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“Don’t hurt me.”
It comes soft, like a prayer. The sheets and bedding against the ground are softer than Sylas is familiar with, he’s still adjusting to resting on something other than chilled stone even now. He had told him that he didn’t need it, but as Garen consistently kept doing, he did it for him anyway.
“Please don’t hurt me.” Sylas says it again and it echoes in the ruins. A home was here once, but not anymore. There’s nothing here but them. Them and a secret. Them and the beat of their hearts and the soft trilling of their breath in tandem.
It feels a little like being whole.
“That you did this to me. You fucking bastard, you big, beautiful blue-eyed prick. How could you do this? How did you do this?” He whispers, it’s tinged with disbelief, a little bit of awe and a lot of anguish, “Why? What could you gain from this? When are you going to do it, wait until I’m softest and fuck my whole life up again?”
Sylas pauses, his throat bobs and he can feel the stone collar against the lump he barely forces down. A hand lifts, he can feel the drag of the chain and the weight of the shackle bearing down upon him as he moves, and settles the worn pads of his fingers against a smooth, soft cheek.
“You know what’s even worse? I’m starting to think you’re not going to do it. I’m starting to think you want more than just tumbling together like animals, all the shit you do, I’m running out of reasons why it could be anything but-”
Like he can force the word out, Sylas thinks, but he cannot say it for Garen. His teeth click together, frustration bubbling against the surface of his skin, he can feel the prickle of heat against his cheeks. It hurts. Sylas lets out a shaky breath, “I love you. I think I love you. You did it, you did this to me. Bastard, you fucking…”
Where did the venom go? It used to be so easy to muster. Fingers curl, at the edges of soft, brown hair. Too short to tangle his digits in, but he can’t help but touch and stroke it whenever he can.
“I want to hear you say it to me. I want to ask you to say it, even if you don’t mean it. I love you, I think it would be so good to be loved by you.” He mumbles, embarrassment nestled in his chest, where his heart beats painfully against his ribs, “I don’t know why you’ve done this, I don’t know why it was so easy to fall into. But it worked. I love you.”
The wind blows, trees ruffle, faint on the other side of crumbling walls. Sylas drags the tip of his thumb along the trace of Garen’s lip, even to say it doesn’t rid him of the feeling in his gut. Like a ball of lead left to fester, leaving him no room for anything but that painful yearning for the worst man he could want for. Anything else, anyone else would’ve been better.
Garen’s lip twitches, his breath hitching as he shifts against their bedding. His eyelids don’t even flutter, he’s still and dreaming, words lost upon him in this state.
Sylas sighs, and he pats the larger man’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re a heavy sleeper.” Another bit of shifting, cloth crinkling beneath him as he leans in, pressing a kiss to the knight’s lips before settling in against him, close enough to feel the thud of his resting heart.