Chapter Text
Avery woke slowly, but not without a bone-deep ache.
It’s a regular occurrence, now, the hiccups in their nights. It was getting better as the months passed, that fateful New Years Eve cast further and further away with every new morning—every new step forward, as Derek put it before. But it was a norm nonetheless, in their shared studio.
Shared. Right. Avery looked over to the mattress on the floor, right beside his bed.
Derek laid there, unmoving under his blanket, save for the slow draw of his breaths. He looked a little silly, his usual intimidatingly tall stature reduced to a silhouette curled… well, practically on the floor. He always looked a little funny like this, much smaller.
Sometimes, the weight of that thought would hang on Avery’s heart. But tonight, he had a much more… physically pressing issue.
As was reminded to him by a sharp pain to his pelvis.
So that’s why he was up. Shit.
Avery curled in around the pillow he had been hugging in his sleep, feeling the fabric drag along his face. He tried to center himself on the feel of the threads beneath his fingertips, the volume of the pillow as he squeezed.
The cramps didn’t seem phased by the attempt. Though it, mercifully, settled into a dull ache at his center.
Avery would groan and curse out loud, but the normalcy of one of them waking up in the night usually entailed another sleepless night for Derek.
This was one of the unfortunate off-chances that Avery woke, and it wasn't even to some nightmarish vision of their past, or the—admittedly much, much scarier visions of a marred future.
In short, Avery would much rather let Derek rest tonight. Save his waking moments for trouble that was certain to come, as much as Avery wished he could will it away.
Avery bit the inside of his cheek and sat up. Careful of the other’s sleep, he carefully maneuvered from the foot of his bed, over the bottom corner of Derek’s mattress.
The city lights, softly falling through the window, were more than enough to illuminate his—ha, daunting journey around their studio apartment.
He then began to go through the motions, with a little hunch and stagger in his walking. Turn on the kettle in their kitchen area for a hot compress, check. Walk to the bathroom to put on a pad, check.
Thankfully, the blood hadn’t really started to flow in his sleep. Small mercies, he supposed.
Walking out of the bathroom, he returned to the kettle. The water had begun to grow restless as it came close to boiling, he switched it off preemptively, not wanting it to be too hot.
With practiced ease, he poured the water into the hot compress he stored in the overhead cabinet, specifically for situations like this.
Avery sighed as the freshly filled hot compress met his stomach. The ache was still persistent, but the new sensation was a respite from it, somewhat.
Home run. He thought, walking back to the bed.
He clutched his stomach a bit more, on the way back.
He had this theory that his stomach knew when he was actually awake, and saved all the pain for a conscious Avery. Admittedly, he has no way of proving this theory, but it seems to ring true every time.
Especially when he gets caught off guard by his cycle in the night. Now that he thinks about it, this hasn't happened to him in quite a while.
It's the first time it's happened, at least, in the time Derek’s moved in with him.
Cramps in the night are extremely annoying, because the medications he takes for them need to be taken with food. Other painkillers he’s tried either don't work on his dysmenorrhea, or take a century and a half to start working. And in the middle of the night, groggy and annoyed out of his mind, he really cannot be bothered to make something.
His period seems to want to reward this train of thought with truly damning evidence of his “maliciously timed pain” theory.
An extreme, and very maliciously timed cramp shot a searing pain straight up his spine.
“Ha, shit—” Avery immediately began to make pained noises, unable to silence himself in the shock. His knees buckled. He sucked in a breath.
The cramp hit just as he was trying to get back into bed, and he just fell straight onto Derek’s mattress.
The slight bounce of the springs under his knees felt like salt in the wound sent straight from the higher-ups of the universe.
What was that about not bothering Derek’s sleep?
Avery mentally cursed himself out. And all his bloodlines, too, for good measure. Which seems a bit dramatic, maybe, but he was doing really well up until this point… and that cramp was really unfairly timed to this moment.
Oh, and thank fuck he didn’t fall on Derek himself, that would actually kill him on the spot. The scare he would give the poor guy, right as he’s seemingly having an agreeable dream tonight.
He would never live it down.
But also he’s thinking too much. Way too much.
