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Shortly after lunch, Will roped Frederick into helping him with the yard work. If Will were being honest, it wasn’t a great day for it. It was still technically spring but the weather in this state had already slumped into the humidity of summer, the kind of feverish heat that seeped even into the shade. But Frederick had been sulking, or something like it. Will was sympathetic—the displaced doctor had been largely contained to the house and to dog walks, and weeks of inactivity and loss of drive can easily do a number on one’s patience and mental health, even ignoring the mood swings attached to posttraumatic stress. Will couldn’t help but notice how the stress affected him, how Frederick’s deep-seated habits of self-deprecation and paranoia seemed to inflate to fill the space made by his trauma. But Will had some faith in old fashioned, nature-bound treatment. The sun would do him good.
Will set him up with an axe and the divided trunk of a tree he felled at the end of winter, sprawling out across the yard like the bones of a giant’s spine. The poor thing had been dying, rotted enough and close enough to the house to be a hazard when the snow began to weigh down the branches. He showed Frederick how to use axe to start it, the steel wedge and hammer to split the wood in chunks, the axe again to make the pieces more manageable. Frederick stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, listening seriously, not wanting to appear clueless but reasonably afraid that he would miss something essential and have to call Will back for help. Gideon had only cut out so much of his pride.
When Will finally asked, “You alright?” and handed him the axe, Frederick leveled him with a sarcastic look and a terse, “Yes, thank you.” Earlier, as Will listed the chores that needed doing, he put chopping wood at the bottom of the list, making assumptions about the amount of strain the doctor could take after his unconventional surgery. But Frederick picked it himself, insisted he was fine, despite the scar, despite his recovery. As always, with almost frustrating ease, Will understood. This was probably his first major trauma. His first hike with hypervigilance, with consistent nightmares, with the self-loathing and the overpowering sense of weakness.
"Okay." Will eased off. He wasn’t completely confident leaving him without supervision, but assumed that looming over him would only put a dent in Frederick’s concentration. He seemed the type of perfectionist to grind against scrutiny, the kid who froze up when the teacher looked over his shoulder at his classwork. "Let me know if you need help moving anything, they’ve been out here a while so some of the trunk might be a little buried."
Will took up scraping paint off of the porch. It was an hour of hard work, made exhausting by the afternoon sun baking the roof. The heat was invasive and unforgiving but he got into a good rhythm, enjoying the work and the soothing thud of Frederick’s progress in the yard.
After stripping the porch floor, he unwound the hose from its spot against the wall and opened the door to let out the interested dogs for a wander. A few of the more playful ones snapped at the stream of water as Will hosed off the white scraps of paint, watching them wash away like dead skin.
Soon enough, Frederick trudged back onto the porch. He had dirt under his nails, darkening his fingers, streaked up his arms, and rubbed into a cheek. He apparently only owned black t-shirts, to Will’s amusement, which made the Virginia sun all the more unforgiving. He could see where the fabric had drenched through with sweat, darkening the predictable patches. Frederick’s hair was dark and curling and limp with sweat, unruly with how his hands had dragged through it in exasperation over the humidity and sun. Will continued to rinse the porch without comment.
"This is terrible. This heat is suffocating, I’m so gross,” Frederick muttered. Will looked up to see him pulling off his shirt, mopping his face with it and rubbing it through his hair. He self-consciously avoided looking at Will, staunchly pretending that he was not shirtless, which gave the other man a chance to take in the sight of what Frederick so rarely bared in the house, whether due to insecurity over his scar or general timidness Will wasn’t sure.
The view was unexpectedly magnetic. Frederick had some hair towards the top of his chest, though not much. He was shining a bit with sweat, arms more tan than they’d been just an hour ago, and the hair under his arms was as wet and dark as the hair on his head. It matched the soft trail of hair that started below his scar, leading attractively down his stomach and steadily thickening before it disappeared past the waistband of his pants. The heavy, itchy arousal that tended to lay into Will during the summer heat settled in his head like a fog. He was staring, he could tell, but felt sure that the expression in his eyes was hidden by Frederick’s flustered and stubbornly casual refusal to make eye contact.
