[ His whole body feels like an exposed nerve, increasingly chilly night air numbing skin that Cain's touches bring to life with shuddery exhalations and choked back sounds. The last rays of sunlight have all but faded away, only the distant cool light of stars and the planet's natural satellites adding dimension to a head of hair that ducks low to suck color and life into his throat. Darkness makes it easier for him to trick himself. The silhouette of that body against his, so distinctly Cain's by scent and feel and rough edges, nevertheless loses the detail of strikingly handsome features. He can hardly see what he feels, the brush of black strands mixing with his own, firm muscle pressing to his front and making the ache between his legs an all-consuming thought.
He could come like this without much effort, sensitive, inexperienced, and adrenalized.
For a moment his head drops back as he breathes through the sinful attention to his neck and the violent yet trusted hand against his back, a lightheaded stare focused on that carpet of stars. He could... but no, this isn't right. This isn't how he wants this, in spite of that overwhelming need and the fact that he's easily more turned on than he's ever been in his life. For this asshole he's so blindingly attracted to, regardless of all his attempts to be anything but. ]
Fuck... [ The curse is mangled low in his throat as his hand's grip tightens over his shoulder, pressure near to bruising. ]
I said stop. [ That forceful grip turns into a violent shove, suddenly, creating enough space for what he needs in order to get his own bearings – his free hand lifts not for a punch but for a lightning quick backhand, knuckles catching an already abused face as he fights to catch his breath. Only then do fingers lift to the mark left on his throat, pressing into damp skin with a flush high on that flustered, angered expression. ]
You... are such a fucking asshole, you know that? What the hell are you trying to prove? [ That Noctis should hate him? That he should love him? He steps forward finally, though this time not into Cain's arms. He sidesteps him, fighting for his own bearings as he starts towards his own ship. ]
It's my win. Now get the hell out of here, like I told you.
[He deserves the hit when it comes. That disorienting shove gains the necessary distance for a hand to smack across his face, whipping his head to the side — reawakening the painful, throbbing sting of every place he's already been struck. He knows he deserves it when Noctis uses violence to detach them. It's no new experience for Cain.
The reality of night bears in, deluge of his thoughts concealed where he keeps his cheek turned, dark eyes staring at the ground. He doesn't see the expression Noctis makes; he doesn't want to see it. Defeat is crushing, but it's not worse than the feeling of responsibility that comes from this rejection, aware that he's unequivocally fucked something up. Again. The first time, when he put their bodies together in the heat of the fight — that was on purpose. He knew what he was doing was wrong. But this...
He'd really wanted to do it. He'd wanted to kiss Noctis.
Cain doesn't move from where he's been pushed until he's sure the other man is gone, noise of a ship's engine roaring through the dark. Then he leans forward, aching forehead pressed to metal, and punches the hull of his own. His knuckles ache. They might be split and bleeding beneath the leather. It ceases to matter, after a point.]
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He could come like this without much effort, sensitive, inexperienced, and adrenalized.
For a moment his head drops back as he breathes through the sinful attention to his neck and the violent yet trusted hand against his back, a lightheaded stare focused on that carpet of stars. He could... but no, this isn't right. This isn't how he wants this, in spite of that overwhelming need and the fact that he's easily more turned on than he's ever been in his life. For this asshole he's so blindingly attracted to, regardless of all his attempts to be anything but. ]
Fuck... [ The curse is mangled low in his throat as his hand's grip tightens over his shoulder, pressure near to bruising. ]
I said stop. [ That forceful grip turns into a violent shove, suddenly, creating enough space for what he needs in order to get his own bearings – his free hand lifts not for a punch but for a lightning quick backhand, knuckles catching an already abused face as he fights to catch his breath. Only then do fingers lift to the mark left on his throat, pressing into damp skin with a flush high on that flustered, angered expression. ]
You... are such a fucking asshole, you know that? What the hell are you trying to prove? [ That Noctis should hate him? That he should love him? He steps forward finally, though this time not into Cain's arms. He sidesteps him, fighting for his own bearings as he starts towards his own ship. ]
It's my win. Now get the hell out of here, like I told you.
🎀
The reality of night bears in, deluge of his thoughts concealed where he keeps his cheek turned, dark eyes staring at the ground. He doesn't see the expression Noctis makes; he doesn't want to see it. Defeat is crushing, but it's not worse than the feeling of responsibility that comes from this rejection, aware that he's unequivocally fucked something up. Again. The first time, when he put their bodies together in the heat of the fight — that was on purpose. He knew what he was doing was wrong. But this...
He'd really wanted to do it. He'd wanted to kiss Noctis.
Cain doesn't move from where he's been pushed until he's sure the other man is gone, noise of a ship's engine roaring through the dark. Then he leans forward, aching forehead pressed to metal, and punches the hull of his own. His knuckles ache. They might be split and bleeding beneath the leather. It ceases to matter, after a point.]
Fuck.