It hits Benedict as soon as Allumin drops the word 'consensual', and immediately he wishes he were dead (not that he minds the arm around his chest, which he doesn't shrug off-- in fact, his heart starts beating a little faster, but he's not about to address it now).

"It's-- not like that," he insists, making no move to get up yet, shooting Edgard a beleaguered glance, "...it's not. I did ask him. Because he's my friend."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's a long story. I'm..." The words leave him like they're being dragged, their little fingernails scratching lines in the stone, "...trying to build my pain tolerance."