there wasn't before. More than just the potential lay and passions, but because Wriothesley is showing a side that feels... safe. Different than the care Father offered.
Those eyes look up curiously, chin prepping right at Wriothesley's collarbone with a small smirk, lips sticky with spit and catching the light beautifully. ]
Keep touching me. I know I'll be doing the same, Your Grace.
[ He teases, snickering under a husk of his breath and adding that mischief back to an otherwise tense situation. ]
[ Lyney's touch speeds up an arousal already well underway. Warmth curls within his abdomen and Wriothesley feels himself hardening up despite the faint voice at the back of his head telling him they should take this slow, that they're only just figuring this out, that this is still wrong in so many ways no matter how badly they both desire the other. What his body wants couldn't be further south of that caution--he thinks of Lyney's small slight hands, his rosy lips, his smart mouth, his lithe body so warm in his lap. The conclusion he arrives at--head hazy, eyes half lidded--is that maybe sin with hesitations is still sin, that whatever is about to happen is already on its irrevocable tracks, and that if he's going to do wrong, he might as well do it the right way.
He's only too happy to indulge that command. One hand finds Lyney's chin again, his thumb running over Lyney's bottom lip in a few experimental passes, then pushing lightly in wordless request for access to his mouth. ]
[ Tiny hands find comfort against the pressure of a beltline far too tight at Wriothesley's waist. They stuff downwards, padding at the top of underwear and deeper towards the warmth of a flat pelvis.
If this of all things were wrong... what was what came before? Of the life he had to live comfortably and ensure Lynette was safe? This was his choice, just as his choice was to pursue Lynette romantically – the risk lingering in the air like a thousand daggers hanging over their heads.
Fortunately, Lyney was a master at his arts, matters of the heart all but another tool for him.
He doesn't think, not when he's begging for more in this affair. Wriothesley chooses actions over words and that thumb was met with peppered kisses. Drags of a tongue not sharp with harsh words, but greeting with warmth and need all the same.
A murmur vibrates past Lyney's throat, soft as his hand presses down to fetch at the base of Wriothesley's cock. There's something to be said about how the struggle to touch him feels earned, more mischievous than simply undressing his slacks. Lyney takes Wriothesley's thumb to his mouth deeper, slow and soft sucks with the intensity of that commanding gaze – daring the Duke to look away.
Now more than ever it remains obvious: Lyney wants Wriothesley to keep those tired eyes on him, pettily... he wants to haunt the man's mind too. ]
[ Wriothesey's eyes would be on Lyney whether he wanted it or not--he watches trancelike as Lyney licks and sucks at the digit in his mouth, inhaling slow, exhaling heavy. For the first time he allows himself the latitude to think that Lyney is beautiful. He's always known it at some level, distanced himself from it, perceived him with the flat matter-of-fact beauty assigned to paintings or statues. Now desire closes that distance, changes the lens through which Wriothesley sees him: even roughed up as he is, bruised and tousled, Lyney is hopelessly attractive. He wonders fleetingly how the other inmates hold themselves back. If they do at all. It wouldn't surprise him if Lyney has had to hand out rejections like so many flowers; at least, rejection is what he hopes for, tamping down the jealous streak that flashes dimly at the prospect of the alternative.
His breath pitches at the circle of Lyney's hand around the base of his cock, and he grunts, hips rolling to meet his touch. He wishes he didn't need two hands for this--wants to keep Lyney's mouth exactly where it is, unless he has a better designs for it--but he extracts his thumb from the warm wet suction there to properly undo his belt, button and fly, hand brushing against Lyney's as he frees his stiff heavy length from its confines. ]
[ Even if working with other inmates allowed him the coupons needed to send letters, keep his belly fed and his interests aligned – Lyney didn't need to turn tricks here. His focus had been Lynette, his sweet sister with perfume so subtle only he can pick up on it ... with skin delicate like porcelain but capable of taking the heat of his desires.
Until recently.
His attractions to Wriothesley was tea in a cup nearly bubbling over. Flirtations kept his interest, playing games and determined to best him. The glimpse of the Duke in his element in the ring sparked a physical attraction, where scars beg to be kissed and he thinks of stiffness and security above all else. Part of him knew no man had ever garnered his interest like the Duke and that card... was one being used against him.
