Fox's Glade Impulse

an itch. val almost stupidly opened his mouth to ask where, but thought better of it when it became clear what ash wanted. not a scratch, but a donation -- of a kind he was ill-equipped for.

heat rose to his face instantly, a scarlet blush along his cheeks. "you -- what?" disbelief poured from his mouth, which still hung slackjawed as he mentally bent to collect his scattering thoughts.

he would be lying to himself if he did not admit he had sometimes wondered what was wrong with him; aventus was his age, and with a mate -- he had seen others younger or slightly older too with child. and here he was, having never had any sort of intimacy with anyone, much less a potential paramour. he had assumed maybe he was a slow bloomer, or maybe he just.. wasn't the material others needed.

but to be so baldly and openly propositioned -- with no love, no passion or ardour?

val's face crumpled. even now, his most valuable asset wasn't in who he was or what he had to offer someone -- it was in the singular directive of what stewed beneath his hips. even with all his parts working, he still didn't fit into others lives in a way that was meaningful, and ash's proposition only further hammered that home.

i have to go. val felt that crestfallen feeling pierce through him like a black root. it wasn't surface blight, it was soul blight -- he was darkening bow to stern and soon he would be nothing but a rotted ouroboros of unhappy, unplaceable mass. he could feel confusion, shame, and defeat each sink their claw into the mantle of his confidence -- and unwilling to allow ash to see it, val turned stiffly away.