(DON’T CALL MY FIC DUMB.)
It was one of the few times that he would admit to his perceptions being flawed and one of the even fewer times where he would agree that he found it difficult to adjust his views; Dani was not the naive child that Sebastián had had a hand in raising and he was not innocent nor oblivious nor even unspoilt. It could be read between the lines of jagged raised scars and welts on his back that would not heal from fights he hadn’t needed to fight (for you, for me, for us both, and—) and in the aggressive way he pushed Sebastián down onto the bed, laying him bare without finesse and only passion and enthusiasm, smoothing his rough worker hands down the planes of Sebastián’s skin with something like awe in his eyes. “But,” Sebastián’s traitorous mind whispered, “but isn’t this you taking advantage of a situation” and because he didn’t know and couldn’t speak with his mouth otherwise occupied, he swallowed everything down; Dani, his own doubts, and that eternal feeling of discontent, letting it all settle sourly in his belly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.
