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“Now you have wormed your way into the heads of the men out there. And they've granted you authority over them because of it. But in my head, you are not welcome.”
There was a kind of gravity to Flint’s anger, terrible and magnetic, and for a few seconds Silver couldn't take his eyes off him.
With a smile that was somewhere between arrogant and dismissive, Flint turned away and that shook Silver out of his lethargy. This was what Flint expected from everyone around him, wasn't it? Obedience, silence, distance. But if Silver followed that pattern, if he fell into line like all the others, he’d never earn Flint’s respect.
“Shame,” Silver said stubbornly, “that I’m already in there. I know you better than you’d like.”
What happened next was almost too fast to follow. Flint spun back around, hand catching Silver by the collar, and shoved him backwards until his back hit the wall. The impact stole his breath, and he didn't dare to move a muscle. Not just because of fear, though there was plenty of that, but because of how close Flint suddenly was. Close enough that Silver could smell the salt on his clothes and the sweat on his skin.
His first instinctive thought was ‘How dare Flint push him around like that.’
Didn’t he care that Silver had only one good leg to stand on? The crew never touched him like that. Not anymore. They were always careful now. They held ropes for him when the ship rolled and slowed their pace when he fell behind. They thought it kindness, and Silver loathed it. He hated the softness and the silent pity of it.
And here Flint was, grabbing him, shoving him, not even hesitating, as if Silver’s body was still a match for force, as if he was still whole. His heart began to beat even harder, and he felt a strange gratitude, even though his leg hurt from being handled so roughly.
Flint’s eyes burned inches from his own. “Do not presume to know me,” he snarled. “You don't.”
Silver opened his mouth to tell him how unimpressed he was with this demeanour. At the same moment, Flint's hand came up, pressing over his mouth as he pinned him even harder against the wall with his body.
“Shut up,” Flint growled. “Just shut the fuck up for once.”
And Silver did, more involuntarily than anything else, because the pressure of Flint's palm silenced him. Seconds passed. Flint shifted his hand, just a fraction. One of his fingers brushed the edge of Silver’s lips, then caught slightly between them. From one second to the next, Silver's entire body lit up, and a flicker of heat shot straight to his core. His cock twitched in his trousers, and his knees went weak with a sudden and unwelcome wave of want.
Due to the movement, the pad of Flint’s finger slipped between his lips. Not deep but just enough to drag across his tongue. An even more violent full-body shudder ran through Silver. Something even hotter coiled low in his belly, and his thoughts ground to a stop. A low groan escaped him, raw and unguarded. He wanted… no, he needed… unthinking, his tongue flicked out, tasting Flint's salty skin.
Flint froze. So did Silver. Which of them was more shocked? Unclear.
Fuck. What the fuck. Within seconds he felt himself getting completely hard and soon enough his cock pressed uncomfortable against the front of his trousers. He could feel the ache of it, sudden and sharp and shameful.
And all Flint had done was touch his mouth.
Fucking Flint of all people. Only because Silver hadn't fucked anyone in months. Otherwise, he would never have reacted like that.
Flint withdrew his finger slowly, and Silver knew that was it. This moment would never return. His lips tightened around Flint’s digit before he fully understood what he was doing. His body moved on instinct and the unbearable pull of the man in front of him. He bit down. Not hard, but hard enough to keep the finger where it was. Flint's gaze sharpened.
A second later, he smirked and his touch changed. He slipped a second digit between Silver's lips and the two fingers slid further along his tongue, slow and deliberate now.
Silver jerked, breath shuddering through his nose, eyes going wide. He should have pulled back. He didn’t. His mind reeled between the urge to bite down harder, to push Flint away… and the overwhelming desire to suck those fingers deeper, to taste more of him.
"You want this, don’t you," Flint murmured, his voice an almost seductive rasp. “Something to fill that clever mouth of yours?”
Silver made a sound around Flint’s fingers, helpless and muffled while his tongue pressed against them in a way he didn’t choose. He hated how right Flint was. Yes, he wanted. The feeling was pathetic and overwhelming. It wasn't the playful sort he used to toss around with whores in taverns. No, this was low, hot, and seemingly nothing he could control.