Lyney can barely wrap one hand around Wriothesley like this and he's thankful for the assistance. Licking his own lips at their corner, the boy leans back only enough to let Wriothesley move and to show off his own state of spread thighs and a growing, modest shape in the front of his shorts.
Slowly, his fingers pull away to let Wriothesley work to free himself, unburdened by tension of too tight pants.
Lyney watches unashamed as he pulls himself out, even going as far as to tug Wriothesley's pants down a little bit further to help and to grip at his base again. ]
All of this because of me... hidden away and springing to life so beautifully. My, you know how to flatter a guy. [ That sickeningly sweet tone has Lyney laugh, a giggle half drunk on his desires. The boy scoots up just a little further, until his own shape still confined pins upwards against Wriothesley's cock – a soft grind, friction that his hand can't do by itself. ] Is your tongue and thumb all you wish for me to taste? Tell me.
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no subject
Something of a simple command falls on the air and the boy squints — watching as he turns and walks back to that sanctuary that Lyney was just starting to get comfortable in. He shouldn't – that's not his home nor place to lay claim. Ever the fool, Lyney follows without a complaint. Feet dragging, eyes downcast a little.
He's sore, able to work, but if he keeps this up – that's where Sigewinne suggests he will run into problems. A week of bottling up his feelings leave the kid feeling frustrated and lonely, but it makes him feel most like there's unfinished business.
When they make it into Wriothesley's office, the door creaks shut and his mouth is his worst enemy. ]
I'm not feeling up for tea, Your Grace.
[ A bit of a snarky hiss to his voice, but Lyney holds it well together to not be too antagonistic. ]
no subject
You don't look up to much of anything, frankly.
[ It's everything he can do to chase away the thoughts of what transpired last time they were here like this. The meantime has been spent in careful avoidance, both in thought and in person. But now he can't look the other way, can't hole himself up in his office and pretend Lyney belongs to another time and place. ]
Care to tell me what you were doing in the pankration ring?
no subject
It was... exactly what most men did when they were angry. Punch things, fight things, get better. ]
It's just temporary. Part of the whole thing.
[ The pankration ring and all it comes down to. That form was so small in the chair, so small when it was begging to be throw back on that large desk but – in the ring? It was a perfect target. Lyney gives a soft shrug. ]
The same thing you would be doing. Passing time. I've tried the cafeteria, done enough walking around, even picked up a few books but... figured it was time to see what's so appealing about throwing punches.
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...You suddenly developed an interest in the ring after nearly two months of thinking it unsavory. [ At least, that's the impression Wriothesley got--Lyney did think of his last match as a sort of petty playtime, after all. ] You couldn't pass time in any of the myriad ways the Fortress offers, you had to take on a guy twice your size and wear the bruises to show it. Sorry, but I don't think I can accept that.
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It was fist to fist. Lyney would lose, every time.
He didn't want to harm himself but how else can he process this? Cry and lament his sister? Wear bruised egos from being turned down? Wriothesley shouldn't mean anything to him, but he consumes his thoughts more than he'd like. That challenge... those little moments of seeing him smile or seem impressed.
Wriothesley speaks and he's reminded why it hit deeps.
He thought they were working through something together. The revelation otherwise just made the boy feel dejected, alone. ]
So, what would you accept? You have your own story in your mind. Please, do indulge me. [ Lyney looks to his knuckles, red but not bruised like with the pipes. ] Are you going to reprimand me for using the facilities allotted to me?
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What is it, really?
He'd like to cast his eyes elsewhere--would like to put out of his mind the bandages that wrap Lyney's skin, the bruises come to life in all the places he once touched. He can't: it's as if Lyney is holding his jaw again, keeping his eyes where they belong, making sure he sees exactly what's set before him. And what's before him isn't what he wants for Lyney, isn't the smile he's come to enjoy or the safety for the boy he imagines within Meropide's walls.
It's the same thing it always was. He wants Lyney to be happy, and this isn't happiness. Whatever drove this--whatever strains his voice now and puts him on the defensive--doesn't come from a place of healing. Of protection. That much, he's sure of. ]
...It's as you say. I can't deny you your right to the pankration ring. The facility is there for you to use as you like, as it is for all inmates at the Fortress.