God.
He should probably move by now. He doesn't want to move.
Is Derek even awake? Okay. Maybe if he doesn't move—
“Aves?” A soft, groggy voice asked. It was starkly endearing, how different it was to Derek’s usual voice. Certainly a far cry from how he would usually wake in the night, startled and pained.
Its warm contrast to Avery’s sheer, cold mortification made something in his heart shift.
Avery waited a second, letting Derek fumble for his hearing aids nearby.
Avery smiled a little, trying to be placating about it. “Hey, sorry.” He said, as softly as he could manage, trying to not fully rouse Derek.
“Just woke up for a bit, I, uh…”
He hesitated.
“Tripped. Trying to get back to my side.”
Good enough.
“Tripped?” Derek’s voice shifted into his chest. Deeper, more awake.
Not good enough, apparently.
Avery wanted to bash his head into the wall, of course Derek would stir at Avery getting potentially hurt… the hell was he thinking. Except.
Except.
Maybe he should bash his head into the wall.
Derek, stirring at the thought of Avery getting hurt.
What a thought.
Derek’s voice snapped the thought into oblivion, “Are you okay?” He started to sit up, looking right into Avery’s eyes.
Avery laughed a bit, at how seriously Derek was taking it.
If he didn’t laugh, the weight of that worry would probably crush his lungs before he could take his next breath. Derek. Worried over him.
It figures, logically, after everything they've been through. But it doesn't make it an easier pill to swallow when Avery sees its physical manifestation.
Especially not when Derek is looking at him so intensely.
“I’m fine, dude. I mean, I fell right onto your mattress.” Avery shifted, sheepish, “sorry about that.”
Derek didn't respond to the apology, all his brainpower seemingly honed in on analyzing the figure in front of him.
He did this sometimes, not replying to a statement in favor of finding his own answers. Avery supposed it could be seen as rude, but he didn't mind. He liked seeing the cogs turn in his brain.
Now, however, he realized it was not going to work in his favor. Avery belatedly caught Derek’s gaze moving to the hot compress he still cradled close to his stomach.
The cogs were certainly turning.
“Avery,” Derek said. Not in warning, more questioning. A little breathy. Avery doesn't want to think about that. Actually, Avery doesn't want to be thinking about the way Derek speaks to him. At all.
It's been driving him a bit crazy. Everything has.
Whatever this is, has.
Maybe he’s just on his period.
“That’s my name, Der. Thank you, kindly.” Avery said, pretending to be nonchalant about being analyzed like a cipher stack.
He's much easier to solve than one, for Derek, he's aware.
“Does it hurt?” Derek asked. Simply.
“Derek. I am not going to die,” Avery replied, smiling. He hopes his flippance will deflect enough of Derek’s gaze. “It’s just a period.”
Derek, reflecting his casual tone back, responded, “Not what I asked.” He shifted into a more comfortable position. “I asked if it hurt, Aves.”
As if right on time, Avery’s stomach pulsed with a cramp. A long one. He’d have to ride this one out. Stiffening, Avery pressed on the hot compress.
Maliciously timed pain theory. Fuck this.
Derek grimaced, making it increasingly obvious that Avery… was being increasingly obvious.
Don’t get him wrong. Avery’s aware there’s really no need to be so secretive about his cramps. Derek knows. By all means, he could admit to it, get back in bed, and writhe until he falls asleep. That’s… certainly an option in the cards for him.
He doesn't really know what possesses him to draw this out.
Maybe it's the way Derek cares about him. He thinks. He knows Derek is borderline obsessive on ensuring his protection, somewhere in his big brain there's a nuclear warning center with a big red button labeled worry-about-avery.
Avery likes being the one who gets to worry, though. After everything.
The incomprehensible, the immediate and all-damning way Derek had sacrificed himself without a second thought. Just so that Avery wouldn’t become a vessel to an eldritch horror.
Avery knows the world was on Derek’s shoulders, too. He knows. It’s not just about him.
But Avery also knows about the note. About the signs in the churchyard. Avery knows about the ways Derek implies to know him. Or knew.