Flint’s gaze dropped to Silver’s mouth as he pushed his fingers deeper. Not even roughly, just with a steady, assured pressure that made Silver’s pulse slam hard against his throat. The slow slide in, the slow pull back… it was an unmistakable rhythm. A mimicry so blatant and shocking that it made Silver freeze again. His body warred with itself as instinct screamed at him to retreat while something darker begged him to lean in, to take more, to give more.
Flint’s thumb brushed the corner of Silver’s mouth in a slow, grounding stroke, as if soothing him. His other hand tangled in Silver’s curls, pulling and tilting his face up. More heat coursed through Silver, pooling insistently in his groin. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Shame and need twisted his gut into knots.
"If you want it, show me. Or I'll stop." Flint pushed closer, broad body pressing against his smaller frame, as he shoved one leg between Silver's. Right against his aching cock. Fuck. Yes. More.
His resolve crumbled, and he surrendered, lips closing tightly around Flint's fingers and sucking hard. The taste of him, the intimacy and the wrongness of the act, sent sparks of pleasure coursing through his body. Silver's eyes fluttered close as another broken moan rose in his throat and he felt light-headed with how badly he craved more.
"Eyes on me," Flint commanded.
Silver's eyes snapped open again, meeting Flint's intense gaze. The reality of what he was doing, and especially with whom he was doing it, brutally caught up with him. Silver had lost control, showed weakness, and Flint knew it. He knew that he had won.
“Sshh, it’s all right.”
Silver weakly shook his head and trembled as Flint's fingers thrusted deeper, gliding over his tongue in a filthy caress. The aching hardness between his legs pulsed in time with the slide of them.
"I barely touched you and look at you already," Flint murmured, his eyes dark and hungry. "Coming undone for me." He sounded almost tender.
Silver could only whimper in response. He felt so fucking humiliated. Flint crowded even closer, and the heat of his body was searing through clothing. "That's it. Take what you need."
Something broke open inside, and the last threads of Silver’s restraint snapped. His hips surged forward, grinding desperately against Flint’s thigh. Like an animal. The pressure of muscle beneath rough fabric was perfect and needy moans broke in his throat, muffled by the thick fingers still stretching his lips wide. He rutted harder, more desperate now, pleasure winding him tight, pulling his body into a rhythm that felt dangerously close to madness. His hands scrabbled at Flint’s shirt, still unsure whether to push or pull.
Flint didn’t stop him. He just watched with burning eyes as his fingers continued to fuck Silver’s mouth. Soon, his jaw ached, his thighs shook, and still he wanted. His body was betraying him, trembling, frantic, greedy. He sucked harder, licked messily, saliva slipping down his chin as he rutted again, again, whimpering and feeling dizzy with how good, how wrong, how necessary it felt.
He could feel how close he was already, on the verge of spending himself in his breeches. His hands slid down Flint's arse, fingers digging in. Flint groaned. A low, startled sound and the first sign he wasn’t untouched by this.
His fingers slipped from Silver's mouth, trailing a line of saliva along his jaw before curling possessively around the back of his neck. He leaned in, resting their foreheads together as he rolled his hips, seeking his own release. Silver felt the hard length of him, the evidence of his arousal, pressing insistently against his thigh.
“Is this what you needed, yes?” Silver gasped, now that he could finally speak again. "If only I had known about it sooner. We could have avoided so many conflicts."
Maybe Flint would finally ease up a bit for once.
Not right now, it seemed. Flint stiffened and then stopped moving altogether. No. Fuck, no, he would finish what he had started.
“Please,” Silver begged as he realised that the pain in his leg was returning. He needed to be consumed again, now and completely.
It was desperation that drove him forward, mouth crashing against Flint’s, teeth clacking, breath shared hot and ragged between them. It wasn’t graceful. Their lips dragged together in a rhythm just shy of violent, all taking, no thought of giving. Silver gasped, too open, and Flint seized the moment, tongue pushing past his teeth, kissing like he meant to brand.
But it didn’t last. Flint jerked his head away after a moment with a harsh breath, as if the contact burned. One hand flattened against Silver’s chest and shoved, pinning him back to the wall.
His eyes stayed shut. The muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Please,” Silver pleaded again, unable to stop, rolling his hips again in a desperate search for friction. But Flint's entire body remained rigid.
“Oh, you're good.”