[ It's his turn to reach out--to lean forward and gently tilt Lyney's chin up, to make him look at him when he speaks. ]
But I can't let you go on the wrong suppositions, either. Lyney. If this isn't about last time, then correct me as you see fit--but if it is, I never said you were my mistake.
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That is the issue.
Lyney's frustrated and conflicted, feeling like the only ally ... only friend he could have in this place brought such confusion in his heart. The infatuation he had only just begun to have about this man was not based solely on attractions but... on the freedoms of something just out of grasp. Lyney dislikes parts of Wriothesley because they remind him of his own failures but he liked how they spent their time in recent days more than he'd like to admit.
Chasing smiles, surpassing expectations and just being honest.
He retreats when Wriothesley has to put a stop to it, swallowing it with his own insecurities and sense of worth.
So, as Wriothesley is the one that demands something... Lyney looks at him with eyes less confident. Trembling, tired. ]
Why? [ Again, why. ] Why did you have to kiss me back?
[ It's forward, no magic or frills about it. Lyney was a cat, vulnerable when backed into a corner but here... he reaches up to hold onto Wriothesley's wrist with the same tightness of claws. His voice was strained to stay calm, he has to channel Lynette's own tone to do so. Masking only enough to hide his own insecurities. ]
Why do you care so much about – about Father, about me and what I do? It would be easy to chalk it up to a hero's ego... that you see and pity me. But, you kissed me. Welcomed me and wanted me for just a moment.
[ His ego was bruised, sure, but amplifying that with his own dependency on Lynette... he sees this for more than that. ]
Why did you have to make me see you as something other than a tea-loving jackass?
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The answer is he can't: not until he puts a name to what he's feeling, what he's been sidestepping, what drove him to kiss Lyney the way he did. It's not often Wriothesley is so out of his depth. But he knows, at least, what drives his touch at Lyney's face now. He knows why it aches hearing Lyney take that tone. It's a matter of admitting it to himself.
Slowly, he lets go of Lyney's chin, moves out of his grip. He picks up his chair and walks with it, setting it down at Lyney's side of the desk. When he seats himself, he does it close to Lyney, takes his smaller hands in his own--loosely, so that Lyney can pull away if he'd like. So as not to hurt him further. ]
...For goodness' sake. I should be the one asking why. You've got me on the ropes, you know? Things like this don't happen to me.
[ He doesn't just want Lyney to be happy. He wants to be the one to make Lyney happy. And in that there are more problems than he can begin to unravel, each springing up like so many deadstops within a maze. ]
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What are you even talking about? [ He huffs, childish but the way to counter how unsettling it was to hear Wriothesley, of all people, admit to pressure. This wasn't guarding some primordial sea or keeping inmates in line. Those tiny hands cling to his, holding tight like cat claws. ] I would be out of your hair in months time. You'd never have to worry about me, Lynette, or Freminet again... unless you come to the surface for a show or wish to learn to dive from our expert.
[ But, no. They shared something intimate and the way Wriothesley's held responsibility to Lyney becomes more and more clear. ]
...I could be gone with my mind on one thing, returning to Father but – you. You. [ He repeats. ] Frustrating as you are, I'm thinking of you when I shouldn't be.
[ Lonely nights, nights where he can't stop and touch himself, dreams, and wishes. All one big boiling pot of confusion. ]
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[ Despite himself, he smiles. Small and tired. Yes, Lyney will be gone in a few months' time--another stop within the maze, another piece of this that sparks caution within him. Maybe by the time Lyney is a free man, he'll have put all this behind him, as he has with past infatuations. Maybe that's all it is: infatuation. But when he returns to those moments in his former life, the trysts and almost-lovers whose names and faces he can no longer make out, he wonders if it was like this. Wonders if he tried back then to fight what he was feeling, wonders if he felt the weight of that affection pushing back on him twice as hard.
He runs his thumbs over the back of Lyney's hands, up and over tendons, the bones that comprise his wrist. He can't remember if he ever wanted to make anyone happy. Their faces, names, warmth--all of it belongs to another time and place. Here, now, he knows he wants to see Lyney smiling. Carefree. Wriothesley wants to throw him the lifeline no one cared to spare him when he was 19, even as he feels every sense of security dropping from beneath him. ]
...Fine. If it has to be that way--
[ Carefully, he brings Lyney closer to him, embracing him loosely, mindful of the places that hurt. He murmurs lightly against his hair--makes it fast, expecting to be pushed away in quick order. ]
I want you.