Avery knows, part of the infinite knowledge cursed onto him is his. Knowledge of him. Who he is. How he is.
Derek had seen.
And Derek, had loved. Avery doesn't know how much, what kind, or how fleetingly. But, Derek loved.
He loved enough to leave messages to keep him from slipping from himself. Reminding him that he mattered.
He loved enough that his final thought was of Avery, and the greatness within him. The things he was supposedly capable of.
Derek had seen.
And proceeded to want that all-encompassing vision of Avery to continue existing. So much so that he’d die.
He’d let himself die.
He loved enough to.
So, yeah. Avery liked being the one who would take care of Derek. Now. Today. Tomorrow. For the now un-forseeable future.
Avery wanted to love enough, too.
His throat burned.
He supposed that was it.
As much as Avery, happily—selfishly—relished in everything that Derek had done for him; he couldn't add to that damning ledger.
Not now, not while Derek’s IV scar still stared back at him in the dark. Not while the bags under Derek’s eyes were still dark enough to distinguish from a normal, tired college student. Not while he could hear the rhythmic beat of a heart monitor. Not while the sound of a Minecraft player taking damage rings in his head.
Not while the press of guilt squeezed the sides of his throat.
“—es.” A voice called. “Aves.” It repeated.
This pain is a constant in his life. It returns. Regular. It is nothing compared to the sheer suffering Derek had gone through. The seat he sat rotting at, conscious and helpless. Hungry. Dying.
“Avery.”
It's dark around him. It was dark when Avery found Derek. Derek sat in that dark, cold room, for how long? So, so long. Longer than he should've. Avery is sure he was scared.
“Avery!”
Derek looked scared. Worried. His hand found Avery’s. The free one, the one holding him up on the bed. Derek gripped his wrist.
“Come back to me, hey.” He said, looking in his eyes, searching.
Avery’s eyes widened, expression soft and open. He exhaled, an incremental amount of tension leaving his body.
“I’m here. We’re here. It’s—” Derek looked towards the window. “Ass o’clock in the morning.”
Derek scoffed a laugh, “you need to get a clock in here, man.” Avery laughed at that, too, a small, barely-escaped one.
It did a lot for Derek’s expression. He smiled, a small quirk to his mouth, but half moon eyes betrayed the palpable joy at finding Avery again. Nuclear warning bypassed.
Avery, vision clearing, belatedly felt his senses coming back to him. The cramp subsided, his mind was less foggy, his face felt—
He felt a hand on his cheek, wiping at the wet streak he had just noticed.
Derek was much closer than he remembered him being. He sat, kneeling in front of Avery, who still had his legs slightly folded and skewed to the side from the earlier fall.
Instead of retracting the hand he used to wipe the tear tracks, it settled into Avery’s cheek, cupping his face.
He then loosened his grip on Avery’s wrist, swapping one grounding touch for another.
To Avery’s surprise, however, Derek used the free hand to further press into Avery’s hot compress.
“Let’s get you up on your bed, Aves.” His voice was a smooth, melodic hum. Avery had a theory it did that thing a little extra sometimes, just to emotionally torment him.
Though it's true that Derek took a cane with him when they went out for longer periods of time due to the muscle atrophy and the recovery of his nerves, in small bursts of energy, the muscle he’d built before the incident could definitely hold their own.
By “their own”, Avery means him.
It could hold him.
Derek shifted his hands and hoisted him up onto the edge of his own bed, which he’d fallen and missed by a couple inches, by the way. He’s still embarrassed by that.
“I could have done that myself, Der. You—” He complained, as he was set down. “Don’t overexert yourself for stupid stuff. ‘Pag ikaw—” he began to threaten.
Avery, however, was immediately levelled by the intense stare Derek shot his way. He swallowed, throat still not quite untensed from the emotional rollercoaster he’d subjected himself to.
“Have you taken your meds?” Derek asked.
Avery did not think about the fact Derek was practically kneeling in front of him.
Most damning, he didn’t think about how Derek hadn't fully removed his hands from his sides.
“No, I… would need to make food to take my usual. I was gonna wait until morning.” Avery looked past Derek’s head, he knew how this would sound to him. “Sleep it off and whatnot. It’s normal.”
