Sebastian chuckles into his flesh, moans, and that’s what sends him over the edge, spurting up his own chest without a hand on himself.
Sebastian licks him long after he’s done coming, and then he licks up every drop of come from Peter’s stomach and chest.
He lies beside him on the couch while Peter blinks back tears and burrows as close as he can get.
“You need a blanket for this couch,” Sebastian says. He keeps Peter close. “I’ll get you one, baby.”
Peter is content after that.And dazed. Then Sebastian gets up, comes back with a blanket, and tucks it around him.
“You’re wonderful,” he says. He spends several minutes fussing over Peter, touching him like he’s an ill, well-loved child. If someone had asked him how he’d feel about such treatment, he would have rolled his eyes dismissively. It wouldn’t even make sense. He’s a grown man.
But it turns out he fucking loves it.
“You let me check now,” Sebastian eventually says and shoves up the blanket. He has Peter spread his legs. It’s mortifying. He’s got a cool washcloth. It stings. Sebastian is so gentle, pressing it against him.
“You’re so pretty, sweetheart.” He kisses Peter’s hip. It’s said with affection. “I’ll be back. You need food.”
Peter drifts, sniffles, and touches his cock and his balls. He touches his hole and his perineum. Which isn’t something he’s used to doing.
What a ridiculously limited life he’s lived. To be thirty-five and only just accepting that he’s gay, a bottom, and a masochist.
He doesn’t want to say that being a masochist is the most important of the three attributes, but he is in love with the pain first and foremost. He isn’t sure he’d want the rest of it if he wasn’t hurt and getting taken care of after.
The pain is exquisite. It hurts in so many ways. Some new, all of them intense and distracting. He sobs softly, cries for a bit, but it’s good. It’s a release. The last time he cried like this was when his best friend died in a shitty hellhole in Afghanistan.
Now he’s crying, and all he can think about is every pathetic compromise and decision he’s made. In both his personal and political life he’s been a coward. Has he ever done the right thing?
No. It’s an awful thing to dwell on, but he just hasn’t really felt the weight of a life half and badly lived until now. Sebastian comes back with two plates of food and orange juice. He sits on the couch and urges Peter closer. He helps Peter sit up, gets him tucked in close like a child.
“Are you okay?” Sebastian whispers, getting him a Kleenex.
“Yeah. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is good. I haven’t cried since… It’s nice. I mean, it isn’t. It’s awful, but it’s good, too. And if we hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be able to get it out. So thank you.”
Sebastian kisses him on the top of his head, his cheek, and then his mouth. “It’s pretty normal to want to get physically hurt so you can have an emotional release.”
“Is that healthy?” Peter sniffles, wiping his nose.
Sebastian shrugs. “I have no idea. Is drinking healthy? Getting high every night? Grindr? Smoking? Overeating? Religion? People are fucked up and need ways to cope. If you get hurt by someone you trust and feel better on the other side of it, I don’t think that’s wrong. Though I’m pretty biased.”
“It’s almost like an infection. Like a boil or blister or something. It’s there and getting rid of it requires—you have to get through the skin sometimes. But it’s better when it’s out. I used to always get in fights, and I knew I’d feel good afterwards. That’s not something I can do anymore. Thank you.”
Sebastian gives him a kiss on the top of his head. “I will very happily brutally fuck you and mark you up whenever you want. You can keep me on speed dial. Now, you need to eat. You must be so fucking hungry.”
Sebastian offers him a piece of bacon. Peter eats it, taking it from his fingers. He gets a kiss after, like a reward for being good.
“My father despaired of me,” Peter says. It feels a bit random. He half hopes Sebastian will ignore it. But he does also miss his dad. He was a flawed man. Not just for cheating on his mom but because of all the moral compromises he made as a politician. It’s hard to love someone when you don’t respect them.
To give them that grace and accept that they’re flawed and human. Did his dad tell himself he was helping people in other ways? That establishing a legacy for his family, keeping them safe and wealthy, was worth it?
“Oh yeah?” Sebastian asks and gives Peter French toast and a raspberry, feeding him with a fork.
He puts his head against Sebastian’s bare shoulder.
“He was a good father,” he says and thinks of what he should say next. Sebastian keeps feeding him, and Peter slowly figures out what to say, and then he can’t shut up, one thing after another, and he wonders if his entire life has been a mistake.
Sebastian finally frowns at him. “Doing what we did can be emotionally draining. I think you’re crossing the line into sub drop. You’re a good man. Look at me. You are. I promise you that in the morning you won’t feel so down on yourself. You did the best you could. That’s what we all do. Sometimes our best is shitty. That’s okay, too.”
He sobs into Sebastian’s shoulder and gets held until he falls asleep. He’s so light after that, he could drift away. It’s the first time he’s felt really connected to someone on a personal, intimate level. Total vulnerability. He doesn’t want it to end.
