(no subject)
DISAPPOINTMENT
This piece is the alternate interpretation of something I wrote some time ago - imagine the protagonist having come off the field of battle, congratulated by his fellows, bought drinks, and generally lauded with attention for a particularly heroic action during the battle in question - but one that he thinks wasn’t heroic at all, merely an action that circumstance made the turning point. He is depressed, feeling guilty, and yet unwilling to destroy the good cheer of his comrades who are celebrating still being alive.
In short, he is messed up.
Imagine, then, that one of the local bargirls has shown an interest in our “hero”. Attracted by the blaze of glory in which he enters, she moves to drag him upstairs.
Now, this isn’t the canon of what happened to the character - this is an alternate interpretation, written mainly to see whether I can do it. It is a bit fucked up, and I'm still really not sure I have done it close to justice, but I've at least tried. Feedback appreciated but I'm a lot less happy about this one than most mainly because it is such a hard thing for a male to write about, and I still feel a bit disturbed from having written it.
Enjoy…
(NSFW)
Edward had never felt worse than when he was led into the tavern that evening surrounded by proud soldiers, jostling him and congratulating him for having turned the battle. Some even thanked him for saving their lives - he had done nothing, Smith damn it, but what he had to do - what glory was there in doing what you had to do? No, he had not tried to win the battle there. All he had know was that his comrades below were dying, and that it was better that he fell in their place - there was no thought of tactics, that charge could have gotten them all killed as easily as saving them.
Edward tried to seem happy as drink after drink were pressed into his hands, tried to live up to the image of heroism that they had made of him - but his heart wasn’t in it. He alone knew the fear he’d felt, the sense of helplessness as he had run into the battle - he was no hero.
A soft arm slipped around Edward’s waist. He looked up, startled from his drunken reverie, to see one of the tavern’s serving maids leant across him, bodice halfway unlaced and a smile upon her face.
“I hear you saved a lot of men’s lives today. I hear you’re a hero.”
She slid herself into his lap, her arms tight around him and her ample chest pressed against his body.
“I’ve never met a hero before…”
Edward’s drunken mind tried to resist at first - he wasn’t worthy of this, dammit - but as she leaned in close he decided that if he was going to have to pretend he was going to do it properly.
He let his arm fall around her, and let his lips move to hers. For a moment, he lost himself in the heat of the kiss.
He’d kissed girls before, of course - but that was as far as it had gone. Now his body was alive with a feverish excitement as they walked up the inn’s stairs together, hands probing and exploring each other’s bodies and teasing at clothing. He felt tense, nervous - and yet a corner of his mind still told him he shouldn’t be doing this, he was taking advantage of this girl by living out a lie.
Edward threw himself down onto the narrow bed next to the pretty maid, and they returned to their hungry kiss, hands stroking and squeezing more and more urgently as their bodies entwined.
Pulling away for a moment, he threw off his loose shirt and moved his hands to the bodice in front of him, fumbling at it until the knots fell away and his hands could slide under the tight cloth to grasp the soft flesh within. She shrugged it away, and he lowered his mouth to her breast and teased her.
Every muscle of Edward’s chest felt taut as twisted rope as he felt the chill of her hands moving over him. He shook slightly as his tongue caressed away - nervous, excited and yet at the same time aware that he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. Passion and the everpresent guilt intertwined to make him shiver with the intensity of the moment.
He felt the girl’s hand pull at his waistband, and her cold fingers slid under his clothes and grasped him, teasing and pulling at him. He felt the tenseness more than ever, his entire form gripped with sensation and a turmoil of emotion as her hands went to their work. This felt wrong, and yet so right… Nervous still, reluctant of mind but not of instinct.
Edward felt her movements grow more urgent - tugging and kneading. The girl moaned slightly, and in his state of confusion for a moment he failed to work out what was wrong. And then he realised - while what was happening felt good, his body was failing to react. Her kneadings weren’t having the effect they ought to - he wasn’t growing in her hands, he was still flexible and limp.
Surely this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen? Tenser than ever, he willed himself to respond to her movements - but nothing happened, the turmoil in his mind was too strong and growing worse as she grew more and more insistent.
“Come on, you haven’t had that much to drink.”
Edward knew it wasn’t that - it was the thoughts preying on the back of his mind. The nerves were part of it, but much of him was still thinking back to the battle and how he’d nearly gotten his friends killed, and how he shouldn’t be here reaping the rewards of that. And yet for all that he was a man - and what was happening to him was triggering a primal fear, a shame that cut to the very bone.
“You can’t be nervous, can you? Look, just try to relax and it’ll be fine…”
Edward knew that it wouldn’t be fine. Not now - the longer it didn’t work, the more he spiralled into despair and anguish. He knew this wasn’t the thing he should be worrying about - and yet it hurt as much as the shame of earlier, if not more.
The girl drew her hand back in disgust, and stood, gathering up her clothing.
“Fuck this, come back when you’re a real man.”
Edward stifled a sob, and she slammed the door behind her as she left, with a parting shot:
“Some kind of hero you are.”
The worst thing was, Edward knew, the next time he ended up with a woman he’d not be able to stop himself thinking of this. It’d prey on his mind, eroding his confidence and sapping his virility. Not only was there the biting shame now, he’d be living with this for the rest of his life - unable to lie properly with a woman as the fear would always unman him.
Once was all it took to break a man’s confidence.
Edward rolled over and began to cry, softly. Impotently, he raged at the world.
