Humming in affirmation against Rhy's throat, he pushes his jacket from his shoulders, letting it slide to the floor in a crumple. His hands roam all over, mapping Rhy's chest and back and stomach through his shirt, pulling it loose. Rhy must have known before he did that he wanted him. Wilhelm was just looking, he insisted — because after everything, wanting somebody who isn't Simon felt...wrong in a way he can't pin down with words. It felt like leaving his old life farther behind.
As he'd once spilled at the tavern, he was almost elated to have an excuse to abandon that life: the title, the expectations, the pressure. But that doesn't mean there's nothing he misses, nothing he wants to hold onto. The person he was with Simon is one such keepsake. The person he could be.
Loneliness makes it easier to crash into somebody else — especially somebody whose eyes seem to possess their own gravity. Fooling around with Jesper made it harder to forget how much his skin misses touch.
"I want to suck your dick," he murmurs in Rhy's ear. Soft but with a surety that surprises him. Shyness catching up, he laughs in a breathy little rush.
For someone who has lived most of his life according to someone else's terms — keep up appearances, keep your real emotions locked up, stop being selfish — voicing his wants still feels like a battle. Like a taboo he's smashing. But it feels good to break it, yanking off his own jacket, swaying into another kiss, tugging Rhy along by the shirt. His own bed is a disheveled mess, but there are three other perfectly good beds in here.
slaps a nsfw warning on here oops
As he'd once spilled at the tavern, he was almost elated to have an excuse to abandon that life: the title, the expectations, the pressure. But that doesn't mean there's nothing he misses, nothing he wants to hold onto. The person he was with Simon is one such keepsake. The person he could be.
Loneliness makes it easier to crash into somebody else — especially somebody whose eyes seem to possess their own gravity. Fooling around with Jesper made it harder to forget how much his skin misses touch.
"I want to suck your dick," he murmurs in Rhy's ear. Soft but with a surety that surprises him. Shyness catching up, he laughs in a breathy little rush.
For someone who has lived most of his life according to someone else's terms — keep up appearances, keep your real emotions locked up, stop being selfish — voicing his wants still feels like a battle. Like a taboo he's smashing. But it feels good to break it, yanking off his own jacket, swaying into another kiss, tugging Rhy along by the shirt. His own bed is a disheveled mess, but there are three other perfectly good beds in here.