"I already lost him," he says quietly. "I still wake up some days and for a moment I think- "
He shakes his head.
"If he's up first, if his side of the bed is empty, sometimes I get this horrible, sick flash of panic, like he's gone, like someone's taken him, like- "
Rhys trails off. Looks away for a long moment in thought. His hands flex where they rest against his thighs.
"I guess it's guilt, partly. For a long time he needed help, he needed me, and I wasn't there. He spent months in Merrion's service before I found him, almost a year, and if I lost- if I lost him again- "
He has to pause, to collect himself.
"I'd never forgive myself."
On a scale of one to ten, this fear is an eleven.
From this ask game. Thanks, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump ! 😈💖
🔺 Rhys, does Deomas’ sluttiness bother you? Do you think he asks for the bad attention he receives, be honest. (i’m sorryyyyyyy 😩😩😩) - newbornwhumperfly
Ooooh, @newbornwhumperfly , this is a mean one. 😈😈😈
CWs: allusions to past non-con, slutshaming, victim-blaming
How badly does he not want to answer? 4/10
Rhys scowls, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching tight.
"What the fuck kind of a question is that? Of course he doesn't deserve- he's never deserved- you can't 'ask for' that."
He draws a steadying breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Look," he says more softly, "Déma's beautiful. Of course he is. That doesn't mean that anyone has the right to- to hurt him, to put their hands on him, to- to own him, to frighten him, to violate him. There's nothing he could do that would make him deserve the things that have happened to him."
He sighs, shakes his head.
"And, for what it's worth- I like that he likes sex, okay? I wish it weren't...scary for him, sometimes. But I like how in touch he can be with his own senses, and with mine. I wouldn't call him a slut, but if that's what you mean- I like that about him. It doesn't bother me. I only wish he felt safer exploring it without other people thinking that means he's fair game to hurt."
Rhys 💭 Plants...? Pets? Do/would you ever keep one?
Rhys lights up.
"We kept dogs when I was a child - two, Courage and Honor. My mother was shy of them at first, but I begged and begged - and so did my father, really - and in the end she relented. They were big dogs - we got them as puppies when I was four or five, but at six I could almost have ridden them, they grew so quickly. Pointed ears, intelligent eyes, big fluffy tails - they were so beautiful, and so, so good. Honor used to sleep beside my bed, my own personal guard-dog. And Courage was devoted to my mother, for all she had resisted her at first. She would lie at her feet while she worked, or take little treats so delicately from Mamá's hand. And they both adored my father, who's normally so dignified but had no qualms about rolling around on the floor with them to play.
"My parents still keep dogs, but I haven't had one since Honor and Courage died a few years ago. Oh, no, don't apologize- they lived long, happy lives. I'd love to have a dog again- Déomas likes stray cats, though, and always wants to bring them home, and I'm grudgingly warming to the idea. Grudgingly.
"As for plants, I've always really liked gardening. I was an only child on a big estate, and I used to love following the gardeners and groundskeepers around - my favorite gardener let me watch him work, taught me things about how to plot a garden or an orchard so the plants enrich the soil for each other instead of competing for nutrients.
"I'm trying to keep a garden now - we're all so busy, so it's hard to keep up, but it's nice to have easy access to fresh berries in the summer, squashes and things in the fall and winter, beans and carrots and onions and the like. There are some flowers, too - because things should be beautiful, you know? Déma and Rindy like to remind me of that- subsistence isn't enough on its own. You need beauty, too."
💭 public humiliation - Déomas, Rhys, Andreas, & Sebastian (question intended to be whumpy rather than sexual, but, like,..if that’s a part of it you wanna address? hehe 👀)
(A note: I would not have been so mean if I were not answering for a friend who consented to it! I promise it is safe to ask my characters questions. :p Thanks for being a wonderful sport, @newbornwhumperfly ! <3)
CWs: public humiliation mention (which you've already seen), non-con mention (if you squint), pet whump mention
Déomas:
Déomas' face goes soft, wounded. When his voice comes, it's unusually quiet.