At first, Silver thought Flint was praising him. Even though his tone was rather disgusted. Then he opened his eyes. Something was wrong. Silver stared at him, trying to understand how Flint's expression of distrust and bitterness matched the situation.
“Ever the opportunist, aren’t you?” Flint’s voice was quiet. “You shape yourself to whatever you think will buy the most safety, the most power. You would sell everything if it benefited you. Even this.”
Silver couldn’t tell if the warmth creeping up his neck was anger or shame, or both. Either way, it left him speechless. Did Flint really think this...
A sudden wave of relief flooded Silver. Yes. Flint was right. Silver would seize the opportunity. That was exactly what was happening here. It was strategy. He had been looking for a way to appease Flint and keep him in a good mood, hadn't he? Even if Flint was trying to be angry about it, the evidence of his own arousal was more than obvious against Silver's body. Without a doubt, Flint wanted him. And Silver could use that.
“How far would you go with that act, hm?” Flint's fingers closed around his chin. His smirk turned taunting. He seemed all too eager to expose Silver.
“Would you give your mouth for anything else?” He stroked his thumb over Silver's lower lip, mockingly tender.
“Would you let me fuck you?”
Silver smiled. He had been too distracted in the last few minutes to realise how desperate Flint was to touch him. Although it was so very obvious.
He shrugged. “Yes," he said, watching Flint's expression darken instantly, consumed by hunger. And anger, still so much anger.
Silver didn’t look away. “What’s the matter, Captain?” he murmured. “You started this.” His smile turned razor-sharp. “You're already thinking about it anyway. You want it. Me. Might as well do it properly.”
Flint’s expression didn’t change. His gaze dragged over Silver’s face, slow and unreadable, and though his mouth was curled in something like a sneer, the muscle in his cheek jumped.
“Careful,” he said, and there was a clear warning in his voice now. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” Silver challenged. His hand moved and came to rest against the front of Flint’s trousers. He squeezed lightly.
The reaction was sudden. One hand grabbed Silver’s shoulder, the other his waist, and then he was pushed around and crowded back until the edge of the desk caught him behind the knees.
“Is this what you wanted, yes?” Flint's voice was a snarl, breathless and too close. He pressed into him completely - hips to hips, chest to chest - and Silver felt the thick heat of him through both their trousers. Perfectly aligned against his own straining cock. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the moan locked in his throat because he didn’t want to give Flint the satisfaction.
Instead, he rolled his hips in reply. Flint's eyelids fluttered shut and his mouth opened into a soundless gasp. Silver didn't manage to hide his triumphant grin in time before Flint's eyes opened again.
With an irritated growl, Flint grabbed him by the waist again, spinning him around and bending him forward over the desk like he weighed nothing. Paper shifted and something metal rolled and clattered to the floor. Silver’s palms hit the wood with a dull smack, his breath knocked out of him. His pulse thundered in his ears and his cock twitched.
Then a pause and he heard it. The clatter of Flint’s belt unfastening. The soft sound of fabric dragged down. And before he could form a thought, Flint’s hands were on his own belt. He deftly undid the buckle and with a tug on his trousers, Silver's backside was exposed to the cool air from one second to the next. He hissed through his teeth, hips jerking, caught between anticipation and sheer, choking need.
Flint's hand gripped his hip, and something hard grazed his buttocks. Silver squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers searched desperately for something to hold on to. His lust gave way to uneasiness. This wouldn't win him Flint's respect, only more contempt at best.
“No,” he said sharply, twisting under Flint’s grip, struggling to get back up. “Not like that.”
Flint wasn't going to get off that easy. He had watched Silver lose himself a few minutes before, now it was his turn to be exposed.
He felt Flint stiffen behind him and took the opportunity to turn back around. Flint's hands slipped limply from his body and he stepped back. Not far, but there was a little distance now.
“If you want to fuck me, that's how,” Silver said, ignoring the look of devastating shock on Flint's face. “I’m not some whore you can bend over and use as you please.”
The shock very slowly drained from Flint's face and Silver wondered if the moment felt as uncomfortable for Flint as it did for him.
“Could've fooled me,” Flint said a little too late and a little too quietly to be truly biting.
