The Wildness Within

I Trust You 2

Gwyn shook his head violently, trying to tug his left wrist away but not his right. He was confused and distressed. Augus didn't feel like consoling him anymore. Didn't feel like placing a soothing hand around his back. He wanted to sink his teeth into this, wanted to tear until he found what he was seeking.

'What did I just say to you?' Augus said.

'I'm not made for torture!' Gwyn said, his voice rising.

Thought so.

'I didn't ask what you think I said. I asked you what I just said to you. Listen.'

Gwyn's relentless tugging faltered, and Augus rewarded him by squeezing Gwyn's wrists and wishing his hands were cuffs. With Gwyn, he could use the ones that tightened in response to struggling. At Court status, he could take so much more than the average fae. With cuffs, Augus would have his hands free. But right now, this was enough. More than enough – going by Gwyn's reaction.

'You...said I was born for it,' Gwyn said. 'Torture.'

'When did I say torture?' Augus said. 'In fact, did you not just say yourself that you don't think this is torture? Did you not say that you don't have a word for it?'

Shaking now, but not struggling nearly as hard. And then Gwyn stopped entirely and looked at Augus with something bare and raw on his face. Augus watched, hungrily, and then let go of one of Gwyn's wrists and stroked his clenched fist instead. Over and over again, until Gwyn revealed the broken piece of leash. Augus didn't touch it, instead focusing on stroking Gwyn's hand. Offering something soothing in reward.

'I don't understand,' Gwyn said, his voice rough. 'What am I born for?'

Thank you.

'There are some fae – a lot of fae – who prefer to take a controlled amount of pain, who like to follow orders and obey and feel as though they've done the right thing, who gain consolation from being shown how much they can take only to be returned to themselves whole at the end of it. Just as there are fae – not like Efnisien – who enjoy inflicting certain things – not torture – on those fae, in controlled environments. Some fae are born that way. There's no shame in it.'

'I don't like torture,' Gwyn said, looking mutinous. 'You...think I do?'

'Is this torture?' Augus said, his voice harder than before.

'You said you'd go slow,' Gwyn said, accusing now. Well, Ash hadn't been wrong, he was certainly mouthier than he'd been a couple of weeks ago. He definitely had a capacity for tantrums. Augus didn't mind. He didn't feel a need to discipline. He wanted to see this. Wanted Gwyn to talk back and argue with him, wanted to know where the cracks and walls were in his psyche.

'Say the word I told you to say,' Augus said.

'Hawthorn,' Gwyn said.

Augus let go of his wrist, stopped caressing his hand. He stood and walked several steps backwards, noting Gwyn's shock and the way his hands spasmed like he wanted to clutch onto something.

Oh...Gwyn. Trust me, and I'll give you something to hold onto.

Augus blinked at his own thoughts, then shoved them aside because he didn't need that either. Not right now. This wasn't entirely about his own indulgence. He was trying to snap Gwyn out of whatever miserable place he'd been in. Trying to teach him something about himself. Probably trying to do too much.

But at some point, he had to start trusting that Gwyn could handle it.

'Is there a word that brings you back?' Gwyn said, a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before.