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Layle / Keiss [900 Words] Rated M
"Usually Keiss isn't too concerned, but Layle isn't just someone."
“Are you sure about this?” Keiss asked as he slowly pulled the front of Layle’s belt free, giving him time to just think it over. His partner nods, but he’s also refusing to open his eyes. Whatever personal hangups he has about sex has nothing to do with Keiss, and normally he wouldn’t even bother to ask, trusting the people he’s with to understand the gravity of their own requests. But this is Layle.
He knows his name, favorite color, that he hates fish, and how abnormal it is for him to shake.
Even he says he’s alright, he’s clearly not and Keiss cares too much to let him do this to himself. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.” The belt comes off and is tossed somewhere in the room with jacket and several of Keiss’ own personal effects.
The grip on the back of his shirt tightens when Keiss slips his hand between his slacks and stomach, intending to work the loose buttons free. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Don’t tell me that.” His voice is barely a whisper.
With a defeated sigh, Keiss withdraws and leans back. Layle looks confused, startled, and terrified. It kills the mood and he already knows he’s not going to get hard. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“What?” Relief and anger are a confusing combination on his face. “It’s fine! I said it’s fine!”
“It’s not you, its me.” He groaned. “I have a moral compass and don’t...” Keiss lets his head loll back as he thinks of a kinder way to vent his frustrations. Blaming Layle for being afraid isn’t fair and even less productive. All it would accomplish is reinforcing the idea he has to put out for reasons beyond the Selkie’s imagination. For the sake of his stubborn, ridiculous partner, Keiss pries the door of his heart open a little more than usual. “It’s not like I don’t care about you, alright?”
“And I trust you so...” He reaches down and pulls the buttons of his slacks open himself. “...don’t make me ask again.”
As tempting as his offer and statement about trust is- “I have a better idea.” -he still has not stopped shaking. Keiss pulls the front of his pants and boxers down while distracting him with a series of quick, slow kisses. “Has anyone blown you before?”
“No.” His eyes dart down when they part for a moment too long.
The next kiss is pressed hard against his jaw, demanding his attention as Keiss starts to work his way down his neck. All seems to be going well until Layle gags, covering his mouth and pushing him back. The sound of feet thumping against the floor registers before the cold void where Layle used to be. From the bathroom Keiss could hear him retch, sick to his stomach, and can’t help but worry that he’s done something wrong. While he sorts himself out, Keiss takes a moment to try to recover from his wounded ego.
The retching dies down, but Layle does not return. Keiss gets up and goes to check on him, still in denial as his mind works in overtime to stitch together strings of unpleasant theories about what could make a man like Layle so afraid. Leaning back over the edge of the bath, he looked wrecked. The shaking had been brought down to slight tremble and the only indication that he noticed Keiss’ presense is him opening his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out, though. If Keiss is right, and he’s never wanted more than ever to be wrong, his partner is drowning in shame and guilt.
The floor is cold this late at night since their flat doesn’t have any kind of heating, but he sits next to Layle, knees pressed against his chest, and stays quiet. The breeze slipped through the gaps in the windows softly howls and he closes his eyes, patiently waiting. Even if it takes all night, Keiss has no intention of leaving his partner to suffer in silent agony by himself. Staying awake is a whole other challenge because the silence and stillness is lulling him to sleep. His vision starts to fade, in and out, and Keiss’ head is getting so heavy he’s being jolted awake by it falling.
“It was a long time ago...” Layle’s strained voice wakes the Selkie leaning against him and using his shoulder as a pillow, but his thoughts are still swimming somewhere between reality and a dream. “...but I had been raped.” That wakes him up. It’s an eerily calm confession. “I don’t know what I want, but I thought it’d fine if it were you...” The laugh fades into a sniffle. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Keiss wraps an arm around his shoulder and pushes Layle’s head against his own. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
He crumbles but they don’t talk about it again for the rest of the night. Every ounce of pent up sorrow in his body is drained through his eyes. Dawn lights up their little flat when Keiss carries his exhausted, dead asleep partner to his bed. He’s tempted to stay with him, but the boundaries between them are more unclear than ever.
Keiss rolls into his hammock and stares at the ceiling, wondering how much his partner keeps bottled up.