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[ Lyney didn't think he needed this. Yes, it starts as infatuation and some desire to challenge Wriothesley. To best him. Be a man worthy enough to not be looked down to. Keep his loved ones safe, be the best family man he can be – ... to serve Father as much as a son as a warrior. There were many things he's done to survive, but he doesn't attach those feelings to this.
Whatever this is.
It's jumbled in a thousand red strings, all more messy than the last and to unroll it is impossible. Lyney knows he'd fail every time but Wriothesley makes it easy to focus now on one thing at a time.
A 19 year-old hearing that he's wanted when he's feeling replaceable, alone, and insecure does terrible things but...
There's a trust there that makes him freeze instead of revolt. Mainly, because Lyney wants him too.
Lynette needed him, the two inseparable from the moment they were here on this Earth. His love for her was undeniable but this..? This was want – a desire that felt selfish but so human. Sinful but so simple. Embraced loosely, where ribs tighten and his heart thumps loud enough for Wriothesley to hear it – his features take turn to rest in the crook of that scarred neck and he just breathes. Seconds feel like an eternity, but he'll gather the words eventually. ]
Was that so hard? [ He makes it so with a comment like that, but it was well deserved. ] Before, when you asked about Father... That wasn't just to shut you up.
[ Lyney leans back just enough, his nose brushing to stubble and his eyes casting up to him – they're close enough, more than they should be. ]
The real magic in this place is how often you appear when I shouldn't think of you.
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...I'd say it's how you make my good sense disappear. [ Small sigh. ] An inmate is an inmate. Rules are rules. And the Administrator is meant to uphold all of that, lest the entire system fall to pieces. I've lived a relatively simple life these last few years, keeping everything running as intended. Forgive me, but you're kind of throwing a wrench in that.
[ He looks down into Lyney's eyes, threads his fingers through his hair. He says the words gently, but he means them. Whatever this is--it shouldn't be. ]
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The only wrench is you kicking an inmate out later in curfew. Harmless stuff, really. [ Lyney sharply inhales when those fingers comb through his hair. Not quite as feline as his sister, Lyney still is stubborn as one. ] You make exceptions for comfort of other civilians. I heard about that wedding you allowed to happen here... My letters are the only thing I've asked for, curfew breaking is the only crime. Add a day to my sentence, if you must for fair compensation.
[ Downplaying it makes it feel simpler to digest. Want and safety all two elements that draw Lyney closer. It's different than his desire to prove himself to Father – a worthiness tight to his heart in different ways that he's still navigating against. ]
... Tell me to leave and I'll count the days until I never have to be in this tin can. It'll be the easy option, wouldn't it? [ But, Lyney finds the end of his tie, gripping onto the end of it tightly with a soft breath. ] I just do not believe easy was ever in the cards for people like us.
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The wedding was the first of its kind, yes, but... [ He tuts lightly, tired with himself, tired with the sheer force of feeling. ] You can see why this is different, right? This tea-loving jackass is the one who should be putting a stop to this. It's nothing to do with your sentence.
[ But still he doesn't tell Lyney to leave. The opposite--he threads his fingers with those on Lyney's free hand, squeezes lightly. ]
...I guess I never did trust anything that could be termed 'easy'.
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... You've read my intake files, Wriothesley. Probably more than you needed to. [ Trying to find a place where Father could be pulled into this equation – Lyney's not ignorant to it. The chair Lyney claims is left lonely as a hand pushes Wriothesley back. The boy follows slowly, silent as he replaces chair with lap – confident in how he moves even with his impairment.
The welcomed squeeze of his free hand was comfort and Lyney doesn't shy away from it. ] As the Greatest Magician Fontaine has ever known... I keep secrets close to my chest. Things that were once mundane turn to magic in my hands. Tricks buried in time become props for me to play with. But this...
[ Lyney's free hand snaps, that napkin he left with Wriothesley slipping between his fingers and held between them as some proof of what remains between them. ]
We want the same thing. That's the most frustrating part of it all. Isn't it?
