Risk
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St. Cyr
Lima
marred compassion
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The reality of their relationship, once the natural bonding of a father & son is now disfigured. Lines have been drawn in the sand, and they are binding. Roman's love transmogrified into obsession. A need to protect became a need to possess in order to keep his son safe from monsters just like him.
Having his son be a separate entity at times is an agony, wishing that they could be together in body{ skin }, mind, and spirit. That they could dream the same thing, and truly occupy his own flesh and blood as air inhabits him with every breath he takes. Creating an exigency of dominance in order to control, Roman isolated his son early on and Cypress, even now as an adult, still feels this way. Roman forced his existence over the boy like a shadow.
He truly does love him. No doubt the man would crumble away to dust without him. But is it reciprocated and is it good enough if it is not?
STAYHERE
⎥
⎥
OH, TO BE THAT UNNOTICED & THAT NECESSARY.
Sanity is just a concept for those not in love.
When love is not madness, it is not love.
Tormented by the thought of you, the smell of you.
The blood I would gladly have on my hands—if only.
You only hold onto me when your face is tainted by your cries and dried tears.
Yet, here I am, still moving worlds for you. For us
THE AIR THAT INHABITS YOU FOR A MOMENT
✘
❝ONCE, I SAW A BEE DROWN IN HONEY, AND I UNDERSTOOD❞– Nikos Kazantzakis,” Report to Greco”
▲
It's like raping you
is the only way to
make you stay here.
❝YOU’LL ACHE. AND YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE IT. IT WILL CRUSH YOU. AND YOU’RE STILL GOING TO LOVE ALL OF IT. DOESN’T IT SOUND LOVELY BEYOND BELIEF?❞– Ernest Hemingway,
”The Garden of Eden”
in two cupped hands, to where your body lies beside me┊(COME WITH ALL YOUR SHAME,
COME WITH YOUR SWOLLEN HEART,
I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN YOU.)
➥ desperation┊ ALL ENCOMPASSING
➥ every morning┊Looking at his watch, distracted by hearing the ticking in the depths of the silence that filled the house, his left eye twitched out of annoyance. It was already 3 in the morning and he had said time and time again that tonight would be the night that he’d actually go to bed by 11, like a normal person who worked a 9-5 job. Even if he didn’t have to go into the lab, or an office. But that really wasn’t the issue.
The issue was in the fact that Roman St. Cyr had urges he couldn’t quell; a storm of universal proportions that swayed everything, especially that of his sleeping schedule. He’d miss breakfast, something he was incessant on impressing upon his son, just so he could watch the boy eat. He’d lose sleep, just as he was now, to catch glimpses of that body curled up in the sheets facing the wall. Although, Roman would argue it that it wasn’t solely for that. There was an obligation, a devotion to his work.
It’d be 4 hours from now that Cypress’ alarm would sound, and the routine of the morning, a school day, would commence at the tolling of it. He’d be lying if coffee wasn’t already ready, having just finished a pot and started on another. The smell of it freshly brewed was taking over the main floor of the house, and that was his logical reasoning for putting work down for the night, really.
Not the fact that it was 3am. Not the fact that he was so distracted, not keeping track that he had looked into his son’s bedroom at least twice by now (once he was certain that Cy was asleep). Or that he had stood outside the mostly closed door, hand resting on the handle, closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of his room because he couldn’t justify, despite all his wanting, to barge in and lay with him. Just lay with him. Not have him, not take him, not feel him fight against it - God, and he was getting so much stronger.
A change into pyjamas, fiddling with the thermostat, another cup of coffee. Catching up on news, scrolling Facebook, checking e-mails, reading glasses lit up by the various screens of his tablet and mobile. Push-ups, cracking knuckles. The time stretched out, going on forever. He had a cold shower at 5, fighting with himself not to touch, until he finally did. Forehead resting on his forearm. Water cascaded down his body and the fact that it was cold seemed to do nothing but heighten the sensation. Tendons in his throat strained as he bit back, and denied himself orgasm, using the pain to recenter himself.
UNCONTROLLABLEdeviancy
Ironically, it was the act of getting out of the shower that made his skin prickle. A shiver escaped through lightly clenched teeth as he fitted himself with a large grey towel. Smearing the condensation from the mirror triggered a sigh. He might have been clean, but he was ragged. His impatience was still brewing and returned to the forefront of his mind when his eyes caught sight of his son’s toothbrush. Fuck, that was an all new low; back to being hard because of a damned toothbrush.
Brushing his own teeth, flossing, and putting his pyjama pants back on, leaving the shirt, he affixed his watch back to his wrist. 5:36. Rubbing his face aggressively as it hung back, Roman was all too aware that he needed something, anything. Cock throbbing, fingers cupped the length of it, causing him to groan. Closing his eyes as if to strengthen the idea of privacy caused a thrill to reverberate through his body, precum unwittingly marking his pants.
Cypress.
But this kind of arousal wasn’t for wasting. It simply wouldn’t do. Couldn’t do. Footsteps echoed as he traversed down the hallway to the boy’s bedroom. Hand on the door, pushing it open without hesitation as he had been all night. The light from the kitchen was seeping into the room, not that it was needed, the bed was still where muscle memory dictated easily enough. Standing over the unsuspecting teen, there was a moment of bemoaned restraint. He could just jerk off. He didn’t need to wake him up, just be in his presence.
Ugh—he couldn’t. The lack of conscience, the need so extreme toes curled against the hardwood flooring. Before an internal skirmish could force the man to turn around to exit the room, to leave his son undisturbed for once, he was in bed with him, covers pulled back. Ravenous hands gripped Cy’s chest, holding him tight to him as lips attacked his neck, moaning against the skin. Thank God he slept on his side.
✘
why can't you love me like your mother used to ┊ -
Possessions
