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Paul dreams he drowns, pulled under the waves by men he killed in the war. He can see the whites of their eyes and hear their furious screams echo across the water as they latch onto his ankles. He isn’t strong enough to fight them off, and he can’t get away even as he scrambles from their clutches, filled with panic. Whatever Paul is holding onto gives way beneath him, and he goes under. The saltwater burns as it floods down his throat and he wakes up gasping, choking on water that is only in his mind.
He sits bolt upright, freezing cold, and doesn’t recognize where he is. The moonlight that spills into Warren’s bedroom disorients him; he expects the darkness of his workshop. Warren stirs next to him, or maybe he was already awake, and Paul realizes he is breathing hard.
“Paul?” Warren asks, not sounding groggy at all, which means he was awake. Fuck.
Paul worries about what he may have said or done in the midst of his nightmare. He knows he talks sometimes, even yells and fights when it’s bad enough. His wife told him plenty of times how scared she was to sleep next to him, when they could still stand to share a bed.
He fights for air, trying to calm down, but jumps when Warren places a hand against his back.
“‘M fine,” he finally rasps out.
“You’re shaking,” Warren says. Paul has to fight to stay in the bed as he focuses on his breathing. He wants a drink.
“Nightmare.”
The bed shifts as Warren sits up.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Paul just shakes his head, not trusting his voice. When he can finally breathe normally and doesn’t feel like he’s about to jump out of the window, he turns to Warren. The lines of him are softened by sleep. His long dark hair spills over his shoulders and his threadbare nightshirt shows more than it covers. His face is relaxed and creased with sleep, all except the concern in his eyes. That glitters like polished silver. Paul wants to kiss him.
“Can I touch you?” Warren asks, with such seriousness that Paul almost laughs.
He nods instead, and feels Warren shift on the bed, moving behind him. Warren pulls Paul into the v of his legs, nudges him, and then pulls off Paul’s nightshirt. He almost doesn’t let him, but acquiesces and raises his arms, curious about Warren’s end goal. Warren runs his hands over him, softly enough to raise goosebumps, and then Warren’s arms slip around his waist. Paul feels the brush of Warren’s lips against his neck.
“Can you relax?” Warren asks in his ear, and he tries to, he really tries to, but he isn’t used to this.
Whenever he woke his wife up, she would kick him out of bed. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, he would go down to his workshop to sweat it out or drink it out or hammer it out on cherry red iron. The darkness of his workshop cloaked the shame at being seen at his weakest. Finally it became easier for Paul to sleep in his workshop, in the pitch black with a bottle of whiskey where nobody could hear him cry out. He doesn’t want Warren to see him weak.
“Paul, you’re safe.”
“I know that,” he snaps.
“Why don’t you like this?” Warren asks, using his doctor voice. Paul yanks free of Warren, and turns on him.
“I’m not a gentle maiden, Warren. I don’t need you to coddle me.”
He sees genuine surprise flicker in the dark of Warren’s eyes.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, not budging even as Paul gets in his space, letting his anger build.
“Do you really think that just because I’m in your bed I’m going to go soft for you?” Paul asks as he lays Warren out, inching over him like a mountain cat. He can’t figure out if he’s really angry or if he’s just trying to save face. “Forgive me for not swooning into your arms, doctor, maybe if you go make your eyes at Gage’s wife she’ll sigh for you, be nice and sweet,“ he hisses, inches from Warren’s face.
Warren lets out a growl and Paul immediately knows he went too far as Warren wraps his legs around Paul’s waist and flips them. He fights Warren, because of course he does, and they grapple near soundlessly, cognizant even in their fury of the neighbors’ proximity.
“Is that really what you think I want?” Warren asks as he manages to grab Paul’s arms and pin him, the lithe doctor stronger than he looks. “Is that really what you think I think of you?” He asks.
“I don’t know!” Paul barks. He can’t look at Warren when he’s this close. He stops fighting. “I don’t know,” he repeats, quieter.
“Paul,” Warren says, his voice full of hurt.
“Fuck, Joseph, don’t,” he says, suddenly terrified to hear what Warren wants to say. He pushes Warren off of him and walks downstairs, shivering in just his woolen smalls.
