#the torture of having to move all our ancient threads to the new editor... UGH

[andessence]

@polarean // continued.

Fuck. Well that just slips in right under the armor, doesn’t it? Insidiously gentle. The moment of silence is just enough for his temper to even out before he feels his hand entwining with Philoctetes’ (without need of his mind to prompt it) and hears those words that push softly, ‘just one more word, one more thing.’ And he barely has time to cringe back toward his defenses when the reassurance comes. ‘I wasn’t rejecting you. ... It doesn’t mean I want you, or love you, any less.’ Gods, it’s all so SAPPY! ... So why does it make him release some breath his didn’t know he was holding? Why does it make him want to squirm, want to sink into Philoctetes and his stupid, corny little assurances?

He can feel the color rising in his cheeks.

FUCK, really!

It’s embarrassing how badly he suddenly knows he needed to hear that. He remembers now that Philoctetes understands, even when Pyrrhus doesn’t want to be understood — even when he doesn’t understand himself. He wants to say... He wants to tell him... gods, something, but the something doesn’t take the shape of words. It takes the shape of want, warm in his skin, a craving to be held, kissed all over. He wants that mouth to press those words all over every inch of him and still the wounded pride that just can’t settle. He gets more than his looks from his father, after all.

He squeezes Philoctetes’ hand, and brings it still locked with his own to his lips, kissing the knuckles, and mumbling against them like an I love you, “I’m gonna fuck you so good you don’t even remember that stupid fucking word. No more ‘doctor,’ old man.” He lets his legs spread and a knee nudges Philoctetes. But he doesn’t jump on the lewd suggestion right away, even if his unresolved recreational endeavor of an hour ago has left him still more wound up than Philoctetes has any way of knowing, and commits internally to giving his boyfriend at least a good five minutes before Pyrrhus starts to paw at him. And then, as if the other words made it easier to finally, really, dislodge it from his throat: “I love you.”