It was a piece of advice kindly meant, but poorly recieved, especially as Edmund laid a hand over his heart. Ienzo's lungs emptied, dry, shuddering heave of a sound, and he bowed his head, shaking it, more than a bit ashamed of himself and his bitterness. How readily he was about to betray secrets to a boy he still barely knew. That he'd courted for a little camaradie on a passing whim. This was happening so quickly, so fast, his adolescent miseries bubbling up to the surface.
"I hardly sleep, barely eat..." Indeed, what was good supper from a bad one anymore, when you weren't hurrying it down and shoving extra breadrolls in your pockets and excusing yourself to join the upper years at their projects? What was real satiation, if not a picnic in Master Ansem's attic in the summer rain, feasting on a spread of biscuits, cheese, and apples nicked from the parlour fruit bowl, shaved so carefully to crisp slices with a pocket knife and pressed imploringly against his lips.
What was a good shower anymore, for that matter, under the dormitory's squeaky, lukewarm taps, when the fagging masters ducked in past the curtain, backed you against the tile and siezed your prick while laughing and called you a wasted little Tart, instead of sidling up against you smoothly from behind with a washcloth already lathered in french-milled lavender soap? There were reasons he sometimes let himself go filthy until the smell was almost noticeable, and rinsed out his bangs over the sink, fully clothed, spinning toward the doorway with the ends sopping and spraying outward whenever someone else ducked into the washroom.
"What makes you think I've been kind to my body?" Ienzo sneered, despite every movement right now, which seemed a self-indulgence for the sake of being touched. He thought nothing less of Edmund, for his nightmares, but hated when it meant he couldn't creep off somewhere else in the middle of the night, to pace out his insomnia down the halls after lights out.
But how could he resent a boy who pulled him gently in between his thighs without any malice meant by it, with something like tender sympathy, well-meaning, and probably misplaced? He found he couldn't lean up on Edmund's chest and feel wholly supported, nor give himself entirely to straddling a lap he was a little too well-matched in size for, to feel small and slight and cherished in.
His face reddened. He did miss this. He missed it too much to move away, but it smelled wrong, and it felt wrong, but the wrongness was all in the lack of their familiarity... not in the idea of having another boy hold him, itself. It made him feel knotted in the stomach, and traitorous.
"It's not the same." Ienzo said in a shrinking tone, curling his limbs toward the center of his body, and if to make himself physically smaller in Edmund's lap, equally apologetic. "You're not the same. I don't need a fraternity, I need... I miss-"
The evidence is in his trembling thighs and tangled tongue, having trouble with the inevitable confession.
"There's a very depraved sort of hunger in me, Edmund Pevensie." He finally whispers in exhasperation. "My body belongs to someone who's already left it behind, and I've neglected it to spite myself, for giving it away. Swear to me you won't breathe a word of this?" He looks back at Edmund with a one-eyed stare that begs to be permitted, despite pouring out the shameful truth. "The rumors are true- we were bedfellows here at school, he and I, and under our benefactor's roof. And I do miss it, I do. This place is hardly tolerable anymore."
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"I hardly sleep, barely eat..." Indeed, what was good supper from a bad one anymore, when you weren't hurrying it down and shoving extra breadrolls in your pockets and excusing yourself to join the upper years at their projects? What was real satiation, if not a picnic in Master Ansem's attic in the summer rain, feasting on a spread of biscuits, cheese, and apples nicked from the parlour fruit bowl, shaved so carefully to crisp slices with a pocket knife and pressed imploringly against his lips.
What was a good shower anymore, for that matter, under the dormitory's squeaky, lukewarm taps, when the fagging masters ducked in past the curtain, backed you against the tile and siezed your prick while laughing and called you a wasted little Tart, instead of sidling up against you smoothly from behind with a washcloth already lathered in french-milled lavender soap? There were reasons he sometimes let himself go filthy until the smell was almost noticeable, and rinsed out his bangs over the sink, fully clothed, spinning toward the doorway with the ends sopping and spraying outward whenever someone else ducked into the washroom.
"What makes you think I've been kind to my body?" Ienzo sneered, despite every movement right now, which seemed a self-indulgence for the sake of being touched. He thought nothing less of Edmund, for his nightmares, but hated when it meant he couldn't creep off somewhere else in the middle of the night, to pace out his insomnia down the halls after lights out.
But how could he resent a boy who pulled him gently in between his thighs without any malice meant by it, with something like tender sympathy, well-meaning, and probably misplaced? He found he couldn't lean up on Edmund's chest and feel wholly supported, nor give himself entirely to straddling a lap he was a little too well-matched in size for, to feel small and slight and cherished in.
His face reddened. He did miss this. He missed it too much to move away, but it smelled wrong, and it felt wrong, but the wrongness was all in the lack of their familiarity... not in the idea of having another boy hold him, itself. It made him feel knotted in the stomach, and traitorous.
"It's not the same." Ienzo said in a shrinking tone, curling his limbs toward the center of his body, and if to make himself physically smaller in Edmund's lap, equally apologetic. "You're not the same. I don't need a fraternity, I need... I miss-"
The evidence is in his trembling thighs and tangled tongue, having trouble with the inevitable confession.
"There's a very depraved sort of hunger in me, Edmund Pevensie." He finally whispers in exhasperation. "My body belongs to someone who's already left it behind, and I've neglected it to spite myself, for giving it away. Swear to me you won't breathe a word of this?" He looks back at Edmund with a one-eyed stare that begs to be permitted, despite pouring out the shameful truth. "The rumors are true- we were bedfellows here at school, he and I, and under our benefactor's roof. And I do miss it, I do. This place is hardly tolerable anymore."