In lieu of looking up, Frederick occupied himself with wiping his hands on Will’s old jeans that he had borrowed from the guest bedroom closet.
“I don’t know why you’re having me do your dirty work. You know full well that I’m just about the farthest you can get from an outdoorsman without being an actual mysophobe. I thought you were empathetic," he spat bitterly.
A dog wandered by his leg and Frederick tried wiping some dirt off on its back, then grimaced at the smelly layer of fur the attempt left on his hand.
"Why can’t you simply let me lounge eternally on your couch in peace. I’m a good cook, that should be enough, I shouldn’t have to tend to your dogs or chop wood for a fire I might not even be around to light.”
Will suffered in silence. As he went on, Will wondered if Frederick was rambling with slight nerves or if he really was just that good at complaining. Frederick’s face was still pink from the sun. Will noticed how light his eyebrows were, how they seemed to be turning blonde with the season. Will was tired and exasperated and so didn’t have the mind to stop himself when his mind wandered to how much he would love to taste him.
The thoughts that followed hit him like a train. He could see himself with his lips and tongue against a nipple, rubbing the other that was already slick with sweat, how responsive Frederick would be, how suddenly quiet and gentle the sounds he was making would become. He could see how his hand would drag down the sweat on his back, feel and follow the beautiful dip of his spine and rest at his hip. How Frederick’s moan would sound like a sob when Will dropped to his knees and unbuttoned his jeans, exposing him quickly and taking him as far as he could go, how good it would taste. He imagined how unbearably hot Frederick would feel getting off in this heat, sweat from the air, sweat from the pleasure building on each other. He saw himself tugging the back of Frederick’s jeans down, shoving them as far as his knees, before taking his briefs off in one yank so he could get his hands on his ass, imagined how hot his hands would probably feel to Frederick against skin so cool, how he’d feel his fingers like brands. He wondered if he could finger him like this, with just sweat and spit, amping up his pleasure until he could taste him properly, the barest first drops of come salty and sweet and slick against his tongue. He imagined how loud Frederick would get, shouting over the soft din of crickets in the grass and the woods, stripped to his knees out here in full view and in the middle of nowhere, out here on his boat of a house.
He blinked the thoughts away as best he could.
"If this is an attempt to acclimatize me to your survivor man lifestyle, let me tell you now that that is not necessary, I think that the microwave dinners have been sufficiently traumatizing—”
Will put his thumb partially over the mouth of the hose and sprayed Frederick with a substantial burst of water. It was an act made partially in a bout of frustration over his whining, part an attempt to distract him from thoughts he had no place entertaining in full view of his housemate.
Frederick’s reaction was so cat-like it had Will grinning. He tensed up and shut his eyes, mouth open in shock, then blinked at Will in disbelief. He looked frozen with outrage. So Will sprayed him again, aiming just slightly closer to the face. That seemed to break the spell.
Frederick lunged for him, trying to get an arm around his neck and at the same time, somehow, gain control of the hose. He was supremely unsuccessful, and after a short and messy fight Will had him pinned against the side of the house. Will held the hose away from them. They were both effectively drenched.
Frederick had stopped sputtering. A few seconds passed in which they breathed against each other, and soon he no longer looked indignant, but instead rather wary. Will was close, Frederick’s chest was bare, they were dripping like the cover of some trashy novel, and the question on his mind was painfully obvious. The moment stretched on. Finally, Frederick narrowed his eyes, looking directly at Will.
“This is not what I think it is.” His voice was low. He sounded nearly suspicious.
Will held eye contact for a full two seconds longer, then in one sudden movement leaned down and licked Frederick’s neck. He landed right where it joined to his shoulder and collar before following it with a wet kiss.