Derek immediately retreated to his bed, much to… a lot of feelings, on Avery’s end, about the loss of contact.
He dug behind his pillow, grabbing a packet of his own painkiller tablets. His stash. He also picked up his water bottle from beside his mattress.
The two items had been placed there after one too many nightmare-induced migraines plagued Derek’s evenings.
Tonight, it's here for Avery.
“I know it's not your usual so it’ll probably take a little longer to work…” Derek started, taking a tablet from his packet and unscrewing his bottle lid, “but it's the best we’ve got, right now.”
Avery looked at him. “Please, Aves.”
He couldn't ever say no. Not to him.
A breathy laugh, “Okay, okay.” Avery took the pill and water from his hands. “You’re so sad looking. Like… like a sad, wet cat.”
Derek snorted, “Me? A wet cat? You should see yourself. You look like a kicked puppy.”
Swallowing the medicine, Avery shot him a look. “You just hate me, I think.” He said, capping off the shot.
Derek took back his water bottle, putting both it and the medication on the floor beside his mattress. “Sure, I do.” He walked back over his sheets as Avery got comfortable once more, laying back down on his pillows.
Well. Comfortable is a stretch.
Avery laid back down and immediately remembered the dull pain that radiated from his stomach. It was coming down to his legs now, so much so that he began to bounce his right foot.
Eyes darting from his foot to his hands, still clutched around the hot compress on his pelvic area, Derek looked like he’d walked into a puzzle room.
“Derek. It’s okay, you can go back to bed.”
If the puzzle room was also telling him to turn back.
Ironic.
“It’ll kick in eventually, you know this. Get some rest in the meanwhile.”
Very fitting. Derek never heeded those kinds of warnings, anyway.
He sat down on Avery’s bed.
“What—Dude. Huy—”
Derek had a feeling the consequences of these warnings wouldn't be so bad.
“I could—ah…” All the determination on Derek’s face suddenly melted. As if the solution melted off his mental notepad.
And at his hesitation, he trailed off.
He cleared his throat.
Avery’s heart was doing something funny.
“I could massage. Your stomach.” He said, like every few words punched him in the gut.
It’s not funny.
In the low light, Avery already couldn’t see much, even if they'd been adjusted to the darkness for this entire encounter.
Avery could swear he saw Derek’s entire face shift hues.
“You—What?” Avery looked bewildered.
“I know that it helps.” Derek supplied, logic taking over. A crutch, maybe. “Massages may reduce uterine spasms by relaxing the uterus. In order to manage period cramps most effectively, massage therapy should focus on the ab—”
Derek pursed his lips. Clearly taken aback, he hadn't meant to…
Avery’s eyes widened, subconsciously sitting up. He outstretched a hand, intending to reach out to Derek’s.
To his surprise, Derek caught it. A firm but gentle grip on his wrist.
“I’m okay, Aves.” He smiled. “I think… that just means the universe agrees.” Squeezing, he added, “I want to do this. For you.”
Derek’s eyes bore into his. “If… you’ll allow me. Of course.” Earnest. So, heartachingly earnest.
“Please.”
Avery’s heart felt like it was exploding. Maybe it already did. Maybe he was full of shame for not being able to do this all by himself. Maybe he wanted to caretake Derek for the rest of their lives. Maybe there’s guilt deep in his soul equal to the infinite ways Derek has saved him.
But most certainly—of all the things he is unsure of—what Avery knows is… he couldn't say no.
Who was he, to deprive Derek of this?
Derek, who looked like every wince and pained movement hurt him more than Avery himself.
His throat ached again, constricting around what he thinks is his heart and soul.
Tears pricked at his eyes.
A massage sounded really, really nice.
“Okay, okay” Avery breathed, the emotion heavy in his voice. “Calm down, man. I—”
A pang hit him square in the gut.
“Shit—Ow.” He wheezed.
Derek’s hands were somewhere, one moment, and warm on the sides of his stomach the next. Unmoving, yet resting on them now.
It took a lot.
This is taking a lot.
Avery is going to die.
