He has Lionel poised over his own desk, left hand holding his left hip and right hand aligning himself to press in, when he sees Lionel's face crumple and he buries his head in the crook of his arm as if to hide away from Bertie. He can't do it then. Not when his friend so obviously does not want to do this. It near breaks Bertie's heart to think that Lionel couldn't come out and tell him that he didn't want to bottom after all.
"Lionel?" he whispers. "What's the matter? W-we don't have to do...this...if you don't want to."
He runs a hand over his back and Lionel flinches, sobs muffled into the sleeve of his sweater. With his tears and his pants around his ankles, he looks quite like a boy about to be spanked. Bertie reaches down and does his pants up again, as well as refastening his own. He puts a hand on Lionel's shoulder and gently guides him to the couch. Bertie pours him a stiff drink and sits in a chair across from him so as not to startle him further. There's something eating away at his friend, and he can only hope he can do something to help.
"Do you want to talk a-about it?"
Lionel takes a handkerchief out of his pocket, wipes his eyes, blows his nose.
"You'd only think me silly," he answers voice wavering.
"You didn't think me silly when I told you about model planes or David's escapades."
And Lionel knows that he has a valid point. It's just a difficult story to tell.
"When I was a lad of eighteen, I was just beginning to fancy myself an actor. There was a troop in my town that I joined and I was the youngest they'd accepted, but they thought I had potential. And there was another boy there, Michael, who I was rather fond of. We grew close because we were the youngest boys. He-he was my first and only experience with a man."
His eyes become misty at the memory, especially about what happened next. Bertie waits for the bad news that is inevitably coming.
"He signed up to fight in the Great War in 1915. Said it was the right thing to do and that I should join him. I didn't. I wanted to be a dramatic, critically acclaimed actor in Perth and Sydney...The night Micheal was to leave, he came to say good-bye to me, very late at night."
His throat constricts.
"I let him-let him have me."
He swallows through a lump.
"He died. His plane was shot down. I never saw him again. Never even got to go to his funeral since no one knew we had been seeing each other."
Lionel finishes his story and takes a gulp of whiskey. The story brings back many painful memories. His head drops to his hands, trying to keep the tears at bay.
"Y-you don't ever, ever have to do anything that makes you hurt," Bertie assures, carefully patting his knee lest he flinch or cry. "I love you too much."
Lionel looks up at the words. So sweet and honest.
Lionel presses a kiss to Bertie's lips, tongue eventually coming out to explore. Because this? Lionel knows Bertie would never push him or tease him or purposely hurt him. Bertie was a kind, gentle man who would never take advantage. In those ways, he was reminded of Michael. A man who loved with his whole heart.
"I love you as well, Bertie."
Bertie smiles. As long as Lionel knows that, then he knows he has done his job.