“Oh, fuck.” Frederick’s outburst was so far from the defensive character Will had known for the past few months, who he’d met in a stuffy office, who he nearly turned in to the FBI, who, for the first few weeks, he could hardly stand having in his house. This Frederick was miles away from that. This Frederick melted against the wall, knees dropping open in encouragement, mouth open and seeking eye contact with a very vulnerable, desperate expression. Will sucked his neck gently, wetly, before moving back just enough to pull his own sodden shirt off and toss it to the ground, movements still fast and slightly jarring, wanting to stay as closely pressed to Frederick’s heat and pressure as possible. Frederick looked at his newly bared chest, felt the slick pressure where their damp skin met, as Will wrapped his arms around his waist and back. He looked slightly stunned, probably a little shell shocked by how thoroughly he did not believe that this would happen. Not now, maybe not ever, but definitely, certainly, surely not now.
Will’s hands were dragging up his sides, his back, feeling as much of the smooth heated skin as possible while Frederick dealt with his disorientation. But after a moment of this, Will stilled and very, very deliberately brought his face closer to Frederick’s. He thrilled at having some height on the man, wanting that power for the moment. He made eye contact and held it, moved slowly, making sure that Frederick was watching, making sure that their eyes were locked, making sure that if Frederick’s walls hadn’t already been down that they must be now. It felt like a game of mindless chicken, like if one of them shied away from it then it was proof that they weren’t ready for this, that no matter how desperate they got, they were not quite ready to trust someone with this. The look Will saw in Frederick’s eyes was nervous. Will wasn’t sure why he made such an event of it, why he turned it into such a confrontation. It might have been passive-aggressive—Will couldn’t help but feel the memories of their doctor-patient, captor-captive history throbbing colourfully somewhere in the back of his head as he forced this level of intimacy. He couldn’t quite detach the two, Chilton and Frederick, though the green of Frederick’s eyes now reminded him more of grass stains and moss than poison.
Frederick whimpered before their lips even touched, and Will thought maybe it was none of that. Maybe it had just been too long for either of them.
Their lips met, with enough pressure that it couldn’t have been called chaste, and Will held them there. He breathed out deeply from his nose, eyes now squeezed shut, before he let their lips begin to move. Frederick properly wrapped his arms and left leg around Will to hold him close and have some leverage to grind against him. He kept his right foot against the ground for support, although with how tightly Will held him he wasn’t even sure if it was necessary.
They became fixated with kissing. Their hands still wandered and gripped, but those were second to the kisses, kisses that were wet and grew very desperate very quickly. It was something about the closeness, how they could feel their bodies line up but never once have to let go of that sensitive, wet, loud touch so close to their hearts. Will thrust his hips forward into Frederick’s, letting them feel the friction of the other’s cock through two unbearably thick layers of wet denim. A few cycles of this and Frederick broke, lips leaving Will’s, but kept his cheek pressed against Will’s face, panting and making rough noises against his ear. Will marveled at how they could possibly be so close, then groaned. “Fuck, I want to suck you off.”
Frederick immediately replied, “I’m not doing it out here, there are bugs and I’m covered in dirt.” He didn’t even open his eyes.
Will’s eyebrows went up and he grinned, rubbing a surprised chuckle against Frederick’s cheek. Frederick’s answering smile was just as bright and just as close, if a bit self-deprecating. They shared the giddy moment and opened their eyes simultaneously. Their brows were pressed together this time while they stared.
Frederick initiated the next kiss, eyes serious and a hand lost in Will’s curls. It was a push for control and Will indulged it, let his eyes fall closed, let Chilton hungrily watch the loud moan that left his pink mouth when he took a handful of soft hair and pulled. The sensation was electrifying.
“Ah!" Frederick yanked a second time, prompting a shiver that nearly dropped Will to his knees. Will felt like he could come like this. That was enough control for now.
He brought his hands up to Frederick’s chest and pinched both of his nipples and adored the gasp that hit his cheek. He rubbed them, strong and slow, drawing it out while he felt the hand in his hair relax and the aggression sink from Frederick’s bones. He took his left hand from his chest and brought it up to the base of Frederick’s head, tangled his fingers, and tugged rough enough to pull his head back an inch.