The hot compress was, objectively, much hotter than the hands—hands that were now comfortingly stroking with their thumbs—but Avery thinks they’re much more likely to melt into his very soul.
Derek’s eyes bore into Avery’s, once more.
Determined, once more.
Avery’s heart would swell more if it could. He nodded lightly and tugged the hem of his shirt up, just under the bottom of his sternum.
The act isn’t—shouldn't be too odd for them. Many times they’ve bathed in the same tub, especially in the early days of Derek’s recovery.
It was a bit awkward, but it was also natural to them. There was a mutual understanding.
Their souls are closer than they look, even to one another, if that makes sense.
But tonight is different.
Tonight, neither of them are in the tub. Neither of them need to be cleaned. Tonight, Avery’s on his back in bed. He feels like absolute hell is being wrought within him. And Derek is sitting beside him, soft but steeled eyes.
Derek is reaching for a massage oil that Avery is pretty sure he never told him the location of, in one of the storage cubbies under the bed.
Derek just poured a bit of it on his palms.
Derek is warming it.
And Derek’s hands are on his stomach now.
Bare.
Bare palm, on his bare stomach.
Just the thought is short-circuiting Avery’s brain. So you can imagine what it’s doing, now that it's a real thing—tangible, happening in front of his eyes. A fully fledged feeling, right on his stomach.
Avery’s face heats up. Impressively so.
Even more impressively, Derek’s locked straight into the task at his hands.
Infinite knowledge is definitely good for something, Avery reflects, as Derek seems to be instantly ported insider knowledge of massage patterns.
Admittedly, he takes a few strokes to understand how much actual pressure to put, and how exactly to adapt the patterns to Avery’s anatomy, but he knows he’s hit the jackpot upon hearing Avery’s sighs of approval.
Derek doesn't think he’s felt this proud of himself in a while.
Avery doesn't think.
The massage is ridiculously good, soothing over the spots in his stomach that feel extra sore, but never lingering too long that the skin itself chafes.
His mind clears, a little. This is kinda embarrassing.
Avery groans, miffed yet clearly satisfied. “Dude, this is the best I’ve felt during cramps in… forever.” He arches a little, into a thumb pressing down by the front of his ilium. “Fuck… what the hell?”
Something in Avery’s foul language must snap Derek out of whatever massage god trance he’s in, because he suddenly looks Avery in the face properly. He sheepishly smiles at the praise.
“Happy to help, Aves.” He’s shy, Avery can tell. Pleased with himself, but definitely bashful with how quietly he says it.
It throws him for a loop. If he’s honest.
How did Avery get here? As far as he's concerned, he woke up to terrible cramps, embarrassingly flailed over his roommate-but-not-just-roommate’s bed, and now he’s… what?
Laying on his bed? With his unfairly, extremely kind, chivalrous, and smart roommate? Who is not just his roommate? Massaging his bare stomach with his bare hands? Which are pretty big, objectively speaking. Larger than his, at least. They’re nice hands. Derek has a lot of nice things.
Derek.
Looks nice.
Avery looks away.
He doesn't need to look.
He’s not looking.
Because he knows what’s there. He knows Derek has that focused, steely look to his eyes. Derek is staring at his stomach like a new coding commission that intrigues him, excites him. Derek’s hands are soft but they're firm against his stomach when he needs them to soothe a spot that has Avery groaning.
He’s seen that face, that look, those hands—practically every day for the past half a year now.
And he just knows Derek’s brows soften every so often, as if he's being reminded every so often that it's Avery he’s working on.
As if it's something different.
Something special.
Avery’s mind spins out of control.
He knows Derek is unfairly attractive. He’s known.
“Derek.” Avery starts.
He immediately stills. Likely worried he’s hurt Avery somehow, the thought grips between Avery’s ribs.
Derek looks in Avery’s eyes, searching once again. “Yeah? Sorry, I spaced out, was that—”
“You’re fine, I’m not hurt, or anything. Really, I was just—”
A sharp pain shoots straight up Avery’s spine again, but this time it doesn't strike like blink-and-you-miss-it lightning. It burns. It stays.
The maliciously timed pain theory, his brain unhelpfully supplies.
