I'm breathing hard and water is dripping off me and soaking into his fancy rug, but the fuck if I care. I'm too busy trying to avoid looking at him, my head dropped low as I stare at the ground.
I hate the submissive look, but I'm stiff with apprehension and maybe a bit of fear too, and my hands are clenched tight in the effort not to meet his eyes.
Brown. His eyes are brown, I suddenly remember. I remember from when they were right up in my face as he tongue-raped my mouth. They are dark brown, way darker than mine, the colour of rich dark chocolate, so deep you could fucking drown in them.
Fuck. Why am I even thinking like this?
The chain that binds my arms is wrapped tightly around my wrists, biting into the skin through my thick coat, but I'm only thankful that I haven't got anything else restraining me. Okay. I know escape is impossible. I know that there are guards outside who would probably be willing to hold me down if he asked them to, but with my legs free I might be able to avoid him long enough to talk to him and stop him from fucking me.
Then again, he's waited six years and has gone to the lengths of starting a full-blown continental war to get to me so maybe you think about it, maybe the freedom of movement he has deigned to grant me isn't as reassuring as it sounds. Especially when you consider what that freedom of movement might be needed for.
And thinking of fucking – or being fucked by him in my case, because I'm pretty sure that he's going to be the one wanting to do the fucking - the hell is the kid waiting for anyway? A freaking invite? A sign on my ass inviting him to stick himself inside it? Or maybe he's just waiting for the part when I give in and say I want him in me as badly as he wants to be in me. Oh God. Yeah, beautiful, not going to happen. Ever.
Once again, the word beautiful did not just slip out of my mouth. Or out of my thoughts. Or why-don't-you-just-shut-the-fuck-up.
My breath hitches and I know exactly when he starts giving me the damn once over. I can feel my skin crawling under his gaze, my hairs rising on end, and I breathe in once deeply to calm the panicking instincts that are running rampant in me. Shit. I've never been so scared in my life.
I can practically feel the weight of his brown eyes stroking up and down my body. They zero in on the slice of chest I know is showing between my coat and shirt folds, and I regret wearing something this flashy and obviously worn to attract attention on today of all days, and then they settle down heavily on my crotch area, and even though I'm not gay, goddammit - or maybe I'm just gay for him? (shut the fuck up Francis!) - I feel myself hardening.
His gaze moves on and I let out a breath of air in relief, although my groin still aches in response to his once-over.
Then it seems as if all the air is suddenly sucked from the room as I feel him – I can fucking feel him – open up those beautiful lips of his (so nice pictured around my cock – shut up Francis!) and he says, in the most fucking seductive voice I've ever heard, combined with a hint of the-cat-that-got-the-cream satisfaction, my name.
"Francis," he fucking purrs. Who the in the god-damn fucking hell fucking purrs anyway?
I tremble with the force of resisting his gaze, because I so want to glare at him right now, and I almost give in, lifting my head so that the only thing that blocks his form my view is my thick fringe.
I will not give him the satisfaction.
Then something in me cracks, and fuck the hell, I look up at him, my eyes snapping to lock onto the dark brown orbs staring at me with such intensity that they feel as if they're going to fucking burn my eye sockets out.
"Charles," is wrenched from my lips, and I practically growl at him.
He almost smiles. Almost. And then all hell breaks loose as I lunge at him.
Why I lunge at him, I will never know.
A/N: Hey, an update!
Francis swears a lot when he is agitated, I apologise on his behalf ;)
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