"Why would you ask me that? What- what could I possibly think of it? You saw what he fucking did to me, you saw the way he showed me off, the way he made me available to his friends. Why- why would you make me think about that?"
He looks away, chewing his lip. When he turns back, his eyes are harder, his voice more heated.
"No, you know what? I do have a thought. I think a person has to be pretty fucking small to want to treat someone else like a trophy or an ornament or a- a pet. No, not even a pet- " he chokes - "I saw his dogs. He treated them better."
He's crying now, furious, frustrated, cheeks flushing hot - Rhys reaches for him, but he shakes his head and turns away, stalking out.
Rhys:
"I- really? It's awful, obviously, it's deeply fucked up, it's designed to keep other people in line, it undermines community, it- listen, sorry - I have to go."
He follows Déomas at a jog, calling after him.
Sebastian:
Sebastian wrinkles his nose.
"Distasteful and cruel. Tool of a despot, not a leader - nobody grows from that."
Andreas:
Andreas shudders.
"Can't say I'm in favor of it. To suffer in silence is once thing - to be made to do it publicly is - uniquely unkind, in my opinion. Let people bear their pain privately - at least there's dignity in that."
"Money is useful, but there are plenty of things I value more - bravery, integrity, compassion, steadfastness. You can't buy any of those."
Déomas:
"Money lets you buy safety. It lets you buy comfort. It lets you buy a warm bed and a full belly and some goddamned peace. It frees you from having to please people - without it, you're constantly having to spend your energy satisfying or charming or outsmarting people who have the things you need. When you have money, you can tell everyone else to fuck off and build the life you want."
💭 romantic love - Déomas, Rhys, Andreas, and Sebastian! (i’m not certain if i can lump everyone together like this in an ask but i’d be sending each one individually & that’s just cumbersome, lol) 💖💖💖
Thank you for the ask, @newbornwhumperfly ! Definitely go ahead and group these together. ☺
Déomas:
Déomas quirks a little smile. "You know, I used to think romance was just a way for people to make themselves feel better before they used each other. Like, 'we both know what we're here for - let's not insult each other by lying about it.' But- "
His expression goes softer, a little wistful.
"I've been thinking about it, and - I guess maybe it isn't always false. Sometimes- " he gives an embarrassed little laugh - "sometimes Rhys does these little things for me, like- like the fucking berries. No, no, listen to this, it's ridiculous - so one time, right, we had some blackberries, and I told him they were my favorites. And a week later he comes back to the house with a fucking bush, and he plants it outside. And now, sometimes when I'm...not feeling the best, if they're in season, he'll go pick a handful and, uh, throw them into my mouth to make me laugh? And I just- there are days now where...where not much gets through to me, you know? But he keeps looking for the things that will. And that- that feels pretty real."
Rhys:
"Love is about having someone who's always on your team. It's an effort - sometimes it's hard, really hard, to keep having each other's backs when the world around you gets difficult. But at its best, I think love is about knowing that whatever you have to face, you'll face it together - you'll support each other through it.
Andreas:
Andreas' answer comes quickly. He's brisk, businesslike, dispassionate as he says, "Love is vulnerability. When you love another person, you have something to lose. It opens you up to being hurt in ways that wouldn't be possible otherwise."
He looks away, hesitating.
"It's- fucking terrifying, honestly. I don't like feeling that deeply - it's a weak point, it's a liability, it's a hole in my defenses. But I think it's- I don't know. I think it's worth it."
Sebastian:
Sebastian grins. "Love is - it's like sunshine. When I see Andreas, it's like something lights up inside of me. It's just so sweet and warm and bright. It doesn't matter what's weighing on me - I feel his arms around me and I can catch my breath again, I can handle it, as long as he's with me."
Ooh, fun question! Déomas is 29 and Rhys is 30. They've known each other since their early teens - eventually there may be a whump-free, sfw meet-cute of how they first get together.
