forthedog | Let's not try to figure out everything at once...

Entry tags:

hutchinson au,
neil

Let's not try to figure out everything at once...

It's better. For the first time, it's better and he's sure it's not just wishful thinking, or adjusting to a situation that's just as shitty as it was before.

He's still not good. The morning he and Neil had spent in bed and curled around each other, he hadn't dreamed, but that night he had, and badly. And the night after. Neil touches him, and he still flinches instinctively away most of the time. The thought of going outside for anything--even the smallest task--feels like an exhausting ordeal. At times even getting up to bathe or eat is difficult.

But a few days later, and he's sure it's still better. As he makes his way up the stairs to he apartment, he's sure he feels less tired. Less battered inside.

Again, he's coming back from therapy, but he's feeling cautiously hopeful in addition to sore and tired. Donna had seemed entirely unsurprised when he had broached the subject--sidling around to it with an awkwardness that made him cringe and yet that he couldn't really stop--nodding and moving over to a desk and scribbling a name and a number down on a scrap of paper.

"There," she had said, tossing her long blond ponytail back over her shoulder and handing the paper to him. "Call that number. They'll take good care of you. Promise."

And he had thought that might actually be all she said about it, but as she pointed him back to the mat and his stretches, she had smiled, and it had been faint and warm. "I'm glad you said something," she said quietly. "'Cause I was about to."

Under the embarrassment, he was--and is--grateful. Because people care. They care without prying, without making themselves a nuisance.

Unless they have to. He thinks of Johnny and doesn't quite smile.

He turns the key in the lock, pushes the door open. Maybe it's better, but he's still tired and everything still hurts, and all he wants to do is curl up on the couch and doze.

Once it would have been with a drink. But now part of him--a louder part--is wondering if that might be the best idea.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Stripping off my jeans and kicking them aside, I slip into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind me.

The water's warm, the air close and humid in the tiny cubicle, and I reach for the soap in the dish, bending down to press a kiss to his temple.

He smiles at that, eye slipping closed again, feeling the hot water drumming against his skin, the closeness of another body. It's not like it was a few days before, when they'd both been so exhausted and drained that they'd been dangerously close to passing out on top of one another.

Now he's aware of everything. Very much so.

"Can't be near me too fucking long," he murmurs, leaning forward to lay a hand on Neil's hip. "Food's gonna get here."

"Fuck you," I mutter, still distantly embarrassed by that admission, 'cause it was a thousand times more intimate than if I'd said I wanted to fuck him.

"They said half an hour. I think," I snort. The lady on the phone didn't exactly speak English fluently.

Soaping up my palms, I start in on his shoulders, knowing full well he can do all this on his own, but it's a decent excuse to touch him, and I'm gonna take it.

Just for an instant, he almost shies away. He doesn't know exactly what he was expecting--probably exactly this, if it comes to it--but something about it still shocks him, makes him feel even more naked than he really is.

It's like the first night Neil spread the cream into his burns. But somehow more.

But then he makes a quiet sound low in his throat and lets it happen, forcing his tighter muscles to relax under Neil's fingers. And it does feel good.

It feels close to perfect.

That sound he makes is all the encouragement I need. I lean over him, working my hands over his shoulders, his arms, down the length of his back, over his chest, bent low with my face just next to his.

Pausing to soap up my hands again and flashing him a crooked grin, I let my hands drift lower, over his stomach, the ridges of muscle he's been slowly rebuilding, then I let my hand slip down between his legs, sliding over his cock. And maybe I'm not exactly working toward sex, but there's nothing clinical or detached about it.

He opens his eye long enough to catch that grin, everything unsaid in it, and he feels a surge of increased nervousness--liberally mixed with arousal. In fact, the remaining nerves are seeming less and less important, replaced by much more pleasant sensations.

Then Neil's hand slips down between his thighs and he lets out a heavy breath, almost laughing, as he feels his body responding. Every time this happens, part of him wonders if it might be the last time, if somehow next time he might not feel this level of... interest.

Then again, it's looking more and more like he doesn't have to worry about that at all.

He leans back a little further, legs spreading, looking up at Neil with his lips slightly parted and a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Okay. He can do this.

"Do that again."

"What?" I grin crookedly, my hand trailing over his thighs instead, first one and then the other, drifting as close to the abrupt end of his leg than I've ever really dared.

Pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, I finally curl my hand around his dick, my fingers loose around him, my thumb drifting over the head. We don't have a lot of time, he's right, but this, I think we can manage.

"You know what," he mutters, reaching up to hook a hand around the back of Neil's neck, pulling him closer. It's awkward and it's very close quarters, but that's fine. That's more than fine. He might need this, he thinks.

Just to feel normal again.

He groans quietly, rocking his hips upward--something that, fortunately, he doesn't need two good legs to do. "Little fucking tease."

Rumbling out a laugh, I let my forehead rest against his shoulder, bent over him awkwardly but not really giving a shit. I tighten my hand around his dick, moving slowly, 'cause I'm a fuckin' tease and 'cause I know it'll feel good.

Blindly, I put the soap bar back up on the shelf, curving that hand along his jaw and lifting my head to meet him in a kiss.

This time the sound is weaker and looser than the groan before it as he parts his lips against Neil's. This, at least, he doesn't feel any hesitation about, despite the twisted corner of his mouth. His teeth catch Neil's lower lip and he sucks gently before letting it slip free. Like it's a hint. A suggestion.

