"Deny me," the Fool argues softly, firmly, but it is telling that even as he speaks, he holds Fitz close. "Deny me a hundred times, Fitz, if this--if I, am not who you want. Don't give me your pity, please, I beg you--I'd never ask anything of you that you did not want to give." His fingers trace down to rest over Fitz's heart, feeling where it beats. He doesn't let go of him, continues to card his fingers through the dark curls of his hair, to trace his fingertips over the face that, even with marks of age, is still so precious to him.

He swallows hard and makes himself meet Fitz's dark eyes. "Your love is all I have ever needed. It won't ruin me, to continue on without your desire, too."

Yet his breathing comes a little faster, his eyes gone a little darker; no, he doesn't need it, but oh, how he longs for it. How transparent his desire is--