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Qown doesn’t know where to begin.
Galen is in the room with him. They are alone, and they are free from any obligations, at least for the night. Now is as good of a time as any, or at least as good as he is going to get.
And yet.
Qown looks at Galen, but can’t meet his eyes for more than a moment. He turns away and starts to speak, tries desperately to say something, but the words die before they leave his mouth.
Galen crosses the room and–judging Qown’s reaction before he does so– carefully sits down on the bed beside him. He doesn’t say anything, not at first, simply takes Qown’s hand and gently raises it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles.
“What is it?” he asks.
Qown frowns, furrows his brows, and leans into Galen’s chest, taking a moment to just listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Qown admits, failing to keep the hesitation from his voice.
“Do what?” He thinks the knows the answer, but needed Qown to speak for himself. Too long has he endured other people speaking for him. Galen refuses to continue that.
Qown is tense in his arms and fidgeting with the hem of his tunic.
“Sex,” Qown says finally. “I mean, I know how it works, but I’ve never…done it. I don’t know what people do–show me, please?”
“I thought you took a vow of chastity,” Galen murmurs in return. That vow had been Qown’s armor against anybody’s advances for as long as people had been making them. To see him lower those defenses, to lay himself suddenly bare, is wholly unexpected even after everything at the Lighthouse.
“But I kissed you. This is what comes next, right? This is where all that is supposed to lead.”
Galen feels the blood drain from his face. He pulls away and looks down at Qown. “Do you think because you kissed me I now expect you to sleep with me?” The thought is appalling, sickening him to his core.
“No! Yes. I don’t know. I told you, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do you even want to do this?” Galen speaks very carefully, almost stilling his breath as he stands on the edge of what is a delicate tipping point.
“Yes! No. I don’t know.” Qown laughs weakly at his own expense and buries his face in his hands to hide his burning cheeks.
Galen takes a slow breath. “I’m going to be blunt, and say somethings that may be uncomfortable for you to hear.” He speaks as gently as possible, but he is approaching a sensitive topic that will sting no matter how carefully he broaches it. “Relos Var hurt you, very badly. He groomed you since you were a child, then he gaeshed you against your will and took away your freedom to choose. He shattered your trust. He controlled you, made you do things.”
Qown shakes his head at the perceived implication. “He never raped me. That was never a threat, not from him.”
“No, he never forced you into sex. But he still forced you to do things you didn’t want to do.”
For a long moment Qown doesn’t respond. He shudders and clutches his arms around himself, trying desperately to keep himself from flying apart. Everything that he wants to say–That Relos Var hadn’t hurt him that badly; that even if he had, he had chosen his own path and deserved everything that came from it; that all his hangups and anxieties were the product of his own failings–everything that he wants to be true because it would be easier to live with all flake away like old paint as Galen exposes the real truth of the matter.
“Yes. He did,” Qown whispers.
“You have a choice now. You get to decide what you want to do. You get to ignore Relos Var whispering in your ear about the depravity of sex. You get to ignore whatever society says about the things two men decide to do in their own bed. You even get to ignore the fact that I am very attracted to you and would enjoy taking you to bed. I will love you no matter what you choose. If you truly do not want to sleep with me, then we won’t. I will not harbor any grudge. I will not think less of you. I will cherish every moment that I have with you, you have my honest word. This is about you and your choice. What is it that you want?”
The thought that Qown is free to make his own decisions is frightening. What if he chose wrong? It was so much easier to be told what to do. But that has always been the problem, hasn't it?
“I never allowed myself to choose” Qown admits. “I never trusted myself enough. I always thought other people were wiser, smarter, better. Why should anyone like me be allowed to make decisions? Then when Relos Var gaeshed me…I thought I would be okay with it. I thought that since I had followed Relos Var without question in one capacity or another for my entire life, how could that be any different? But it was. It was. Just knowing that I couldn’t choose, that I was the slave of a man who would be so cruel as to tear out a piece of my soul just for his own gain. If I could have dreamt, I would have had nightmares.” Qown doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t fight the welling of tears any more than he could fight the surge of emotions that swelled within him; the remorse, the disgust, the shame and self-compassion both–all of it crashes upon him in a wave and he is buried beneath it. A sob wracks his body, and then another. His soul, his very essence, had been stolen, an intimate violation that he ignored and dismissed rather than face that pain of betrayal. He faces it then, teeth bared in a grimace and fists clenched at his side.
Galen balks at Qown’s distress, recognizing the floods that proceed a burst dam, and scurries to curtail the damage.
“I’m sorry Qown, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up Relos Var like that and then asked if you still wanted to sleep with me. That was heartless and ill done.”
Qown manages a laugh through his tears and waves away his worries. “You only wanted me to be honest with myself. You weren’t wrong, just…I needed to hear that, I did, but I need some time before I really believe it. All my life I’ve hidden myself away, thinking I could protect myself if only I didn’t let anyone truly near. It's hard to let that go. It frightens me, but I want to try. I want to see what it’s like to love someone in a way I’ve always denied myself. Not tonight though. Tonight, I think I just need someone close. Just hold me? Please? I don’t want to be alone when I could have you.” He sidles closer to Galen until their knees and hips and shoulders are touching.
“I would like that very much,” Galen says, and wraps an arm around Qown’s shoulders. Qown bats away the sour and familiar taste of discomfort at such bodily pleasure. Let those thoughts rot and turn to dust, he thinks. They no longer have a place or purpose. Not here. Not now. Net ever again. Qown settles deeper into the embrace, and finally allows himself to revel in the thrill of their contact.