halfcocked | GET OUT OF MY HEAD, CHARLES

Oh, good idea . . . he'd get it, too . . . he knows what it's like! Being married!

We're not actually married yet ...

[but they're just words; he understands that]

I feel married.

[with some satisfaction and pleasure]

[except for the lack of sex]

[raises a bit of an eyebrow at that, mentally and physically]

Not until we get home.

I know that! I know! But when we get home . . .

[XXX]

--Devit!

[MOSTLY AN INCOHERENT JUMBLE OF SHEER EMBARRASSMENT]

I can't help it, I'm not like you where I can just lock it all away--!

[I wonder if it's behind one of those locked doors

. . . XXX]

Devit!

[ALL THOSE DOORS ARE PRETTY SECURELY SHUT]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

[he really is; please don't be mad it's because I love you and you're so hot and I just want to SORRY]

[still very embarrassed, automatically covering it with a veneer of poise--it's like second nature to him to repress and push it aside, though it comes out cold] It's all right.

[can feel that] . . . You're just embarrassed, not mad? Why are you embarrassed about how I feel?

[curious, not angry]

Because--

[it's not something that's easy to articulate; there are years that have built up into dozens of layers, of it's not proper and a man of the church isn't allowed (even now) and just general inexperience with being desired and having desire in the first place]

[physically, just shrugs]

[physically petting Hakuren's hair now, draped on him; it's not like I have experience either just what feels good on me or I saw on the internet but I really want to, someday . . .

nudging at his mind with a small amount of desire, not innocent, but more tender than passionate, feel]

[very firmly pushing that away--gently, but still, for now, refusing] Not right now, Devit.

[there's a little shudder of almost physical sickness at the rejection, but he pushes that away, feeling silly and ashamed] Sorry.

[is calm and very firm about this--there is still the affection and the warmth there, but also a tight rein on it] I'm not mad.

I know, I know. [there's still a knot of sick worry in the pit of his stomach, but he breathes deeply, working on relaxing]

[takes his hands, squeezing them] What are you worried about?

. . . I know you love me but I hate getting rejected, I get worried that--

[--I'm gross, that you think I'm ugly or not attractive, or maybe you'll just never want me and maybe every time we kiss you hate it . . . ]

--I know it's not true because you tell me so and I trust you, but even though I know it in my head I feel that way a little bit.

[squeezing his hands back]

[considering this, weighing several responses quickly and discarding them before they have a chance to really manifest through the link, then:]

Kiss me.

--Huh?

[so much hopeful excitement]

[a little nervous, but also determined, meeting Devit's eyes evenly] I said kiss me.

[a moment like he was going to say more, but distracted by that face, crawling up close and leaning in to meet his lips]

[kisses him back softly, slowly relaxing some of his control--there is a quietly wry sense of amused self-deprecation, it always feels like the first time when we do this, but there's also a deep sense of comfortable rightness, and pleasure--this is the only person I would ever want to do this with]

[on his part, there's a sense of deep, echoed pleasure, there's no one else in the world, and some surprisingly firm self-restraint of his own: this much, and no more, or he'll get scared or yell at me . . . it's hard, but this much is good, too . . .

and, of course, some very deep, undeniable lust]

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