Re: House of Strays: Ronan/Ben
[It's automatic, the way his head turns into that touch, lips pursed as if to give benediction to Ronan's fingers before they depart. So too is his answer -]
I don't. I don't hate you. [Hate isn't a part of him. It's been churned out by hours of meditation, by aching feet and knees and thighs as he held one position for hours. It's an impurity that's been forged out of him that isn't even a possibility, and that wouldn't be a possibility even if Ronan engaged in an awake and full-knowing gang bang.
And when Ronan drops down to the couch, he lets him go. Maybe a little distance is good. Ben sucks in a ragged breath.] I'm not going to hate you. I just -
[He sighs again and makes a small, frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he sits down on the couch beside Ronan. He twists the glass around in his hands, takes a sip, then goes back to twisting.] I know - I know you thought it was a dream. That you can't be held responsible for what you did because you weren't awake and cognitive. I know that.
I know - [He takes another sip of water, letting it wash over the words lingering on his tongue.] But then I also know that it wasn't a dream. That there was someone - a real, living, breathing person - that you were with. That you - [He inhales sharply, cutting his own words off as his head turns away from Ronan. Those words that almost came smack of jealousy. Of possession. He can do better than that.
Ronan deserves better. He lets the breath out.] And a really angry part of me wants to insist that I wouldn't do this to you. That if I'd gotten to the same place in my own dream that I couldn't have. [It takes a moment, the pants tighter than his usual jeans to get his legs drawn up and his feet over his thighs in lotus. It's a meditative pose, a comfort much like Ronan finds his shirts to be.] But hanging onto that anger isn't constructive. Your subconscious mind is different from my own and expecting it to reflect the same that mine would isn't fair to you.