Vince swore he was imagining the sensation of Cass’ fingertips against his wrist. It certainly wasn’t on purpose, if it was real, and yet the very sensation made him want to linger. It was a touch wholly reminiscent of last night, what with the gentle caresses they’d shared in the dark. Another shiver ran down his spine and Vince tucked his hand under his armpit, impatiently. It was already impossible to keep his promise!

Cass’ response, however, didn’t surprise him, but it sure as hell felt like a slap. Another one. Maybe successive slaps, after a good punch in the gut.

Vince knew Cass didn’t want this, want him. Their whole little flare up was proof only that the big blonde was trying to stomach him out of some twisted sense of duty, or whatever else Cass felt he owed the Slytherin, and Vince would let him because… well… he needed to. But in the end, the reality of the matter was still the same. Cass was disgusted with him, with what had happened and what they’d done, and he was lucky he was getting off this hook with a quick, easy hand rather than a deft one wrenching a hole in his cheek as it tried in vain to let go. Still, Vincent did feel rather like a fish as Cass skewered him in place. He swallowed a lump that had built in his throat, now dry.

Even worse was when the other continued on.

In a moment of complete and utter nausea, Vince felt his stomach turn over in an empty, terrifying belly flop, and he cringed visibly. The only thing keeping him from keeling over in that moment was his determination not to let Cass know how much he hated this. Cass felt like they needed ground-rules, like he didn’t trust the Slytherin to be able to keep his promise. Another knife to the gut, this time tearing at his intestines. Vincent turned away again, expression dark, and he resisted the urge to lash out defensively, mortified. Cass was never going to look at him the same again.

“Alright,” he replied instead, still refusing to look at Cass, in the tiniest voice he could manage. “I suppose… you’ll want to be sure I won’t” harass, jump, assault you, “touch you again, but I swear it on my life Cassian,” here Vince’s voice took on a desperate little edge even as he turned his back on the blonde and tugged at his strawberry locks again, “I won’t lay a finger on you in that way ever again. It was a wretched mistake and I really just don’t want to discuss it anymore. Please,” he begged, miserably. “Please don’t make me relive the reality that I sicken you so much you feel the need to formalize restrictions.” He turned that miserable expression on the other then abruptly, big green eyes pleading. “Please trust me,” he whispered. “I respect you enough not to think things can ever be the same.”

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   Cassian Valenduris