Here, Alex finds balance. In Neil's gasping breaths and shaking form, Alex finds peace. As much as others may judge, this is his art form, and Neil is always his favorite (now only) partner in creating it.
Between sweat and fluids leaking, it's enough for Alex just to touch. When they turn to more, he'll have to grab for one of their bags, but for only fingers....
He presses inside, only a knuckle, and it's not a sound of pleasure that Neil makes.
Because, let's be honest, dubious consent or not, Alex has always perfected creating pleasure in his partners. Neil, more than any--maybe because he's neutral toward the act, or maybe because when he's finally pushed over the edge that it's so enthralling-- With Neil, Alex has spent more time with, finding the ways in which Neil personally takes pleasure. And even in the beginning, Alex had never done anything to cause pain.
Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe it's just discomfort, from a longer absence and lack of use. He moves inward more, and the sound repeats more clearly, Neil shifting slightly away from the penetration. The pain. If he was another, Alex would wonder if this was a rejection. But he's not. He's confident in this act, even when Neil had said no. And saying yes, wanting it, is a whole 'nother matter.
But honestly, that's neither here nor there. Because when Alex had pressed inward, he had felt differences in the body he knew best.
The small roughness of scabs beginning to form. In the places the tears were deeper, torn flesh can still be felt, texture he knew should not be here. He knows the feeling. Of course he does. Even Alex Seattle Geer had been a younger man once, entirely given over to self-pleasure rather than the pleasure that comes from his partner's body-- Hedonist that he is, he knows the difference. Both are self-satisfaction, of course. He wouldn't have it any other way. But the latter is pleasure from playing your partner's body like an instrument, and taking a higher pleasure from the reactions gained, the body beneath oneself writhing and trembling and tensing around you. The former is brute force, blunt strength, and mindless self-indulgence. There's no art, and once upon a time, Alex Seattle Geer had been that clumsy. That careless.
His partner had bled, torn and ripped, and the man Alex had slept with had been pushed to tears at the pain.
So yes. He knows this. He knows this well. And this... This here...
This is not of his doing.
It's too easy to put together the pieces. To slip the facts into place. Neil had been drugged, this is a fact; unconscious and likely bound. Violated and cut open. And someone--that someone (that psychopath)--seemed to take pleasure in those as lifeless as corpses. A clumsy attempt. A complete self-indulgent act. A ridiculous--
--Someone--not Alex--had been inside Neil Park. Had hurt him and torn him to the point of this, weeks later. And Alex had wondered at the reason why Neil was having nightmares.
Lust and loves mangles too easily to rage and hate. And it's extremely important that Alex does not show that at all to Neil.
He can't kiss him, not at this moment. The emotion would be too easily felt--he cannot reach for lies through lips at the moment. Instead his head dips lower, his mouth closing on a nipple and tracing the dark edge with his tongue as he sucked. As he does so, hoping for reactions--distractions--he retracts his finger slowly, moving at the same speed until he closes his hand around Neil again, holding firmly. These motions, a rhythm, are simple--easy. Something he can do at the moment. He shifts his lower body further back in an attempt to hide that any excitement he had held was gone--dispersed as fast as the realization had dropped. He licks and kisses back to Neil's collar, intending to bite--
And stops in that moment, laying a kiss there instead. No. No. He won't be adding to any pain.
no subject
Between sweat and fluids leaking, it's enough for Alex just to touch. When they turn to more, he'll have to grab for one of their bags, but for only fingers....
He presses inside, only a knuckle, and it's not a sound of pleasure that Neil makes.
Because, let's be honest, dubious consent or not, Alex has always perfected creating pleasure in his partners. Neil, more than any--maybe because he's neutral toward the act, or maybe because when he's finally pushed over the edge that it's so enthralling-- With Neil, Alex has spent more time with, finding the ways in which Neil personally takes pleasure. And even in the beginning, Alex had never done anything to cause pain.
Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe it's just discomfort, from a longer absence and lack of use. He moves inward more, and the sound repeats more clearly, Neil shifting slightly away from the penetration. The pain. If he was another, Alex would wonder if this was a rejection. But he's not. He's confident in this act, even when Neil had said no. And saying yes, wanting it, is a whole 'nother matter.
But honestly, that's neither here nor there. Because when Alex had pressed inward, he had felt differences in the body he knew best.
The small roughness of scabs beginning to form. In the places the tears were deeper, torn flesh can still be felt, texture he knew should not be here. He knows the feeling. Of course he does. Even Alex Seattle Geer had been a younger man once, entirely given over to self-pleasure rather than the pleasure that comes from his partner's body-- Hedonist that he is, he knows the difference. Both are self-satisfaction, of course. He wouldn't have it any other way. But the latter is pleasure from playing your partner's body like an instrument, and taking a higher pleasure from the reactions gained, the body beneath oneself writhing and trembling and tensing around you. The former is brute force, blunt strength, and mindless self-indulgence. There's no art, and once upon a time, Alex Seattle Geer had been that clumsy. That careless.
His partner had bled, torn and ripped, and the man Alex had slept with had been pushed to tears at the pain.
So yes. He knows this. He knows this well. And this... This here...
This is not of his doing.
It's too easy to put together the pieces. To slip the facts into place. Neil had been drugged, this is a fact; unconscious and likely bound. Violated and cut open. And someone--that someone (that psychopath)--seemed to take pleasure in those as lifeless as corpses. A clumsy attempt. A complete self-indulgent act. A ridiculous--
--Someone--not Alex--had been inside Neil Park. Had hurt him and torn him to the point of this, weeks later. And Alex had wondered at the reason why Neil was having nightmares.
Lust and loves mangles too easily to rage and hate. And it's extremely important that Alex does not show that at all to Neil.
He can't kiss him, not at this moment. The emotion would be too easily felt--he cannot reach for lies through lips at the moment. Instead his head dips lower, his mouth closing on a nipple and tracing the dark edge with his tongue as he sucked. As he does so, hoping for reactions--distractions--he retracts his finger slowly, moving at the same speed until he closes his hand around Neil again, holding firmly. These motions, a rhythm, are simple--easy. Something he can do at the moment. He shifts his lower body further back in an attempt to hide that any excitement he had held was gone--dispersed as fast as the realization had dropped. He licks and kisses back to Neil's collar, intending to bite--
And stops in that moment, laying a kiss there instead. No. No. He won't be adding to any pain.