Disclaimer: Really? You think they'd give me creative control over anything? AWZ is not mine.
Author's Note: Episode 300. Mirror-kink (we all know the mirror I'm talking about *wink*).
Deniz had never truly let himself think about what it might look like.
The images were there, sure – it wasn't like he could help that, as much as he'd tried. But thinking about it, allowing those images to stay in his conscious mind as they were, even when his immediate response was still to quell it or alter it in some way, to something more normal, more correct... That, he'd never done, because that was dangerous. Men didn't think about men like that. And they certainly didn't dwell on it.
So it came as a sort of surprise, now, when he looked in the mirror – all solid angles and sharp lines, strong fingers on hardened muscle – and found that he liked what he saw. That he really liked what he saw. He liked the way his hands looked: strong but somehow clumsy fingers spread on Roman's chest. Liked that Roman's smaller frame obscured most of his own, that he could feel each muscle in Roman's back.
Despite all this, it still felt vaguely dirty, watching himself grope another man. He forced himself to close his eyes. As he did, he had a sudden flash of one of those sleazy mirrored ceilings that he'd always thought belonged in seventies soft-porn films and nowhere else; sleazy, exhibitionist and so fucking masculine it was embarrassing.
But feeling the muscles of Roman's back shifting and tensing against his chest made him absurdly reconsider that dislike, that embarrassment. He couldn't help opening his eyes just a bit as he leaned forward, right hand finding its respective place on Roman's chest like it belonged there, all but enveloping him. Just like he couldn't help that when he leaned closer, barely refraining from nuzzling Roman's neck in a seriously undignified way, another image of that ceiling paraded itself through his consciousness.
This time he was on the bed, underneath the mirrors. Or, rather, he was underneath Roman, face staring up from behind his shoulder, watching like he was now; eyes fixed to the movements of his shoulder-blades, even as his own fingers dug into them so hard it would probably leave marks. Even as his eyes flicked between the mirror and the look of near excruciating pleasure on Roman's face.
It was hot.
It was the same look he'd just seen in the mirror – for those few moments he'd dared again open his eyes – as his hands wandered magnificently of their own accord, freed by his weird little fantasy, and the intensity and unbelievable reality of it all hit him at once. His hands stopped. He felt himself pull back and in that moment, Deniz wanted nothing more than to run. Far and fast, but he'd done more than his share of running recently – from himself, from Marian, from Roman.
He couldn't run from this, not now.
He opened his eyes again, but kept them downcast this time. He didn't want, anymore, to look into that mirror, prepared for the rejection and anger he knew were etched over Roman's reflection in the glass. He didn't want to look at himself, either. He could feel the flush of his skin, from the shower and from whatever the hell you'd call when they'd just been doing. The fact that his hands were frozen humiliatingly in place didn't help, either, and he knew that he must look laughable.
But Roman didn't laugh.
Instead, he muttered a soft, "Hey," and Deniz felt fingers gripping his own. His mind was so fogged with fear and shame, though, that both gestures were momentarily ambiguous – he couldn't tell whether Roman was trying to comfort him or reprimanding him, pushing him away, offended. He raised his eyes cautiously, now, fully prepared to be indignant, to argue, even, but his resolve became moot the second he again felt warm skin under his fingers. Then his eyes met Roman's in the mirror, and his resolve disintegrated entirely, drowned out by its own pointlessness.
"We have all the time in the world." Reassuring, and it was as humiliating as anything, this blushing-virgin routine that he couldn't help but play, yet even so, he found himself thankful. He felt his cheeks heat up a little more as Roman's fingers tightened around his and he smiled in that slightly mocking way that should have infuriated Deniz; would have had it been anyone else. But Deniz smiled back.
For the first time, he felt himself smiling through shame, and that...
That felt good.