[Of or against Hector's will - the words turn over and over in his mind and he considers which would've been the worse way of losing Hector. But it's all a moot point, because he already lost him years ago, to that woman, of all creatures. A human who was everything he wasn't.
He feels Hector lock up against him and his hand closing around his, the urgency in it. But can't feel him the way he wants to, the touch of his skin through leather and fabric.]
...You brought this on yourself.
[But even as he says it, he's easing his grip and letting go, little by little, because the answer to the question unasked is both. There's something inside him still, some good that managed to survive this long by staying hidden, always struggling with the cold indifference of the world and his own desperate, selfish desires. He nuzzles the crook of Hector's neck and breathes him in, head swimming with the spice of his skin, with every bad idea he's ever had. But of all the many ways he's destroyed Hector and will keep hurting him, his hands as skilled in creation as they are at ruining everything they touch, the thought of shoving Hector over and pushing him into him, unwanted, must stay a thought, even if he isn't entirely sure why.
He's less sure of why it matters, whether or not Hector will think differently of him for his restraint.]
Should man lie with man as with a woman, they have committed an abomination... [he drawls, eyes closing] ...They must surely be put to death and their blood shall be upon them.
[His hand lingers where he and Hector left it, but it has gone soft, no meanness to it.]
'twas among the first passages I ever learned to read.
no subject
He feels Hector lock up against him and his hand closing around his, the urgency in it. But can't feel him the way he wants to, the touch of his skin through leather and fabric.]
...You brought this on yourself.
[But even as he says it, he's easing his grip and letting go, little by little, because the answer to the question unasked is both. There's something inside him still, some good that managed to survive this long by staying hidden, always struggling with the cold indifference of the world and his own desperate, selfish desires. He nuzzles the crook of Hector's neck and breathes him in, head swimming with the spice of his skin, with every bad idea he's ever had. But of all the many ways he's destroyed Hector and will keep hurting him, his hands as skilled in creation as they are at ruining everything they touch, the thought of shoving Hector over and pushing him into him, unwanted, must stay a thought, even if he isn't entirely sure why.
He's less sure of why it matters, whether or not Hector will think differently of him for his restraint.]
Should man lie with man as with a woman, they have committed an abomination... [he drawls, eyes closing] ...They must surely be put to death and their blood shall be upon them.
[His hand lingers where he and Hector left it, but it has gone soft, no meanness to it.]
'twas among the first passages I ever learned to read.