in zugzwang

SUMMARY

Wyll surrenders to the urge.

NOTES

■ noun (Chess) a situation in which the obligation to make a move is a serious disadvantage.

See the end of the work for more notes.

“You resisted once, already,” says Wyll, as if it were as easy as breathing. He stands before him, indomitable as ever, even now, still denying him of his wish.

“And when the Urge comes again?” Ajax says, his voice hoarse.

“You will resist, just as you had last night,” Wyll says, stepping forward, and Ajax retreats in commensurate distance, his back pressing against the rocky surface of the wall. He stands tall: still as an ambush predator, still as the prey playing dead. Muscles unmoving, fearful of the single twitch that would let control slip from his grasp.

“Saying it won’t make it true.”

“Perhaps not.” Another step forward. “Yet you refused to kill Isobel. You resisted the urge to kill me—”

“I resist it all the time.”

Resist the urge to reach out, to caress, to—

But Wyll surrenders to the urge first, caging Ajax in with a hand on his face, and it takes all of Ajax’s strength to lie still. “This doesn’t have to end in blood.”

It will. For as long as he lives. As ineluctable as the blood festering in his veins.

Wyll’s hand skims his cheek, fingers running along the scar. He fights the urge to bury his face into his palm, but when his thumb presses against his lip, the control slips, as easy as breathing. All at once, Ajax’s muscles bear the fatigue of the decades-long struggle with this rotting urge.

And yet, he says, a last resort, a rasping sound wrestling against his throat, “You’re making a mistake, Wyll.”

“So be it.”

Then, the surrender: soft, full lips on his, and Wyll restrains him once again, his bare arms burning hot like the ropes that had tied Ajax down. The hunger rises, frenetic in the sinew of his flesh, and when Wyll groans into his mouth, Ajax finds he wants more, locking him in an embrace and turning him against the wall. He follows that hunger like a starving dog, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of Wyll’s neck, and Wyll whines from the stinging pleasure, hands grasping at his hips, pulling him closer. His hand snakes under Wyll’s ill-fitting top, so impractical and yet now it serves him well, his thumb tracing down the long scar across his abdomen, straying precariously close to the tight curls trailing beneath his breeches—then, a gasp against the skin of his throat: “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” says Wyll, and oh, the certainty in his voice tastes nothing but bittersweet.

“You can’t know that.”

Fingers rake through Ajax’s hair, and with a gentle pull, Wyll tilts his head to gaze up at him. “I can take it.”

NOTES

Written on August 13, 2024 for kiss prompts - caging your lover against a wall with your arms to kiss them

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