Déomas Disagrees, Part 3 (or: Déomas Agrees After All)
(Listen, man, titles are hard.)
This is a continuation of this drabble: Déomas Disagrees, Part 2
Déomas and Rhys have some things to talk about.
CWs: mention of non-con touching, mention of a slap, so many fluffy feelings (I am pretty sleepy but I’m prettttty sure that’s all.)
Here’s where to find my Déomas Master Post and my other works.
Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain , @boxboysandotherwhump , @whatwasmyprevioususername, @moose-teeth , @potatopothole , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @newbornwhumperfly - as always, let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!
Rhys is seated at the little kitchen table, Rhiannon folded gracefully into a seat across from him. Her hand is resting on his. He looks up with a start when the bedroom door opens, and his face is hopeful and sheepish at once when he sees Déomas come out.
Déomas feels the soothing pressure of Catríona’s hand on his shoulder.
“You want us to stay?” she asks, softly enough that Rhys and Rhiannon can’t hear.
Déomas gives a little shake of his head.
“You sure?” she presses, and he smiles a little at her persistence.
“Yeah, Cat. We’re okay.”
“Okay, but shout if you need me.”
He feels her hand lifts from his shoulder, sees her cock her head at Rhiannon, sees Rhiannon unfold herself from the chair, giving Rhys’ hand a squeeze. Then Catríona and Rhiannon are retreating to their own room, and it’s just him and Rhys.
“Hey,” Déomas says quietly, sliding into Rhiannon’s seat.
He’s across the table from Rhys, who he can see now hasn’t fared much better than he has. Rhys’ eyes are red-rimmed and teary-bright, and he’s fidgeting desperately with the tie that usually binds his hair back, twisting the cord around and around his fingers.
“I’m so sorry,” Rhys says in a rush, his warm brown eyes more vulnerable than Déomas has ever seen them.
“I’m so, so sorry, I should never have hit you, I didn’t mean to, Déma– Déomas,” he corrects, as if he isn’t sure he’s entitled to use the more familiar name.
Rhys’ dark hair is falling in waves around his face, and Déomas wants more than anything to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. But he feels that he should keep his hands to himself, for now, and so he uses his words instead.
“It’s okay, Rhys. I’m– I’m sorry, too. I wanted to push you away. I shouldn’t have– I shouldn’t have touched you like that, not that way, not– not to hurt you.”
He swallows, looking at his lap.
“I was scared.”
Rhys is quiet for a long moment, and when Déomas looks up again he sees that Rhys is studying his face.
“Scared of me?” he asks, his voice taut, like he’s balanced very carefully atop unsteady ground.
“Scared you’d leave,” Déomas says miserably, and he hates this but there are tears on his cheeks again. He scrubs them away with the heels of his hands, and when he looks back across the table Rhys’ hands have stilled.
“Déma,” he says carefully, and Déomas welcomes the sound of the familiar name, the one Rhys made up when they were sixteen and Rhys was first falling in love with him, when Déomas was afraid to fall in love with anyone but liked the way Rhys made his heart feel lighter.
“Déma, can I touch you?”
Rhys is reaching toward him, hand tentatively extended, like he’s ready to drop it in an instant if Déomas declines.
But Déomas doesn’t decline. Instead he laughs, a soft little chuckle that seems to startle Rhys.
“Yeah, Rhys. Can I touch you?”
Rhys shoots him a quavering, wry little smile.
“Yeah. Of course.”
Déomas seizes Rhys’ hand, interlacing their fingers, and at the desperation with which Rhys grips him back, he realizes their hands aren’t enough.
It’s moments before he’s up from his seat and circling the table, and Rhys moves his chair back enough to make room for Déomas to perch on his lap and curl up in his arms, snuggling against his chest. Rhys’ arms are strong and safe around him, and Déomas folds himself into the embrace, looping his own arms around Rhys’ neck. They can both be safe here, he thinks as he nuzzles into Rhys’ shoulder, as he feels Rhys press a kiss to the top of his head. They can both be safe here.