Silver's gaze wandered downwards without meaning to. He’d seen other men naked before. Obviously. Ships provided little privacy, and a passing glance was inevitable. But now he couldn’t look away. Because there it was. Flint's cock. Thick, hard, flushed dark with blood, curved just slightly to the left. He was not as hung as Dooley, maybe, but certainly better proportioned. Definitely bigger as Billy, who had a relatively small cock compared to his body size. Flint would like that, wouldn't he?
Silver's mouth went dry and he wondered how it would feel buried deep inside of him. Or in his mouth. His stomach turned over with want and he hated himself for it.
Fuck.
This was supposed to be a tactic. Not something he ached for. And yet the ache was there, dragging him down into something he didn't want to name.
He looked up again and their eyes locked.
“Get a good look?” Flint asked with a fair amount of indifference.
Silver scoffed. “Come on then,” he said in a challenging manner and slipped his trousers off his right leg.
Flint pressed close to him again. “Up,” he said and guided Silver back onto the table. Silver didn’t resist. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Flint reached past him.
“That should do,” Flint muttered, and Silver had no idea what he was talking about.
How much would it hurt? Good thing he was used to pain by now, he thought bitterly. He couldn't imagine Flint being gentle in any moment of his life. Especially not with him.
He twitched involuntarily as Flint's hand slid between his legs and probing fingers touched his hole. Shit. Flint's furrowed brow told him that he had noticed his flinch.
Only now did he register the slickness. Flint's fingers were wet...no, oily. That was what he had grabbed on the desk. Lamp oil? To make it more pleasant for Silver. That small act of consideration told him one thing. This wasn't the first time Flint had found himself in such a situation with a man, and Silver didn't want to think about what that meant.
“Have you done this before?” Flint asked doubtfully, as if reading his mind.
“What does it matter?”
Flint’s frown deepened and irritation flashed behind his eyes.
“Or would you like to be my first?” Silver pushed, unable to stop himself. “Does that thought excite you?”
Flint’s face barely flickered. “Why the fuck would it?” he muttered. “You think I care who you’ve fucked or haven’t? You think I’ll hold this like some… cherished fucking gift?” He shook his head. “Please. None of us is here for sentiment.”
“Hardly.”
Despite Flint's harsh words, his fingers were careful when he pushed them into him. Silver bit down on a gasp, heart pounding. He wanted to say something, wanted to keep the upper hand, but the pressure building inside him made it impossible.
Silver gasped again as Flint’s fingers slid deeper, spreading him open with aching care. Fuck, he hated how good it felt. Hated the slow burn of it, the warmth curling up his spine, the instinctive way his body opened to it… to him. He bit back an irritated ‘what the hell are you doing, just fuck me’.
His legs trembled - one was braced wide, the other bent awkwardly on the floor - and he reached behind himself to grab at the edge of the desk, trying to anchor his body against the slow, devastating rhythm of Flint’s hand. The effort required to remain in this position was nevertheless tremendous. All because of his fucking useless…
Flint pulled back. Strong hands moved under his thighs, shifting him and guiding him back until Silver was fully on the desk, flat on his back, papers crumpled beneath him. The relief was immediate. The feeling of humiliation as well.
He turned his head to the side, already regretting that he suggested this position. He wanted to sneer and spit something cutting or break the whole thing off completely. But his cock was still hard, pathetically so.
“You’re sure?” Flint asked, and his voice was hoarse now, ragged with restraint. He didn't seem to be put off by Silver's deficiencies yet. “Say it.”
God, just how many more fucking invitations did he want? “Yes.”
Flint nodded once. Then he stepped between Silver’s legs, the good one braced against his side, the other bent and half-draped off the desk, and pressed in, slowly and controlled. Silver felt every inch of the stretch. The ache of being opened and filled all at once was nearly overwhelming. His breath hitched and his hands scrabbled across the desk for something solid, anything to hold on to.
Flint stilled above him once he was completely inside, one hand gripping the desk beside Silver’s head, the other cradling his thigh. He was breathing heavily, his eyes were closed and his face contorted with barely contained lust.
Then he began to move. Carefully at first, drawing back just an inch, then pressing in again just as slowly. He pulled back further, a long, dragging pull of his hips, and Silver felt the loss of it, the slide of him leaving, the strange hollow ache in his gut. Next, the press of him returning, still so agonisingly slow. His stump itched. Silver wanted to scream.
“You getting sweet on me now, Captain?” he ground out, pushing up to meet him. “I thought you wanted to fuck me?”