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Instead Lyney moves into his lap and he know that it can't be. He's not sending him away, and Lyney isn't going anywhere if Wriothesley gives him an out. It's another facet of himself reflected in the boy, maybe the worst similarity they have in terms of what to do going forward: they are stubborn people, neither capable of moving an inch in the face of a challenge. ]
Almost. [ He plucks the napkin from between Lyney's fingertips, feels the fabric in his own. After a moment, he discards it at his desk. No distractions--nothing that would take his eyes from the next mistake he's due to make. ] The most frustrating part is that I can't have you. A few years as a Duke, and I suppose I've become used to getting what I desire. I'm sure the same goes for you: you want it, and you make it appear.
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But this... Wriothesley is warm and Lyney doesn't move an inch. They're in the twilight of their desires, lost in an afterglow of their first kiss.
With the napkin plucked from his hand, Lyney just shakes his head softly. The realization of 'having'... of what is expected is just so... grim. For once, Lyney just wants to forget the role he's being told to be, the one he has to play. ]
Some things. Not all. You're not greedy, neither am I. Yet, here we are. [ And Lyney wraps that tie around his wrist with a desperation that feels vulnerable. He doesn't want to be under some spell of what should be if it feels so simple. ] It's not wrong to want. I learned that long ago.
[ When he took care of Lynette in ways more than a brother, accepted a life to give them what they needed and deserved to survive. ]
... Just lie to me, then. Push me away and let me shake you from my mind. Tell me you don't want this.
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Wriothesley leans in and all bets are off. He doesn't send Lyney away, doesn't put an end to what's his to stop--he makes himself the one to capture Lyney's lips this time, kisses him softly and slow. His duties, his senses, his very ethics blur and come apart at their seams, lost to warm skin and the gentle scent of Lyney. It's his kiss to take, he realizes, his opportunity to show Lyney that he means at least one thing he's said in all of this: that Lyney himself is no mistake, that he wants him, wants to satisfy him. A challenge he can't say no to.
But he doesn't draw it out, doesn't let the moment roll on the way he wants to. He pulls back after a few moments, makes Lyney look at him once more with a hand under his chin. Levels them with each other. ]
...Looks like it's my turn to warn you. I'm going to do that again, and if you don't want me to, then leave now. If even the tiniest voice inside you says this isn't right--go. Understood?
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Did he need to? Did he need to know the method behind the magic this time?
The kiss captured him and he’s practically whimpering into the slow workings of Wriothesley’s offer. He barely has a chance to kiss back before he’s pulling away and he longs for it more than he did when he was the only pushing the Duke for affection.
Their gaze doesn’t break and they’re left in this middle ground again. Two small hands take hold of a cut jaw, agreeing to terms and rules with his own kiss. Lyney is far more rough but he kisses deep — mouth open and teeth catching his bottom lip. Chasing that taste sweet on his tongue and trying to find sense of this all. None is there, so he doesn’t stop — not when the Duke is on the ropes again. The opportunist doesn’t care about what happens next, for now it validates something in him and banishes the cold all the same.
He pulls back eventually, two hands instead dragging down to the texture of his shirt to steady himself. ]
I want you in ways I didn’t know I did.
[ Shaky and heavy words but they’re real, peppered kisses catch Wriothesley’s jaw, working down to the side of his neck. ]
This moment is ours — no one else’s. No stage, no titles. Just us.
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Warmth rises from somewhere low in his stomach, grows more intense with each taste of him, and Wriothesley finds himself inwardly cursing Lyney's decision to go to the ring and get himself injured. It's as if another two things have been swept from his reach by the magician's deft hand: first, the ability to protect him, and now the opportunity to carry him to the sofa and make a right mess of both of them. As it stands, he must be careful, must treat Lyney with the delicacy his injuries command. For now, he accepts it, forgives what he cursed just as soon, holding down the desires that play over within his mind. His hands find the curve of Lyney's waist and set themselves there lightly, poised to move if anything should hurt.
Lyney pulls back from the kiss, then sets his lips to his jawline, his neck--Wriothesley swallows thickly, throat bobbing, and admits aloud his earlier thoughts. ]
If you weren't injured... [ He sighs, tilts his head back. ] I don't know what I'd be doing to you right now. I'd...
