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“Every time we’re together now, every time I look at you, all I can think about is–is ruining you,” Charles whispers as if the admission won’t feel as terrible to say if it’s said under his breath. He looks away from Arthur, can’t bear to see what his expression turns into. “Can’t help but see you under me, pinned to the ground, covered nearly head to toe in marks that I made. Can’t stop thinking about being rough with you, about you being rough with me in return, and I can’t do that to you. Can’t ask that of you. You don’t deserve it.” Nobody speaks for a little bit, the air full with the sound of buzzing insects. Charles’ heart thunders in his chest, his head buzzing with possibilities of how Arthur might be feeling right now, what he might be thinking. He braces himself for anger, for yelling, for betrayal.
“Oh,” he hears Arthur say, and it sounds breathy to Charles’ ears. It’s so different from what Charles had been expecting and his gaze snaps up to Arthur to find him with his lips parted, pupils blown. “Can’t be sayin’ things like that to me, not if you ain’t planning on following through.”