"You like that, do you?" It didn’t take an empath to guess this. People only tend to pull hair or bite if they like to have their hair pulled or be bitten. Frederick whimpered and tried to nod. Will brought his right hand down Frederick’s back until he could roughly cup his ass, rubbing his fingers through the fabric repeatedly, hard enough so that with some desperate leg-spreading on Frederick’s end the friction was dragging against his hole.
Frederick gasped, head dropped suddenly onto his shoulder. ”Oh, god, Will fuck me, fuck me fuck me fuck me,” he whined into his neck. Will knew he couldn’t, he couldn’t without lube and he probably couldn’t without a condom (although just the thought of that made him dig his fingers into Frederick’s hair painfully hard, made him thrust up violently enough to scrape his back against the wall), and for those he needed to go inside, and he couldn’t bring himself to take this inside. The heat of the day, the brightness, made this feel sensible. The drone of the cicadas made this feel natural, he felt like out here he could drown in this rutting, in this pleasure, that if they kept this here on the porch it would be a million miles away from any of the nightmares and history that had soaked into the shadows of his house.
So instead, he worked Frederick up. He could tell they were both overheating—Will’s own face was as bright and pink as his lips—but the discomfort was nothing compared to the intensity. He could tell with how Frederick’s knee jerked against his side that he was growing more and more sensitive. There were no more grabs for control—he didn’t have the mind for it. Eye contact was made more easily as their expressions matched, eyes caught staring down sharp pleasure, and any self conscious instinct dropped away. It helped that Frederick could hardly keep his eyes open. At this point Will was grinding against his cock like he actually was fucking him, driving him fractionally higher up the wall with every thrust, the friction of their jeans more than enough to feel excruciatingly perfect.
When Frederick began to come, he wrapped his arms around Will’s shoulders and tightened the grip another degree as every muscle in his body began to tense, tighter and tighter until he peaked with a harsh moan. His hips shook and his legs went helplessly limp.
It took a few seconds of blissful breathing for Frederick to come down. He let himself relax, got himself under control, then opened his eyes and kissed Will passionately, lips crushed against his for a good second, before dropping to his knees. Will spread his palms against the wall, dropped his head between his shoulders, and watched. His fly was open in a moment, the boxer shorts down in another, and Will was so close he could taste the adrenaline in the back of his mouth. All Frederick did was take out his cock, kiss the tip, lay his tongue against it, and pump with his eyes focused up at Will’s, evidently waiting for Will to come in his mouth.
It took maybe ten seconds. Frederick shut his eyes when Will did, swallowed as Will bit his fist and groaned.
Neither of them had planned as far as this. Frederick kissed the head of Will’s cock gently with some weird sentiment before pulling the man’s boxers back up, leaving the jeans as they were. He stood up, once again between Will and the wall, though this time feeling a little boneless, leaning against the wood for support. Will kept his hands against the wall and let his forearms graze Frederick’s shoulders, initiating some soft casual contact to at least prevent an awkward door of “no more touching” from slamming in their faces. This would be much worse without the chemicals coursing through their systems, making Frederick’s hands buzz, making Will’s breaths particularly deep.
"Um," Will began, with absolutely no grace.
"Let’s not… Talk. Just yet." Frederick raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "About this."
"Okay." Will’s answer wasn’t quite honest, he wasn’t quite okay. He was worrying already, wondering if not now meant not ever and if not ever meant not ever about anything, we need to find you a new place to live because Will Graham gets fucking rowdy on sunny days.
"We can sit down with some wine after I’ve showered and we’ll.. discuss. You can shower too if you want, you might need it." Frederick spared a very quick look at Will’s chest. "But right now I definitely need it. Good?"
It was good. Will would probably be a few glasses ahead of him before Frederick got out of the shower, but it was good. He nodded.
"Okay. I’ll be out in fifteen minutes or so." There was a moment of nothing when Frederick finished, a moment of silence and staring. Then Frederick glanced at Will’s lips. They went for a kiss at the same time.
It was short, Frederick pulled away, then slipped into the house without another word. He grinned the entire way to the bathroom.