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.

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"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.

Hearing it back isn't like saying it. It takes him a second or two to find his voice, a second or two to do anything but stand there and let it wash over him. The fact that he can have this. That it's not a lie. That it's not out of reach at all. It's right here.

It's been right here.

"Good," he murmurs finally, managing a weak smile. "So I don't look like a total asshole."

"Yeah, I just had to look like an asshole all those weeks before you said it back," I tease, hooking a hand behind his neck and pulling him down closer.

"I thought we were in a hurry," I point out, not feeling a whole lot like I wanna rush this.

"We are." He lets himself be pulled, places a hand on Neil's chest and pushes him swiftly back and down, lips grazing his jaw.

Later, maybe, they can take their time about this. Assuming he still feels this bold.

"Need you to... slide back," he mutters, feeling a brief surge of embarrassment. "I can't get on my knees that easy like this."

I do what he asks without complaint, sliding back toward the pillows, still propped up on my elbows so I can watch him.

"How's this?" I ask, smirking, one knee bent, foot on the mattress and my dick hard and curving up impatiently.

"Fine." The embarrassment dies mostly away again and he smiles faintly, crawls a little gingerly onto the bed, half sliding. His hand finds Neil's thigh and then he's crawling on his belly, up between Neil's legs, and all at once he's comfortable enough that he hates the idea that he'll have to rush.

He lowers his head, presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Neil's thigh. "'S perfect," he breathes, fingertips grazing the underside of Neil's dick.

Grinning crookedly, I reach out to push a hand through his hair, breathing out a shuddering sigh and rolling my hips up into those painfully light touches.

"Don't be a fuckin' tease," I gasp, blood thrumming under my skin, and it's not until he's got his lips pressed to my thigh that I realize he hasn't let me watch him do this since before the accident. That sex has been a quick, fumbling thing, or he's made me have my eyes covered, and now I want more than anything to be able to take our time, knowing that he won't let me watch like this forever. That it's special, and I'll be lucky if it happens again.

Fuck.

"Yeah, don't have time to tease," he agrees, wrapping his fingers around the base of Neil's cock and closing his lips around the head in a single, relatively smooth motion, sliding down quick and hard. Like always it's a blast to his senses, taste and texture and heat and scent, blood thrumming under his fingers and on his tongue and a sense of control that's even more welcome now than it used to be.

But he can also close his eye now, not look at Neil looking at him. Letting Neil watch like this feels like a hill he's crested and is speeding down the other side of. Meeting that gaze is just too much.

But now, as he bobs his head and moans in the base of his throat, letting the salty-sweet taste of precome slide over his tongue, he thinks maybe it won't always be like that.

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