Chapter 12: Self-Control

Maybe he can skip dinner.

That kiss this afternoon hasn't left Emrys's mind for a single moment. It's been hours since he accidentally witnessed it, and it's still repeating over and over again. He's been hiding in his bedroom since then, pacing back and forth like a caged wolf and chewing a hole through his bottom lip.

Well. Not the entire time.

Right now, Emrys is lying on his back on the bed and staring upwards at the ceiling. All he can think of is their mouths moving and their hands grasping and their bodies pressing together. It's impossible to push it away for more than a few seconds at a time.

If the images and the urge won't leave him alone by ignoring them, then maybe...

His hand snakes down his chest and across his abdomen. He swiftly unfastens his belt and pulls the buttons open before he can think better of it.

"Fuck," Emrys hisses as his fingertips find his already painfully hard cock.

He's resisted doing this during his stay so far. Sure, he's gotten off a few times, but he hasn't ever let himself picture Aesind or Archimedes, let alone both. Now, it comes unbidden.

Bright smiles flashed his way. Twinkling eyes full of laughter. Hands brushing his shoulders, his arms.

Lips falling open on a soft moan. A wordless plea for more. Demands to touch here, kiss there.

Emrys sighs unevenly. His imagination unfolds all too easily.

Aesind, delicate and pretty. Spread out and flushed beneath Emrys. Auburn curls gone wild and vivid green eyes fighting to stay open under an onslaught of sensation. Wrists willfully pinned. Slender waist dimpling beneath callused fingers. Peppered with purpling hickeys and asking for more.

Archimedes, elegant and beautiful. Hovering above Emrys, panting with effort. Silvery eyes flashing with desire as he bounces -- or thrusts, Emrys isn't picky. Breathless words moaned like a secret. Blushing brighter and brighter. Golden coif disheveled and made imperfect by fingers running through it, petting and tugging.

"Shit," Emrys swears again. He bites down on a knuckle to muffle a too-loud groan. The desperate edge in his own voice floods him with delightful, despairing embarrassment. If they could see him now, if they knew what he's doing with their faces in his mind and their voices in his ears, what would they say? What would they do?

It's too much. It isn't enough.

This afternoon's kiss returns. In his mind's eye, they really do sink down onto one of those couches. And in doing so, they invite Emrys onto it with them. Aesind ribs him for hesitating at the balcony door while Archimedes holds out a patient hand for him to take. And Emrys can't resist. He sits. On the other couch across the way, beside them, between them. Watching. Participating.

His grip tightens, speeds up, twists.

Their hands wander. Teeth sink into his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his back, his thighs. Marking and claiming and worshiping whatever they can reach. He would let them have whatever they want. Anything they asked for.

Tension coils around his lower spine.

A knowing, teasing smirk from Aesind.

A hungry, inviting smile from Archimedes.

"Fuck, fuck," he groans around his knuckle.

When did Emrys become so easy? He yanks his shirt up and out of the way just before the tightening spring in his groin snaps loose. His hips snap upwards, rutting into the circle of his fist with a low, rumbling groan. Thick drops of molten heat splatter onto his stomach, soaking into the dark, curling hair there and pooling in his belly button.

He spends a few moments catching his breath. One hand splays over his chest where it rises and falls heavily; the other lands on the bed, palm up, off to the side.

As his eyes crack back open and the bliss of the orgasm fades, shame creeps in. How could he do that? Emrys promised himself he wouldn't get too attached. It's too complicated. There's too much on the line to risk like this. Besides, they don't even know what Emrys is.

He really ought to tell them the truth.

Emrys sighs. At least the pervasive visions aren't so vivid now. Maybe he'll be able to think past them. He can reassert his self-control and banish this attraction to the furthest corners of his fantasies where it belongs. Emrys's training involved a good deal of discipline and control over impulses and rash decisions. Surely he can manage a couple of little crushes. Easy. He can do this.

And maybe he can skip dinner.

.oOo.

Emrys is a whole fifteen minutes late to dinner, wallowing in a shame cave on his borrowed bed, when Aesind himself sharply raps on the door and demands he go down. With no real way to explain his reluctance and with the looming threat of Aesind bursting in to find him wrapped up in his blankets like a child, Emrys forces himself to get up, straighten his clothes, and open the door.

