What did Monty mean by that? How could he understand anything, when Ishmael barely understood himself? He knew what would happen, if Monty did manage to glean how Ishmael felt - how much he cared - and he would be smug and impossible, a pain in the ass, would never respect him again.
Or maybe... Ishmael had kissed him to shut him up, sure, but Monty had returned the kiss with - with feeling. Almost like he might understand. But that was just as impossible, because they had done this plenty of times before, and the feeling was just lust, and that was a comfortable kind of craving. And now was no different. This was supposed to be comfortable. Enjoyable. A kiss like this was not supposed to send a shiver gliding down his spine, was not supposed to throw the world off-kilter. This was supposed to be the way to drown it all out. This wasn't supposed to make the feeling stronger.
He dug his hands into Monty's clothes, winding his fingers up in them to try and fight it, because feelings like that led to nothing good and he knew it. And Monty had been so unnaturally obliging all night - argumentative, but obliging, a little too gentle, a little too kind - that it made Ishmael worry that he did understand too well.
He might even... care, too.
And Ishmael at least owed him this, now, something to make up for the favour he'd begged, and he let his hand curl up to the back of Monty's neck, pressing fervently into the kiss and then turning them on the spot without breaking it, guiding Monty around until he was against the wall now, and Ishmael with his back to the room.
No, he thought. No. He might have started it, might be to blame for all of this, but he was not fucking doing this. Not tonight. Not feeling like this. Not - not when he was feeling at all. He pulled back roughly, out of nowhere, avoided looking until he had composed himself, felt stony and distant, ageless and inscrutable again, the unfeeling creature he was supposed to be. "No," Ishmael said coolly, drawing himself up and stepping back, releasing himself from further temptation. "You were right. There was nothing to be concerned about." As though all his worries had disintegrated away to dust, he offered Monty a cruel shrug and strode for the door.
Or maybe... Ishmael had kissed him to shut him up, sure, but Monty had returned the kiss with - with feeling. Almost like he might understand. But that was just as impossible, because they had done this plenty of times before, and the feeling was just lust, and that was a comfortable kind of craving. And now was no different. This was supposed to be comfortable. Enjoyable. A kiss like this was not supposed to send a shiver gliding down his spine, was not supposed to throw the world off-kilter. This was supposed to be the way to drown it all out. This wasn't supposed to make the feeling stronger.
He dug his hands into Monty's clothes, winding his fingers up in them to try and fight it, because feelings like that led to nothing good and he knew it. And Monty had been so unnaturally obliging all night - argumentative, but obliging, a little too gentle, a little too kind - that it made Ishmael worry that he did understand too well.
He might even... care, too.
And Ishmael at least owed him this, now, something to make up for the favour he'd begged, and he let his hand curl up to the back of Monty's neck, pressing fervently into the kiss and then turning them on the spot without breaking it, guiding Monty around until he was against the wall now, and Ishmael with his back to the room.
No, he thought. No. He might have started it, might be to blame for all of this, but he was not fucking doing this. Not tonight. Not feeling like this. Not - not when he was feeling at all. He pulled back roughly, out of nowhere, avoided looking until he had composed himself, felt stony and distant, ageless and inscrutable again, the unfeeling creature he was supposed to be. "No," Ishmael said coolly, drawing himself up and stepping back, releasing himself from further temptation. "You were right. There was nothing to be concerned about." As though all his worries had disintegrated away to dust, he offered Monty a cruel shrug and strode for the door.
