There was a lot to sort through in Macnair's response, and specifically in the sentence I can't exactly be there right now. Did he mean right now as in while I'm trying to kiss you or right now more generally, like his home wasn't a comfortable place to exist? If the latter — that was a pretty big fucking red flag about this marriage, wasn't it? And no matter which way he interpreted it, that comment wasn't awesome. It wasn't indicative of a very healthy relationship dynamic, that was for sure — both between Macnair and his fiancee (which at this point was pretty much obvious) and between Macnair and Ford (also becoming increasingly obvious to him).
But before he really had time to even think all of that, much less digest it, Macnair had his hands on the sides of Ford's face. Macnair was looking at him from three inches away and saying I want you. And it was hard to hold on to any other thoughts, at that point. He was just left with the question: will you deprive me of that?
Macnair's eyes were so blue it was almost unsettling to be looking at them this closely. Yes, I will, Ford thought, because he knew this couldn't end well. He already felt sick, and if he stayed he was only going to end up feeling worse. Even if he managed to put it all out of his mind for long enough to replicate the sort of night they'd had on Monday or Wednesday of last week, what would happen next? Was he supposed to stay the night again, in that bed, which for all he knew might be Macnair's wedding bed in a few weeks or months? Was he supposed to just listen if Macnair started saying all that mushy stuff — or continue, rather, since I want you was right up there with the sorts of things he'd been saying before — knowing that it didn't make any difference? Nevermind feeling sick over it — Ford was going to feel just as disappointed at the end of tonight as he had on Saturday morning, and he didn't want that.
Not like that was Macnair's fault, though — Ford should have known better than to get his feelings mixed up in things so quickly. With someone like Macnair, he probably should have known better than to have let it happen at all. He'd been stupid — but Macnair said things like this and Ford couldn't help it, because now he was standing here on the verge of being stupid again, even after having been burnt once before. Will you deprive me of that?
Ford's mouth was dry. Yes, I will, he thought. Macnair wasn't entitled to him, and what had he done to earn it? Maybe Macnair didn't care that Ford had taken it all too much to heart — maybe he hadn't even noticed. But it had still been cruel to invite him over without telling him a word about the engagement, or to talk about where this was going. If he wanted to keep this up despite being engaged (which he obviously did), he might have mentioned it before and saved them both a good deal of headache. Well, no — he could have saved Ford a headache, because he still didn't seem particularly bothered about anything except that Ford wasn't kissing him as readily as he would have liked.
He sighed. He still had one hand around Macnair, while the other was resting lightly on Macnair's shoulder. "When you asked if I was still planning to be here I thought you'd just want to break things off in person," he admitted. He could not bring himself to actually answer Macnair's question at the moment. "I was — so annoyed."
That was all true. What he didn't say: he would have preferred that. This was far worse.
But before he really had time to even think all of that, much less digest it, Macnair had his hands on the sides of Ford's face. Macnair was looking at him from three inches away and saying I want you. And it was hard to hold on to any other thoughts, at that point. He was just left with the question: will you deprive me of that?
Macnair's eyes were so blue it was almost unsettling to be looking at them this closely. Yes, I will, Ford thought, because he knew this couldn't end well. He already felt sick, and if he stayed he was only going to end up feeling worse. Even if he managed to put it all out of his mind for long enough to replicate the sort of night they'd had on Monday or Wednesday of last week, what would happen next? Was he supposed to stay the night again, in that bed, which for all he knew might be Macnair's wedding bed in a few weeks or months? Was he supposed to just listen if Macnair started saying all that mushy stuff — or continue, rather, since I want you was right up there with the sorts of things he'd been saying before — knowing that it didn't make any difference? Nevermind feeling sick over it — Ford was going to feel just as disappointed at the end of tonight as he had on Saturday morning, and he didn't want that.
Not like that was Macnair's fault, though — Ford should have known better than to get his feelings mixed up in things so quickly. With someone like Macnair, he probably should have known better than to have let it happen at all. He'd been stupid — but Macnair said things like this and Ford couldn't help it, because now he was standing here on the verge of being stupid again, even after having been burnt once before. Will you deprive me of that?
Ford's mouth was dry. Yes, I will, he thought. Macnair wasn't entitled to him, and what had he done to earn it? Maybe Macnair didn't care that Ford had taken it all too much to heart — maybe he hadn't even noticed. But it had still been cruel to invite him over without telling him a word about the engagement, or to talk about where this was going. If he wanted to keep this up despite being engaged (which he obviously did), he might have mentioned it before and saved them both a good deal of headache. Well, no — he could have saved Ford a headache, because he still didn't seem particularly bothered about anything except that Ford wasn't kissing him as readily as he would have liked.
He sighed. He still had one hand around Macnair, while the other was resting lightly on Macnair's shoulder. "When you asked if I was still planning to be here I thought you'd just want to break things off in person," he admitted. He could not bring himself to actually answer Macnair's question at the moment. "I was — so annoyed."
That was all true. What he didn't say: he would have preferred that. This was far worse.
Set by Lady!