Paul has to go through most of Warren’s cabinets before he finds the whiskey. He drinks it right out of the bottle as he sits in the dark on the examination table in Warren’s office. He stares blindly at a row of medical instruments, mind blank.
“The first time you were on that table you were barely conscious and you still managed to pull a knife on me,” Warren says from the dark. He sounds amused by the memory.
“That wasn’t the first time,” Paul says, staring at his knees.
“It might as well have been,” Warren answers.
Paul looks up. He can barely see Warren where he’s slouched in the doorway.
Warren unhitches himself from the wall and walks into the office. He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of Paul. Even in the shadow Paul can make out the glitter of his eyes and the stern set of his mouth. He swallows more whiskey before letting Warren take the bottle. Warren drinks long and deep, not stopping even when a trickle of whiskey escapes his mouth and drips onto his throat.
Paul watches the doctor’s throat work, desperately wanting to lick. Warren sits the empty bottle on the table next to him and then crowds into his space, splaying Paul’s legs. Paul swallows carefully as Warren gets into his space and plants his hands on either side of Paul’s hips.
“I’ve seen you,” Warren whispers. “Seen you in my bed with your head thrown back in pleasure. Seen you covered in blood on my exam table and smiling at it. Half unconscious and lethal even then. Has anybody ever told you what you’re like, then?” Warren pauses.
Paul stares at him silently. Warren finally chuckles.
“You’re devastating. I would go to the gallows for just one more night with you. You think I want you weak? You think I know that little about you?” Warren practically growls, close enough that Paul can feel it in his chest, can feel the weight of Warren’s stare as a physical thing.
“I can’t control my dreams,” Paul rumbles, argument failing even in his own ears.
“I know you dream of the war. I don’t know what happened, but I know it haunts you, it’s plain as day. You hide in that forge of yours, hide under the whiskey and the fighting and the blood and that fucking smile, but you don’t have to. Not with me. You don’t have to fight me.”
Warren’s hands are on his thighs then, and Paul’s got his hands in Warren’s hair, something storming in his chest, and he kisses Warren on the mouth, pulls him into him.
Paul bites Warren’s lower lip and licks his way into his mouth. Warren tastes like whiskey and Paul isn’t cold anymore, skin burning up under Warren’s hands. He cants his hips, sliding against Warren, who is hard against him.
“Take me back to bed,” Paul breathes out. He flushes at how breathy his voice is, but the wicked smile that creeps across Warren’s face is worth it.
Warren manhandles him upstairs and throws him on his back on the bed. He sprawls out, anticipating Warren falling on top of him, but instead Warren stands and stares down at him, eyes soft. The moon has risen and the room is lighter than Paul wishes. He feels too visible, with Warren standing over him, predatory and backlit by the night.
Paul flushes. He feels undone by the look on Warren’s face, like the doctor has slipped under his defenses. He should be running, should be fighting, should be fucking someone mindlessly. No emotion, no intimate face-to-face moments, no parsing of his nightmares like he’s someone who deserves careful handling, just sweat and fire and sweet release. No, Paul thinks. He should be doing anything but laying on the bed with his legs spread, asking. Despite the heat in his face and neck, though, he can’t bring himself to close his legs or leave. He’s tired of running.
“Get down here,” he says. He aims for coy, but it comes out nakedly honest instead. Paul winces.
Warren climbs on top of him, finally, with a leonine grace. The sheets of his hair spill around them like a veil. Warren leans down and kisses him, slipping a hand under his neck and bringing it to tangle in his hair.
Paul slides his hands up under Warren’s useless shirt, ghosting up his sides as he arches up into Warren’s hold on him. Warren kisses him breathless and then slinks down to kiss his neck. It sends pings of desire lancing through him. He’s already hard and he feels a scream building in his throat as Warren bites him, teeth scraping over his pulse. He lets out a broken groan that surprises him and he flushes.
“Mm, I like that sound,” Warren mumbles against his neck, and the bastard is smiling.
“Oh get on with it already,” he says, before trying to roll over.
“Let me,” Warren says, eyes serious as he holds him down. He noses up the line of his throat gently, and Paul instinctively bares his throat. “Let me.”
