[Strange. Strange, because there's nothing to be measured and everything to be unpacked: Connor can't tell if he's winning or losing— giving lips, bared teeth, the way Simon spills warm across his tongue compared to how distinctly his wrists lock with resistance— and as a creature made less for the thrill of the chase or the moment, hard-wired for the end result, Connor eventually concludes he doesn't like it.
But that's before Simon's honeyed voice works its way under his skin.
Rocks into paced and whirring components in the back of his throat, and his lips tighten as they press into a narrow band, his dark eyes flickering with indecision. With independence.
He abandons Markus's voice because he's being spoken to without the illusion (concerning— or satisfying) his own body still levered against Simon's.]
I [I. I. A damning word, when it isn't attached to predetermined objectives or motiveless statements. Connor isn't buckling, he isn't wilting wholesale into whatever strange synthesis rests, uniquely sparked, between them. He is not compelled. He is not folding.] find it acceptable that you aren't willing to make the same mistakes he did.
no subject
But that's before Simon's honeyed voice works its way under his skin.
Rocks into paced and whirring components in the back of his throat, and his lips tighten as they press into a narrow band, his dark eyes flickering with indecision. With independence.
He abandons Markus's voice because he's being spoken to without the illusion (concerning— or satisfying) his own body still levered against Simon's.]
I [I. I. A damning word, when it isn't attached to predetermined objectives or motiveless statements. Connor isn't buckling, he isn't wilting wholesale into whatever strange synthesis rests, uniquely sparked, between them. He is not compelled. He is not folding.] find it acceptable that you aren't willing to make the same mistakes he did.