This piece is the alternate interpretation of something I wrote some time ago - imagine the protagonist having come off the field of battle, congratulated by his fellows, bought drinks, and generally lauded with attention for a particularly heroic action during the battle in question - but one that he thinks wasn’t heroic at all, merely an action that circumstance made the turning point. He is depressed, feeling guilty, and yet unwilling to destroy the good cheer of his comrades who are celebrating still being alive.
In short, he is messed up.
Imagine, then, that one of the local bargirls has shown an interest in our “hero”. Attracted by the blaze of glory in which he enters, she moves to drag him upstairs.
Now, this isn’t the canon of what happened to the character - this is an alternate interpretation, written mainly to see whether I can do it. It is a bit fucked up, and I'm still really not sure I have done it close to justice, but I've at least tried. Feedback appreciated but I'm a lot less happy about this one than most mainly because it is such a hard thing for a male to write about, and I still feel a bit disturbed from having written it.
Enjoy…
(NSFW)
Edward had never felt worse than when he was led into the tavern that evening surrounded by proud soldiers, jostling him and congratulating him for having turned the battle. Some even thanked him for saving their lives - he had done nothing, Smith damn it, but what he had to do - what glory was there in doing what you had to do? No, he had not tried to win the battle there. All he had know was that his comrades below were dying, and that it was better that he fell in their place - there was no thought of tactics, that charge could have gotten them all killed as easily as saving them.
Edward tried to seem happy as drink after drink were pressed into his hands, tried to live up to the image of heroism that they had made of him - but his heart wasn’t in it. He alone knew the fear he’d felt, the sense of helplessness as he had run into the battle - he was no hero.
A soft arm slipped around Edward’s waist. He looked up, startled from his drunken reverie, to see one of the tavern’s serving maids leant across him, bodice halfway unlaced and a smile upon her face.
“I hear you saved a lot of men’s lives today. I hear you’re a hero.”
She slid herself into his lap, her arms tight around him and her ample chest pressed against his body.
“I’ve never met a hero before…”
Edward’s drunken mind tried to resist at first - he wasn’t worthy of this, dammit - but as she leaned in close he decided that if he was going to have to pretend he was going to do it properly.
He let his arm fall around her, and let his lips move to hers. For a moment, he lost himself in the heat of the kiss.
He’d kissed girls before, of course - but that was as far as it had gone. Now his body was alive with a feverish excitement as they walked up the inn’s stairs together, hands probing and exploring each other’s bodies and teasing at clothing. He felt tense, nervous - and yet a corner of his mind still told him he shouldn’t be doing this, he was taking advantage of this girl by living out a lie.
Edward threw himself down onto the narrow bed next to the pretty maid, and they returned to their hungry kiss, hands stroking and squeezing more and more urgently as their bodies entwined.
Pulling away for a moment, he threw off his loose shirt and moved his hands to the bodice in front of him, fumbling at it until the knots fell away and his hands could slide under the tight cloth to grasp the soft flesh within. She shrugged it away, and he lowered his mouth to her breast and teased her.
Every muscle of Edward’s chest felt taut as twisted rope as he felt the chill of her hands moving over him. He shook slightly as his tongue caressed away - nervous, excited and yet at the same time aware that he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. Passion and the everpresent guilt intertwined to make him shiver with the intensity of the moment.
He felt the girl’s hand pull at his waistband, and her cold fingers slid under his clothes and grasped him, teasing and pulling at him. He felt the tenseness more than ever, his entire form gripped with sensation and a turmoil of emotion as her hands went to their work. This felt wrong, and yet so right… Nervous still, reluctant of mind but not of instinct.
Edward felt her movements grow more urgent - tugging and kneading. The girl moaned slightly, and in his state of confusion for a moment he failed to work out what was wrong. And then he realised - while what was happening felt good, his body was failing to react. Her kneadings weren’t having the effect they ought to - he wasn’t growing in her hands, he was still flexible and limp.
Surely this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen? Tenser than ever, he willed himself to respond to her movements - but nothing happened, the turmoil in his mind was too strong and growing worse as she grew more and more insistent.
“Come on, you haven’t had that much to drink.”
Edward knew it wasn’t that - it was the thoughts preying on the back of his mind. The nerves were part of it, but much of him was still thinking back to the battle and how he’d nearly gotten his friends killed, and how he shouldn’t be here reaping the rewards of that. And yet for all that he was a man - and what was happening to him was triggering a primal fear, a shame that cut to the very bone.
“You can’t be nervous, can you? Look, just try to relax and it’ll be fine…”
Edward knew that it wouldn’t be fine. Not now - the longer it didn’t work, the more he spiralled into despair and anguish. He knew this wasn’t the thing he should be worrying about - and yet it hurt as much as the shame of earlier, if not more.
The girl drew her hand back in disgust, and stood, gathering up her clothing.
“Fuck this, come back when you’re a real man.”
Edward stifled a sob, and she slammed the door behind her as she left, with a parting shot:
“Some kind of hero you are.”
The worst thing was, Edward knew, the next time he ended up with a woman he’d not be able to stop himself thinking of this. It’d prey on his mind, eroding his confidence and sapping his virility. Not only was there the biting shame now, he’d be living with this for the rest of his life - unable to lie properly with a woman as the fear would always unman him.
Once was all it took to break a man’s confidence.
Edward rolled over and began to cry, softly. Impotently, he raged at the world.