"That's it." His hips are rolling upward in a slow rhythm now, moving in time with Neil's hand. If he and Neil haven't done much of this lately, he's jerked off just as rarely, and it's not going to be long at all. "God... that's perfect."

"We need a bigger shower," I tease, crouched on the tile in the tiny bit of space I've got, my tongue sweeping past his lips, drawing him into a deeper kiss and moving my hand over him faster.

I pull away with a gasp, water beating down on both of us, still pleasantly warm, and I push him back so I've got the room to duck down and wrap my lips around the head of his cock.

"I'll bear it in mind," he murmurs, close to panting, head dropping back and dragging in a hard breath as Neil's mouth closes around him. All around him is wet heat but this is so much more all at once, enough to silence and still him. He drops a hand down to the back of Neil's head, feeling an edge of desperation through the pleasure.

This is going to feel like more than he deserves every single time it happens. Maybe he should just make his peace with that.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, biting down hard on his own lower lip. "Oh--fuck, Neil..."

That's exactly what I want to hear. I want that little edge of desperation, of blind want, that open eagerness that has become rare over the last few months.

I moan around him, swallowing him down deep, wanting to make him come. Wanting it more than I've wanted anything in a long time. Like this, cramped into a tiny shower stall, it's probably not the greatest blowjob ever, but to me, it's pretty fuckin' perfect.

The sounds he's making have taken on the rhythm of his hips and Neil's mouth: a low, rough noise caught between a gasp and a moan. His hand combs through Neil's wet hair--but it's not like Neil needs any encouragement.

Sometimes he almost believes that Neil really does want this. Sometimes it's more than just knowing.

"--God, I'm--" he manages, but it's all he gets out before all at once he's coming with a harsh groan like something snapping in his spine, trembling out through his skin and over much too fast.

I swallow him down, every last drop, feeling his dick pulse against my tongue, his muscles jerking and trembling under my hands. And it's fucking perfect. Over too fast? Sure, but maybe I'm stupid enough to hope that this won't be the last time. Not even close.

I pull back, my lips pressing briefly to his thigh, taking a moment to catch my breath, then I push to my feet, dick hard and untouched, but right now, I'm okay with that.

"Food'll be here soon," I murmur, leaning down to kiss the corner of his lips, my hands sliding back through his wet hair.

"Fuck," he laughs shakily, eye closed and his body half slumped in the chair, reaching up to close his hand around Neil's wrist. "Okay. Okay, God, just... cut the water off. And toss me a fucking towel."

Getting up feels like it's a few steps beyond him at the moment, but he's sinking back into his own body bit by bit, everything humming pleasantly around the edges.

And... normal. Like it's no big deal.

Grinning, I reach for the faucet and twist it off, stepping one foot out of the shower and grabbing him a towel from the rack. I hand it over, grab one for myself, and I'm hastily drying myself off, bending to move his prosthesis within reach and stepping out of the way.

On my way out the door, I grin back at him before I disappear into the bedroom, still flushed and half hard.

He's almost feeling giddy as he dries himself and straps the prosthesis back on. It's flooding through him, more than the usual orgasmic afterglow--and that's why.

Usual. It is usual. The giddiness is at least half relief.

Towel slung low on his waist, he makes his way out of the bathroom and back toward the bedroom, pausing for a moment and just leaning in the doorway. It's happening in little stages, tiny steps, some so small that he almost doesn't notice them as they're happening.

But although the ever-present terror is still lurking behind the curtain in his mind, although it's still hard to just stand here and not try to shrink away or cover himself... this is the most normal he's felt in weeks.

"That wasn't fair," he murmurs.

"Seemed pretty fuckin' fair to me," I say, grinning kind of stupidly, and I drop my towel in the hamper, standing at the foot of the bed naked and turning to him with one brow arched.

"You wanna come over here and make it fair?"

"You think I can do that in... five minutes?" He hasn't moved yet, but his gaze is raking over Neil's body, never mind only two dimensions, and it's really just a matter of seconds now.

"I mean, I'm probably gonna come over there regardless."

"You can try," I say, taking another step back toward the bed and offering him a smile that's more of a challenge than anything.

Five minutes, or maybe they'll be late with the food. This is one of the few times I'm actually hoping for that.

"Think the odds are decent?" He lets the towel fall away and steps forward, naked--scars and prosthesis no more exposed than they were in the shower, though somehow he feels twice as bare as he had in there.

And it's uncomfortable. But it's bearable. He wants to bear it.

He wants to do more than that.

"I don't give a fuck, just get over here," I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed and beckoning him closer.

His body looks different, and it's more than just the scars. The muscles are bigger on one side, overcompensation for having to balance on the prosthesis. Just a subtle difference that, to most people, would be completely overshadowed by the scars. He still looks uncomfortable, awkward in his own skin, but he's got no reason to be.

One day, I hope he'll be able to trust that.

If nothing else, he's got a ticking clock at his back and it helps to spur him forward faster, less time to think. He moves to the edge of the bed, nudging Neil's legs apart with his knee and stepping between them, leaning down to slide both hands through his hair and tilt his head up and back.

It's close to rough. But it's not, really.

"I love you," he murmurs--still feeling his way around the words, still trying them out.

And just like that, it's about more than just sex, if it was ever really about sex to begin with. Five fucking minutes doesn't seem like long enough, not for what I want to do, all because of three fucking words.

My breath stutters, a physical ache tightening behind my breastbone, and I rest both hands on his hips, pulling him in close.

"I love you, too," I breathe, and it's fuckin' embarrassing, how I come undone like this, just over a few fuckin' words.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject