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Summary
The hand pressed to the back of Erik’s head finds the man’s jaw, dislodging him from the crook of Ištván’s neck so he can look upon the younger man’s face. He didn’t meet Ištván’s eye immediately, only dragging his gaze from the floor when Ištván prompted it, digging his fingers into the strong line of Erik’s jaw. His eyes are red rimmed and glassy, on the precipice between getting over it and bursting into tears. Ištván sighs, and softens his grip because in his old age he’d gotten soft for this boy. The firm tone of his voice is his only defence against Erik’s disarming state.
“The stronger dog fucks the bitches, Erik. Which are you going to be?”