Flint growled. Silver exhaled sharply as he drove into him again - harder this time, deeper. He set an unrelenting rhythm, and Silver’s hips lifted greedily with every thrust, chasing the sensation. The desk creaked beneath them.
“Mhm,” Silver purred. “That’s more like it.”
“Christ,” Flint panted. “You never shut up, do you?”
Silver smirked. He thought about Flint’s fingers in his mouth again. He wouldn't ask for it. But maybe…
He moaned when Flint’s hand came up and settled at his throat. Not squeezing, but he could still feel the pressure of Flint’s thumb against his rapid pulse. His grip wasn't even tight or threatening but the promise was there. Fuck. It would take nothing. Just a slight shift. And Silver would be gone. Somewhat hysterically, he thought of Gates. Flint had done it before. But his hand didn’t move, didn’t tighten. He just held Silver like that, with his hand around his throat while he fucked into him.
“Finally,” Flint muttered. “Peace and fucking quiet.”
Quiet indeed. Apart from Silver's own needy moans and Flint grunting when he pushed deep, there was nothing. Maybe Flint was always like that, but then again, he had entertained Silver with at least some filthy talk and commands just minutes before.
Silver watched him more closely. Flint had his eyes closed again, his brows drawn in something like sorrow. Or memory? Like… Silver's body was the one he was fucking, but he wasn't truly here anymore, not in his mind. Whatever or whoever he was imagining right now was clearly not him. Was it Barlow? Some other man?
Whatever. It didn't matter. That's what Silver told himself. But inside, his chest burned as anger welled up in him.
“Look at me,” Silver snarled a second later, unable to stop himself. Flint would have to live with this. With the fact that it was Silver he was fucking.
Flint blinked as he was pulled from whatever world he’d slipped into. His eyes dropped down and met Silver’s. He looked confused. Disoriented. Like he’d forgotten where he was. It fuelled Silver's anger even more.
“Where are you, hm?”
Flint’s eyes locked on his. There was neither guilt nor apology in his gaze. His grip on Silver’s thigh tightened, almost hard enough to bruise.
“I'm here,” Flint snarled back. “Right where you wanted me. But it's still not enough for you, hm? You want to own every thought I have.”
He slammed into Silver. Hard enough that it knocked Silver’s breath straight out of his lungs. His back arched off the desk with a gasp, hands flying to grip at Flint’s arms.
Flint leaned over him, chest to chest, face close, breath ghosting Silver’s lips.
“I told you before. You are not welcome there,” Flint said. “And this… this doesn't change anything. You have my body, and only that. There is nothing else…” His voice broke.
‘... nothing else left of me to give,’ Silver's mind filled the gap. Because he was just as broken and lonely as Silver. In other ways, but still.
He stared up at Flint. At the sweat on his brow, the tight set of his jaw, the shadows carved beneath his cheekbones from too many sleepless nights. His body was running on fury and stubbornness and not much else these days. Not dead yet, but not quite alive either. Haunted. That was the word. A man carved down to the sharpest parts, still moving, still fighting, because stopping would kill him. But he was dying. Piece by piece, he was dying and didn’t even notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.
Silver blinked hard, vision blurring.
And here I am, letting you take me with you.
“I'm all you have left,” Silver said. Not to be cruel but to remind Flint of the undeniable truth.
Flint recoiled as if Silver had struck him. His eyes were wild, almost frightened. Then his hand moved from Silver's throat, and he grabbed his face, rough fingers digging into his jaw, making Silver meet his now furious gaze.
“Don't you fucking dare and suggest that you are anything like them,” he said coldly. “Because I can assure you, you are not.”
Silver had no idea who he was talking about. Someone better than him, apparently.
“But sure. In a world, where there’s nothing left worth having, you are what remains. Aren't I lucky?” Flint let go of Silver's jaw and gave his cheek a brief, dismissive pat.
He leaned in again, his breath hot against Silver’s ear. “You think you want that burden of being my last tether?” Flint whispered. “You think you are strong enough?”
His next breath shuddered. “Then take it,” Flint growled. His hips slammed forward again, hard and punishing, as a broken, wounded sound tore loose from his throat. “Take all of it.”
Silver was strong enough. He would prove it to Flint. And Billy. And everyone else. He would take the rage, the pain, all of it. He would make sure that they both survived. Because what other choice did he have?