Paul swallows, and then nods. For his soul-baring, Paul is rewarded by another of Warren’s smiles, the soft kind, before the doctor goes back to kissing his neck. Warren inches his way down, nearly driving Paul to madness as he nips at his collarbones, pinches his nipples, and drags a hand down his stomach between his legs, until Paul is writhing. Warren strips his own pajamas before tearing his smalls off and Paul can’t help the shiver of anticipation and stretches through his back. He tries to keep quiet as Warren runs his hands over the tattoo on his hip and down his thighs. Paul figures his rapid breathing gives plenty away, and then Warren settles between his legs and nudges them out and up.
“I like the noises you make. I won’t tell anyone,” Warren says quietly, dead serious, and then he’s swallowing him down, swirling his tongue against the head of his cock and Paul gasps. It’s too hard to look at the glint in Warren’s eyes as he takes him apart at the seams, so he lets his head fall back against the plush quilts covering Warren’s bed.
Warren pins his hips down so he doesn’t thrust up and accidentally choke him as Warren’s mouth works him over. This is different from what he’s used to. Warren normally lets him hide, and honestly, Paul didn’t even think Warren noticed that’s what he was doing. Evidently he was wrong. Paul should’ve known; Warren’s always been canny.
Finally Warren lets up and Paul sucks in a breath, only to choke on it as Warren nudges lower. He presses Paul’s legs open obscenely wide, as though he means to make a home between them, and then parts Paul, breathing out over his exposed hole.
He sits up in a flash, nearly kicking Warren in the face as his stomach muscles clench violently. All the blood rushes into his face and neck.
“Warren,” Paul gasps out.
Warren arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“What, precisely,” Paul says, forcing the words out of his throat, sounding for all the world like he is gargling flour, “do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m putting my mouth on you,” Warren says in a low voice. He leans in and Paul watches, frozen on the spot as though Warren’s hypnotized him. Warren’s pupils are fully dilated. He looks like he’s going to eat Paul alive.
“Is that a problem?” Warren asks.
Paul doesn’t think he’s capable of speech anymore, so he simply shakes his head slowly.
“Lay down, Paul,” Warren breathes, and Paul shivers at it.
He lays back down bonelessly, and closes his eyes as Warren resumes his former position. One of Warren’s arms drapes over his hips, pinning him down as Warren kisses the inside of his thighs, circling ever closer between them.
Paul bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stay quiet. Then Warren licks a long line down his cock where he’s flushed and hard, and Paul breaks, letting out a quiet moan. Warren jerks him hard, once, and then releases his cock, leaving it to bob up against Paul’s stomach, heavy and leaking with arousal. Then he slides lower, lifts his balls, manhandling him as he scrapes his teeth delicately against the thin skin behind them. Paul’s hips arch up and he moans.
Then Warren’s arm over his hip disappears. It reappears between his legs, where Warren holds him open and before Paul can think Warren kisses his hole. Paul jolts, and an embarrassing noise sneaks out of his throat. Warren laves over his hole, using the flat of his tongue to spin circles over him, before licking out. Paul loses control at that and his hips thrust down against Warren’s face, forcing his tongue inside of him, and Paul breaks.
“Fuck,” Paul groans as Warren’s tongue fucking wriggles. His back arches off the bed and starbursts explode behind his eyes. “Oh god.”
His voice shakes as he clutches desperately at the sheets, trying to hold himself together.
Warren sucks at his rim, tugging gently at his hole, and Paul is sure he is going to fly into pieces as he tries to catch his breath. He’s never had someone this close to him, had never even thought to want something like this. He half sits up, not sure what he even wants, but when he meets Warren’s dark, wicked, eyes, Paul punches out a noise like he’s lost all of his air. Warren arches an eyebrow at him while he drags his teeth ever so lightly over his hole, just the barest hint of danger.
“Hnn,” is all Paul can say. His cock dribbles against his stomach, and Paul realizes he is a mess, his cock flushed and sticky, hips slick with pre-come, wet between his legs from Warren’s ministrations.
He flops back onto the bed, suddenly devoid of any ability to hold himself up while Warren obliterates him. Suddenly a hand finds his, pulling Paul out of the whirling headspace he is happy to drown in and back into reality.