Avery immediately stiffens up, choking on a breath.
“Ow, ow! Fuck, oh my God!” Tears prick at his eyes, he feels his brows scrunch up and his neck strain.
Derek is alert immediately, his eyes dart around Avery’s writhing body with a frantic speed, but the puzzle doesn't have pieces to slip into place.
All he has is Avery’s cries, his pained expression, and the hands balled up at his sides.
There’s no key that'll crack a code out of this. His hands ground themselves at Avery’s sides again in worry, he subconsciously leans down, closer.
Before Derek can think further, he feels Avery’s hands scrambling for purchase at his shoulders.
Avery’s breathing is ragged, bordering on whining at the end of every exhale. It’s all Derek can hear.
He needs to be closer.
It falls into place.
Derek slid both hands around Avery’s back, pulling him into the crook of his neck.
As if completely natural, the hands at Derek’s shoulders turn into arms wound behind his neck, a secondary support as Derek shifts back into an upright position, cradling a curled up Avery in his arms.
He shifts them further, as Avery continues attempting to breathe through it while simultaneously suffocating himself in Derek’s shoulder.
Closer.
Avery scrambles to comply, clumsily half-seating himself in Derek’s lap as he shifts further onto Avery’s bed.
His grip is bruising and it should, by all means, be hurting Derek by this point.
Derek doesn't flinch. He holds Avery closer. Impossibly.
Avery lets out a strangled, pained noise from the back of his throat. It breaks Derek’s heart, in the way that he caves further, whispering.
“Aves, I have you.” He starts. His throat is closing up a bit.
He swallows.
“I have you, Avery, it’s okay.” Derek whispers with all the softness he’s ever heard.
Heard from Avery. “Breathe, Aves, it’ll pass.”
“I know, I know it hurts. I know. I’m sorry.” He rambles, he hopes it helps. Avery helps him this way.
Avery’s grip loosens, tightens again. Derek feels like it's his heart getting the treatment. He hushes him, “I know. Schatz, I know.”
Avery’s heart soars.
Derek begins to stroke Avery’s back with his thumb. The way Avery would, to him.
The action grounds him, too. Keeps the panic from boiling over.
It causes him to realize his arms are wound around Avery’s torso.
Under the shirt.
Derek’s heart is caught between swelling into his throat and breaking at the next shaky breath Avery takes.
He feels the scars, the moles, and indents of skin in Avery’s back. Subconsciously, begins to trace.
He treats it like a constellation, tracing from one to another dot in succession, finding shapes.
Avery breathes.
It feels so nice.
He’s never been held this closely, he thinks.
He thinks.
His mind is clear, again.
It’s over.
Another breath. For good luck.
Okay.
Avery shifts, attempting to imply that he’s okay now.
Derek does not mirror this.
He stays. Sits, with his arms around Avery, traces minimized back into strokes of a thumb on the small of his back.
Avery, for the nth time, feels tears prick his vision.
It feels heavenly.
It feels unfair.
“Derek,” he begins. “Derek, I’m okay now.”
Derek seems to take on the attitude of a stubborn cat.
“Derek.”
“No.”
Avery pauses. Takes it in.
He laughs a bit.
Okay, he laughs quite a bit.
“No!?” Avery is completely miffed, laughing at him now.
“‘Don’t want to.” He says, simply. Stubbornly. Like a child.
“Dude, what—” Avery unhooks his hands, he maneuvers himself a bit, trying to get Derek to look at him.
When he does, Derek looks equally wrecked. Emotionally, at least. He doesn't look like he’s cried, but it looks like it's not impossible for him to start now.
Avery’s heart cracks audibly at the sight.
“I’m okay,” he says, softly this time.
“I know,” Derek whispers.
“Let me take care of you, sometimes.” He continues.
Avery stays silent.
“I want to do it. After everything you've done for me, Aves.”
Avery looks down.
“You’ve been nothing but supportive, hell, this used to just be your apartment.”
“Yeah, but—” Avery tries.
“No, listen to me.”
Derek, pauses, embarrassed to cut him off. He puts a hand on Avery’s stomach, soothing.
“I think about it a lot… You.” He trails off.
