[ For the past few days, a man he's avoided at every turn has been an omnipresent force in his life.
Memories of their fight are beaten into his muscles and marked on his skin, though the aches are easier to ignore than his own reflection. The color worked into his throat hasn't faded, and each glimpse caught of it is a reminder of how a warm wet mouth felt against his body in the cold desert air. The same frigidity he'd left alone in, abandoning a temptation – and a friend – to choose the same controlled denial he's practiced his whole life. But self-control has limits.
During the day it's easier. He can pretend any Russian lingo from Reze is being shared out of some kind of academic interest. He can be reminded of the ships they'd left behind, like Ангелика, and distract himself with thoughts of Dean's resin coating and a reminder to check in with him. Other members of the Security detail? Just comrades. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes when Ladon talks too close? Coincidental.
At night, those distractions vanish.
At night, camping alone, there's just the occasional slip of that chilled night breeze into his tent and his mind races to recreate a memory with a different ending. Eyes close and a firm body presses to his, so much more real than past fantasies which had scrambled to falsify details he no longer has to imagine. He knows what warm breath feels like against his ear when whispers encourage him not to think, and he knows how his body responds to leather against his lower back. Trying to wait out the memories is too agonizing, and he learns that early. The shame from spitting on his hand and tugging his cock free from tight briefs, giving himself the direct attention he hadn't allowed himself to receive from Cain, is somehow more bearable. Working himself over with hard jerks and shuddering thighs becomes a necessary nightly routine, and while he gets more practiced at keeping himself quiet with soft pants against a rough pillowcase, he wonders if that mouth against his wouldn't do a better job. Cain's kiss, which had been rough at first but quickly turned firm, corrective, and passionate.
Perhaps the worst part is that when he tries to force himself to think of someone else, someone acceptable, he can't even manage a woman anymore. Instead he sees a warm smile, imagines a teasing bite to his ear, and the hand between his legs is Jonas's. ]
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1/2 cw: sexual frustration everywhere
Memories of their fight are beaten into his muscles and marked on his skin, though the aches are easier to ignore than his own reflection. The color worked into his throat hasn't faded, and each glimpse caught of it is a reminder of how a warm wet mouth felt against his body in the cold desert air. The same frigidity he'd left alone in, abandoning a temptation – and a friend – to choose the same controlled denial he's practiced his whole life. But self-control has limits.
During the day it's easier. He can pretend any Russian lingo from Reze is being shared out of some kind of academic interest. He can be reminded of the ships they'd left behind, like Ангелика, and distract himself with thoughts of Dean's resin coating and a reminder to check in with him. Other members of the Security detail? Just comrades. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes when Ladon talks too close? Coincidental.
At night, those distractions vanish.
At night, camping alone, there's just the occasional slip of that chilled night breeze into his tent and his mind races to recreate a memory with a different ending. Eyes close and a firm body presses to his, so much more real than past fantasies which had scrambled to falsify details he no longer has to imagine. He knows what warm breath feels like against his ear when whispers encourage him not to think, and he knows how his body responds to leather against his lower back. Trying to wait out the memories is too agonizing, and he learns that early. The shame from spitting on his hand and tugging his cock free from tight briefs, giving himself the direct attention he hadn't allowed himself to receive from Cain, is somehow more bearable. Working himself over with hard jerks and shuddering thighs becomes a necessary nightly routine, and while he gets more practiced at keeping himself quiet with soft pants against a rough pillowcase, he wonders if that mouth against his wouldn't do a better job. Cain's kiss, which had been rough at first but quickly turned firm, corrective, and passionate.
Perhaps the worst part is that when he tries to force himself to think of someone else, someone acceptable, he can't even manage a woman anymore. Instead he sees a warm smile, imagines a teasing bite to his ear, and the hand between his legs is Jonas's. ]