Hooked

24. The Dragon's Liar

[CW: Minor Internalized homophobia.]
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Silk. Velvet. A luxurious, sleek, fur pelt. A million feathers. The delicate, fuzzy surface of a rose petal. There wasn't one perfect material that could describe the blanket that was sliding over every inch of Ben's body. Tangling through his fingers. Gracing his skin with the softest kisses of pleasure. Tingling up through his chest like one beautiful, full stroke of a harp. It was like being lifted up by the clouds. Like being filled with a power that no crown could ever give him.

The sensation slithered around his waist where Harry's arm had held him. It brushed along the tips of his fingers and palms where the sides of Harry's face had been. It tickled the back of his neck where Harry's fingers had pressed. It draped down his spine in the same line Harry's hands had travelled.

It glazed over his lips.

It was the richest on his lips.

Ben closed his eyes. The breath he took in was cool, calming, and it was like the blanket of pleasure travelled into his lungs through his veins until his entire body was made up of the warmth and tenderness.

And then, that blanket turned into sandpaper.

And his skin burned. And instead of sliding over his body, it was now wrapping around him and constricting him. Tightening to where he couldn't breathe. And everything hurt. And he wanted the blanket off of him. He wanted to throw it off of him. Throw it away. Get it as far away from him as he possibly could.

It couldn't be near him anymore.

He stared downward— a dumb, blank expression— at the scarcely-touched dinner that filled his plate. The sound of light taps of forks and knives clinking around him came back to his ears. He became more conscious of the half-energized exchange of chatter between his mother and Mal. Everything felt so still on the outside. Even with the talking. Even with the clinking of silverware. Even with the frequent glances from his father that seemed to rattle the pressure around them like shockwaves from an explosion. Everything felt so still and so cold and so far removed from what Ben thought was real. Like everything in the dining room around him was nothing more than an interactive painting.

A painting that, as unreal as it felt, managed to fill him with just as much grief as the blanket of sandpaper eroding him down bit by bit. Every time he felt his father's eyes on him, or every time he looked at Mal, another piece would scrape away. The glances. The pauses. There was a knowingness among everyone. Or at least, that's what Ben feared.

He couldn't shake the suspicion that everyone was aware of what he had done last night. They all knew and they just weren't telling him. They weren't bringing it up. But they knew. Because how could he hide something like that?

He and Harry kissed.

And he could still feel all of it on his mouth. Like they hadn't stopped. His senses were playing it over and over and over again. He could see Harry's eyes just before. He could feel himself leaning in and not stopping. The shocking tenderness of Harry's lips.

He never stopped replaying it. Not once.

God... Why couldn't he stop replaying it?

It was just a mindless kiss. They were having fun. They got carried away. That's all.

A mindless... kiss.

Who mindlessly kisses someone?

Who mindlessly kisses their friend?

Their friend... who is also a man... almost completely naked in a lake at night...

He felt his father's eyes searing through him again and he looked up, feeling his neck burning like the heat of a fever. But Adam's attention was fixed on Belle and his posture was completely relaxed as opposed to the tension Ben thought he had sensed. Now Ben was staring at his father, and when Adam sensed it, it was his turn to look over to meet the searing gaze. Ben attempted to avoid the eye contact, but Adam caught him just before he managed. They met eyes and the paranoia that his father knew doubled and the heat on his neck spread further over his body. But almost everything in Adam's demeanor softened and he dropped his eyes briefly before offering his son a half-shrug of his lips. As much of a reassuring peace-treaty as he could've offered through such a silent, inconspicuous gesture across the dinner table.