His tears spilled over without warning. Hot and quiet, sliding down his temples, tracing into his hair. He blinked hard, trying to chase them back or to pretend they weren’t there. It was not from pain but from everything else. He turned his head away. Maybe Flint wouldn't notice.
But of course, he did, as close as they were. And of course, he went still again. His body hovered awkwardly, trembling with restraint, but Silver refused to look at him. His cock throbbed where it was pinned between them, hard, neglected and still aching with need. This was probably the most pathetic fuck of his life.
“Are you… Did I…” Flint’s voice cracked. “Did I hurt you?”
Silver shook his head angrily. “No.” The word came out choked. “Not like that.” He didn’t say more. Couldn't. Wouldn’t.
“Do you want me to…”
“I want you to fuck me,” Silver snapped, feeling desperate and raw. “Just… fuck me. Please. Will you do that? I need… this. I need…”
“Yes.”
Flint’s hand moved, not rough this time. Fingers brushed over Silver’s jaw, then his lips in a silent offer. And Silver opened.
Flint’s fingers slid into his mouth, slow and sure, and Silver welcomed their familiar shape. His tongue curled around the fingers and in this moment, something in him calmed. The tears kept falling, but his breath levelled. He sucked gently, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.
The rhythm between their bodies built and the world narrowed to the fullness inside him, the fingers on his tongue, the taste of Flint, the weight of being held down - and finally, finally, the noise in his head went still. For a moment, there was nothing else. No phantom ache in his ruined leg. No grinding throb in the joint that never stopped reminding him what he'd lost. Just heat. Pressure. The anchoring rhythm of Flint’s body.
He didn't care how needy his whimpers became, and maybe it was better that he couldn't speak anymore because otherwise he would have begged Flint never to stop. Not if it meant another second without pain.
Eventually, Flint’s breath became ragged, his rhythm breaking, sweat dripping from his temple as he bore down into Silver again, and again, and again.
“Touch yourself,” Flint growled, voice shredded. “Now.”
Silver’s hand slipped between them, frantic, clumsy. One small flick of the wrist was enough. His back arched as the spring inside him snapped, his climax rushing through him in a molten wave. He came hard, with Flint’s fingers in his mouth, his body convulsing around him, a soundless moan caught deep in his throat.
Flint followed with a broken grunt, hips stuttering, body locking tight above him. He buried himself deep one last time, emptying into Silver with a shudder. His body slumped over and pressed him down firmly on the table.
Everything seemed wrong - his heavy weight, the scrape of stubble, his smell, which was so different from the lovely scent of women and their perfume. Silver turned his face into Flint’s neck where the skin was damp and warm, and breathed him in because he couldn’t stop himself.
Almost reflexively, he raised his arms to embrace Flint and hold him here a bit longer, but then he thought better of it and lowered them again. He closed his eyes, just for a second.
He nearly flinched when he felt warm breath ghosting over his cheek, followed by the gentlest press of lips. An accident, most likely. Only a moment later, Flint straightened up and his soft cock slipped out of him. Silver hissed, feeling sensitive and way too overstimulated.
Flint didn't look at him as he put his clothes back on.
That was just fine with Silver. He was still busy sorting out his thoughts. He put aside what he had said, what he had learned, how he could use it to his advantage. But his thoughts were sluggish and jumbled. He could feel Flint's fucking semen dripping out of him.
Flint threw him a cloth, which landed on his stomach. “Get dressed and come outside,” he muttered. “We need to address the crew.”
Then he turned away and Silver felt a headache coming on. Oh, fuck you, he thought.
“If you ever want this again, you're staying on the ship for the next raid,” he called after Flint just before he reached the door.
Flint paused, hand on the door. He turned his head, just slightly, not looking back. “I see,” he said slowly, which could mean anything.
He stepped out, and the door shut behind him.
Silver drew a slow breath. It came out as a shaky laugh. He pushed away from the desk, forcing movement into his limbs. He cleaned himself. He got dressed. The ache in his leg crept back into the stump where flesh met absence. He tried not to think about how for those few minutes while Flint was inside him, around him, on him, the pain had vanished. It was fucking unfair and made him want to weep.
By the time he reached the door his smile was back in place, convincing at least from a distance.