“Dying, succumbing, falling, possessed, whatever.”
“A million different ways, you are taken from me. I think about it, Avery. I dream of it.”
“It kills me, every time, it does. I see myself losing you and it flips on its head in the morning because you're there. You’re alive. I’m relieved.”
“But I—” Derek swallows.
“I also think about you. And me. A million different ways.”
“The ways you wake up in the middle of the night when you hear me turn in my sleep too frantically, the way you hold me, the way your hands ghost over my face and my back and my arms.”
“The way you talk to me, when I’m in pain, the way you talk to me when I’m not. When it’s just a Sunday afternoon and you’re talking to me.”
“There’s so much, Avery. That you do. To me.”
“And I can tell you don’t want anything in return. You don't expect and you don't even… you’d never ask. But I…”
There are tears in Derek’s eyes.
“I’m asking. Avery.”
“I’m asking.” He repeats.
“Because it’s… it’s so…”
“It would help—it would make me happy, to do the same for you.”
Derek’s head fell to Avery’s shoulder.
“Please, let me take care of you too. Ask me. Wake me.”
Derek pushes into his skin.
“I want to be here, too.”
“Please.”
And Avery knows, he couldn't say no.
Who was he, to deprive Derek of this?
Slowly, gently, Avery returned his arms around Derek’s neck—as if afraid he’d shatter.
“Lay down,” he’d whispered.
A pause.
Derek processing the command, the request, the response, the permission.
Maybe Derek was afraid of the same thing, to move too quickly and shatter the moment like glass.
Carefully, he set the both of them down.
Side by side, if not lightly tangled from their previous position.
Avery ran a hand down, and back up Derek’s arm. The way he would, to ground him on a bad night.
Tonight, he was saying, go on, then.
Derek pulled him closer. The way he would, to find comfort in warmth during a migraine.
Tonight, he was saying, thank you.
His head rested above Avery’s, the other’s forehead pressed into his sternum.
A hand settled over Avery’s stomach, soothing and warm.
A wet sniffle escaped. “You,” he said. Broken and hoarse.
Muffled in Avery’s hair, but there, “Me.” Derek replied. “Anytime.”
“Always, for you.” He finished.
A long pause. Avery knew he could end the night there. He could.
They could go to sleep. Wake up in the morning. Probably still tangled together. Probably.
Like they usually do, after a bad night.
Like they usually do.
Like they usually do, naturally. Yes.
What then?
He shifted.
Wiped the stray tear.
They’d go about their lives. Like they usually do, naturally. Because this was natural to them.
That’s all.
Derek shifted above him.
His thumb stroked his stomach a little differently.
Broke a pattern.
Like they usually do felt like a pattern.
Avery’s hand twitched.
“Avery.”
“Derek.”
Checkmate.
Derek laughed, then. A low sound, amused.
“You go first, then.”
Avery laughed back, smiling in kind.
“Forgot what I was going to say.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “It was just one second ago, Aves, you goldfish.”
Miffed, Avery smacked his forearm.
“I don't think I was going to say anything, actually.”
“You think?” Derek challenged, like always.
“Yeah, matter of fact I do.” Avery snarked back, familiar.
“What were you going to do, then?” Derek asked. He was breathless. Maybe he was teasing. Maybe he was trying to hold himself together.
It better be the latter, Avery thought.
Pushing himself up by his arm, he brought his face to Derek’s.
A kiss. Short. Soft.
Avery felt Derek’s lips on his and forgot the entire plot of the evening.
Derek’s breath tickled where it met Avery’s skin. His hand squeezed where it held him.
“That,” Avery whispered, out of breath.
It was a quiet admission. Afraid, maybe. Mostly.
Derek went still for a moment.
Before surging in for a second kiss.
A hand crept up to Avery’s cheek, his already busy one holding him closer.
Avery thought he would die. He felt, felt and felt Derek. Pressing to his face like he’d never get to do it again.
He smiled. Ended up laughing.
Derek laughed, too.
“This?” Derek asked. It was low, breathy, smooth. The way Avery thinks was made to rip him to shreds.
“Yes,” Avery answered.