His Many Masks *The Boy fan fiction*

Chapter Seventeen

Don't be ashamed for how you feel.
                                                               - Anonymous

Brahms POV

I hissed through my teeth as I sat on the edge of my bed trying to avoid rubbing against my tight center. As a man, erections weren't something foreign to my body... albeit, she was.

Her. Kátalin. The imprint of her body was still clinging to my shirt. My nostrils still stung with her smell. Ripping myself away from her was difficult, I hate the fact that I have to control myself whenever I'm around her.

When she first arrived, I wanted to kill her. I was expecting Greta to come back and when it turned out to be someone new, I was indignant.

But as I got to know her, her smile, her personality, and her patience, I wanted to protect her from everything. Including myself.

I ran my fingers through my matted curls and sighed loudly. She didn't understand how I felt, I didn't even understand how I felt.

I stood up from the bed, and slowly trudged to the counter in the corner of my room. It was cluttered with my many tools I used for my taxidermy hobby. I slightly smiled to myself, I loved having the power to bring life back into what was dead. I glowered as I turned to face my room.

Ever since the fire, I had been confined to live here. In this dirty, musty hole in the middle of the house. As the years went by I got used to it's conditions, and it eventually didn't bother me much.

Cant say that I don't miss how it used to be before I moved in here. Clean bed sheets, dusted shelves, pleasant scents. It made me realize how much I had missed the simple pleasures I had never paid attention to in my youth- that is, until I didn't have them anymore.

After a while of silence, I scooted over to my bed and sunk down upon the duvet. There was nothing I could do about us tonight.

Thinking of her would keep me awake.

I needed to sleep.
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Kátalin's POV

My eyes fluttered open. The light shone in rays across the bed. I rubbed my eyes and yawned slowly sitting up trying to piece everything that had happened last night together.

It all hit me like a truck.... I was naked. In front of Brahms.. and I wasn't drunk. I was sober. Sober and stupid.

Disappointed in myself, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up facing the bathroom. I wanted to avoid him, like I always did when I screwed up and allowed my feelings to overcome my common sense. My embarrassment would eventually kill me if I didn't.

I cracked my back and slowly trudged towards the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. Embarrassed and shameful, I cringed at my reflection. You did this to yourself.

Brahms was undoubtedly attractive, and he made me feel all tingly in the stomach, but we couldn't be together. It just wouldn't work. I had a life before I was stuck here, and I'm sure he did too. Whatever it was he did all alone out here.

I walked back to the bed and flopped underneath the covers, ready to sleep the day away.

I suddenly heard footsteps coming from the hallway, my breathing hitched as anxiety began to bubble to the surface. How was I going to face him after last night? My cheeks heated and I quickly pulled the blanket up to my chin.

Brahms appeared in the doorway, his hair laying in tight ringlets over his forehead. His eyes burned an intense emotion I couldn't quite peg, and his body was stiff.