[ The rest, whatever it is, catches in his throat, fades out with the slide of his hands over Lyney's thighs. ]
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Care was the name of the game, but Lyney was terribly impatient. He leans inwards, body giving when Wriothesley takes hold so slightly to him. Teeth graze and a sly tongue finds comfort in the difference in texture of scars and smooth flesh. Knowing better than to leave marks Wriothesley can't cover, Lyney ups to keep moving south. Slow, dangerously over that throat to the top of his collarbone.
He imagined this so vividly alone. Strong hands, a body to brace to and that cologne he can't quite pinpoint. Lyney hates it, in a way, that he just can't shake the man and this curiosity for more. ...But, admittedly, it's a welcomed change. Lyney wants this, not out of obligation but out of his own attraction.
Rarely does he get to pursue that. ]
I'll live, I'm not made of glass. [ Lyney's ribs were sore, tight – but each second Wriothesley was touching him throws concern out of the window. ] You wouldn't hurt me.
[ And that is exactly why he's pawing downward, forcing his hand to rest at his belt line with diving fingers pushing under it. There's trust now, where there wasn't before. More than just the potential lay and passions, but because Wriothesley is showing a side that feels... safe. Different than the care Father offered.
Those eyes look up curiously, chin prepping right at Wriothesley's collarbone with a small smirk, lips sticky with spit and catching the light beautifully. ]
Keep touching me. I know I'll be doing the same, Your Grace.
[ He teases, snickering under a husk of his breath and adding that mischief back to an otherwise tense situation. ]
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He's only too happy to indulge that command. One hand finds Lyney's chin again, his thumb running over Lyney's bottom lip in a few experimental passes, then pushing lightly in wordless request for access to his mouth. ]
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If this of all things were wrong... what was what came before? Of the life he had to live comfortably and ensure Lynette was safe? This was his choice, just as his choice was to pursue Lynette romantically – the risk lingering in the air like a thousand daggers hanging over their heads.
Fortunately, Lyney was a master at his arts, matters of the heart all but another tool for him.
He doesn't think, not when he's begging for more in this affair. Wriothesley chooses actions over words and that thumb was met with peppered kisses. Drags of a tongue not sharp with harsh words, but greeting with warmth and need all the same.
A murmur vibrates past Lyney's throat, soft as his hand presses down to fetch at the base of Wriothesley's cock. There's something to be said about how the struggle to touch him feels earned, more mischievous than simply undressing his slacks. Lyney takes Wriothesley's thumb to his mouth deeper, slow and soft sucks with the intensity of that commanding gaze – daring the Duke to look away.
Now more than ever it remains obvious: Lyney wants Wriothesley to keep those tired eyes on him, pettily... he wants to haunt the man's mind too. ]
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His breath pitches at the circle of Lyney's hand around the base of his cock, and he grunts, hips rolling to meet his touch. He wishes he didn't need two hands for this--wants to keep Lyney's mouth exactly where it is, unless he has a better designs for it--but he extracts his thumb from the warm wet suction there to properly undo his belt, button and fly, hand brushing against Lyney's as he frees his stiff heavy length from its confines. ]
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Until recently.
His attractions to Wriothesley was tea in a cup nearly bubbling over. Flirtations kept his interest, playing games and determined to best him. The glimpse of the Duke in his element in the ring sparked a physical attraction, where scars beg to be kissed and he thinks of stiffness and security above all else. Part of him knew no man had ever garnered his interest like the Duke and that card... was one being used against him.
Lyney can barely wrap one hand around Wriothesley like this and he's thankful for the assistance. Licking his own lips at their corner, the boy leans back only enough to let Wriothesley move and to show off his own state of spread thighs and a growing, modest shape in the front of his shorts.
Slowly, his fingers pull away to let Wriothesley work to free himself, unburdened by tension of too tight pants.
Lyney watches unashamed as he pulls himself out, even going as far as to tug Wriothesley's pants down a little bit further to help and to grip at his base again. ]
All of this because of me... hidden away and springing to life so beautifully. My, you know how to flatter a guy. [ That sickeningly sweet tone has Lyney laugh, a giggle half drunk on his desires. The boy scoots up just a little further, until his own shape still confined pins upwards against Wriothesley's cock – a soft grind, friction that his hand can't do by itself. ] Is your tongue and thumb all you wish for me to taste? Tell me.
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