He'd already heard Ben speak through that mask once, but it still somehow felt surreal the second time. As if this were some sordid dream his subconscious had created to torture him. It wouldn't be the first time. Far from it. Armitage had lost count of how many occasions his mind painted this image for him: that mask above him and Ben's body heat overpowering his own.
But this wasn't a dream. It was very much real. His pulse was racing in his ears, his fingers were wrapped so tight into his boyfriend's shirt, the fabric had nearly torn. And suddenly, that mask no longer separated them and Ben was sucking the air from his lungs.
Armitage loved it when Ben treated him his way. When he was rough and eager and uncontrollable. When those big hands squeezed his slender throat and left marks upon his pale skin. It was like being caught in a sudden storm on Arkanis; with the wind blowing so hard, he could hardly catch his breath. When he finally broke away from that kiss, there was defiance burning in those green eyes. Like it wasn't enough, like he was daring Ben to rip his shirt off rather than carefully ease it off him.
All the while, he readjusted his hat, almost as if he wanted it to stay on just to spite Ben.