Aesind gives him a bright smile. He doesn't say a single word about what happened earlier, just chirps, "Come on, then."

Silently, Emrys follows. At the top of the stairs, he hesitates. Aesind makes it a few down and seems to realize that Emrys has stopped. He grasps the railing and turns halfway back, peering upwards at Emrys with one brow arched.

"Come on," he repeats, nodding toward the landing below.

"I'm not sure I should," Emrys mutters. He casts an uncomfortable look back towards his bedroom's shut door.

"Nonsense," Aesind says firmly. "Of course you should, because Archimedes and I want you there. Besides, you need to eat something." He makes a beckoning gesture and continues down the stairs. "Let's go."

There's nothing for it. Emrys obeys, trailing behind Aesind and working to contain his shame.

And his hunger. Aesind's narrow hips sway in a hypnotic pattern as he walks through the halls toward the intimate dining space off the kitchen. It's all too easy to picture grasping those hips and putting the pretty man up against a wall to drag as many sweet sounds out of him as possible.

There are details carved into the moldings on the ceiling, Emrys finds. Curling vines and flowers weave along the top of every wall. The archways have them, too, spiraling into intricate shapes that guide the eye along.

They arrive at the breakfast nook as Emrys is forcibly considering the relative merits of such subtle detailing. Surely no one ever notices it unless they're specifically looking at it. It has come in handy, though, Emrys will give it that.

"Ah," Archimedes says from his usual seat at the table. He doesn't smile, but he also doesn't look disgusted or offended as he makes eye contact with Emrys. "There you are."

"Sit," Aesind commands, gesturing to the seat Emrys usually takes. He raises his voice to address the pair of butlers waiting by the door that leads into the kitchen. "We're ready. Please, go ahead and serve."

Emrys sits.

Aesind sits.

The staff serve.

The staff retreat.

The room is silent.

None of them move.

Aesind sighs loudly. Emrys jumps, eyes wide.

"Alright, enough! I've had enough!" Aesind smacks both hands on the table. He turns an exasperated look on Emrys. "Are you angry at us?"

"What?" Emrys splutters. "No, of course not. Why would I b--"

"Sweetheart, are you angry at Emrys for this afternoon?"

Archimedes blinks. "No, I--"

"Good! Fine!" Aesind throws his hands up. "No one's fucking mad!" He points at Emrys. "Stop avoiding us." He points at Archimedes next. "Stop worrying." A pause, then he gestures widely and with great emphasis. "And stop being so weird."

Another silence passes, distinctly more awkward than before but somehow less uncomfortable.

"Am -- am I the one being weird?" Emrys mutters, leaning away from Aesind with one brow raised.

Aesind gives him a fed up look. It makes the sour nerves in Emrys's gut bubble into a single, uncomfortable snort. The sound makes Aesind's face screw up even further.

"Don't laugh at me," he complains loudly. He flops backwards in his chair, covering his face with both hands. "Asshole!"

Emrys tries his best to hold back another laugh and fails spectacularly. Across the table, he catches Archimedes covering his own lips with the tips of his fingers. The amused curl at the corner of the godkin's mouth is still clearly visible. They share a moment of silence before the thick, awkward air hovering between them shatters apart.

"Assholes!" Aesind cries as Emrys breaks into unabashed cackles and Archimedes shakes with barely-suppressed laughter. His squeaky reprimands only make Emrys laugh harder, until his sides are aching and his eyes stinging.

"Alright, alright," Archimedes cuts in, voice thin as he strains against humor. White teeth flash in a rare, uninhibited smile only barely hidden behind his fist. "Alright. We're done. Sorry, love."

Emrys grins across the table at him. "Speak for yourself. I think it's pretty funny still."

Aesind kicks at Emrys's shins with a loud whine. He can't hide his own laughs now, though. "Eat your fucking dinner, you dick."

Their conversation flows without issue. This afternoon's incident doesn't come up again. Aesind and Archimedes seem intent on forgetting it ever happened and moving past it. If Emrys ignores how good it feels to be with them, maybe he can do the same.

After all, Emrys is a master of self-control.