“Sit up,” Warren says, voice low.
He pulls Paul’s hips down, until he’s balanced on the edge of the bed. Paul lets Warren pull him into a sitting position and then he falls on Warren’s mouth, needing reassurance that this isn’t all in his head. Don’t see the truth of me and hate it. Warren’s lips part easily, and despite where Warren’s mouth just was, he tastes fine. Paul fists his hands in Warren’s hair and tugs gently, eliciting a loud moan from the doctor.
“Warren,” Paul tries, voice weak.
Warren pulls back and smirks at him, before sinking down onto his knees. He stops when his mouth is hovering just above his cock.
“Yes?” Warren asks.
Paul stares.
Warren places his mouth just at the tip of Paul’s cock. “Did you need something?” Warren asks, eyes dancing as his lips tease Paul, dragging in his pre-come.
Paul shakes his head.
Warren grabs Paul’s hands, puts them back into his hair, and then sinks his mouth down on Paul’s cock. This is more familiar and slightly easier to handle. Paul closes his eyes and hums in his throat as Warren swallows around him.
Then he looks down. Warren is staring up at him predatorily as he sinks down, burying the full length of Paul’s cock in his throat. Then, as Paul watches, he slides up and off, releasing him with a pop.
“Are you done teasing?” Paul finally manages.
“Maybe,” Warren says. “You do realize you don’t have to be so gentle with me.”
Paul just stares. “You mean…” he pulls on Warren’s hair slightly harder. Warren’s eyes slide closed and he lets out a quiet moan.
“Okay,” Paul says gruffly.
Warren’s eyes have that look again as he sinks back down and Paul can’t watch anymore. He closes his eyes and pulls Warren’s hair as hard as he dares, listening for the doctor’s sighs and moans that reverberate around him where he’s buried halfway down Warren’s throat. Then suddenly there is a finger teasing his hole and Paul comes right in Warren’s mouth, too fast to even try and warn him.
“Fuck,” Paul chokes out. “Oh fuck,” he pants shakily.
His muscles feel liable to collapse, like a horse’s when it has been pushed too hard for too long. He shimmies back onto the bed and then lets them collapse, the quilts comforting against his overheated skin.
Paul doesn’t know how long he lays there before he hears the floor creak. Warren must have gotten up. Paul finds he can’t much care, the satiety of the post-orgasm high spilling like syrup through his veins. A wet cloth drags at him, cleaning him up, and Paul is so sensitive he can’t help but wince.
“Necessary evil, I’m afraid,” Warren says, hushed in the starless black of predawn. Paul had gotten so thoroughly lost in Warren’s mouth he hadn’t even noticed the moon go down.
Paul keeps his eyes closed, afraid of what he might see in Warren’s face. Afraid now that he’s been undone. The truth cannot be taken back, and that is what Paul fears. The bed dips as Warren climbs in. Paul holds very still and thinks if he doesn’t move Warren might perhaps forget he is there.
Warren doesn’t say anything. The bedroom is still and quiet in the final throes of the night, shivering with anticipation of the dawn.
Finally Paul cracks one eye open and looks around. Warren is snuggled into bed, warm and cozy, staring right back at him. Paul can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
“Did you need something?” Warren asks lightly.
“Are you. Uh. Did you?” Paul tries, stumbling over what he is trying to ask. Paul cannot even remember the last time he let his guard down like this, and imagines that Warren regrets it now that he’s been reduced to a blithering adolescent.
“Did I?” Warren asks. He raises his eyebrows.
“You didn’t,” Paul vaguely waves a hand. “Y’know, finish.”
Warren laughs. “Oh trust me, I am plenty satisfied.”
Paul blinks.
“Get under the covers, Mr. Revere,” Warren commands.
Paul shivers and complies, sliding between the sheets. He feels a bit shy as he turns onto his side, his back to Warren. Warren scoots closer and then pulls Paul flush against him, wrapping an arm and leg around him. Paul is still completely naked, but he feels safe in Warren’s arms.
“Your turn next,” Paul says, voice slightly slurred with sleep.
Warren hums low in his chest, and then gently kisses Paul on the throat.
“I’ll be there,” Warren says.