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Deimos crashes right into me, the stupid motherfucker, right into the wrapped up tenderness where the fucking Reliant bit into my ribs and broke ‘em, right into where it makes me winded and silly just to try getting upright and breathing. He kind of knocks off the rail at the same time, desperate and shaking because he’s always such a fragile thing, a ball of sharp-edged glass held together with duct tape and stubbornness. He grabs hold of my jacket, whines something broken and ugly from his throat, and I realize he’s rock steady whereas I’m the one quivering like a leaf. Fuck.
“Get the fuck off me, Deimos.” I can’t shove him away without letting go of the stupid rail, and if I let go of the stupid rail I’ll probably end up on the floor. My knees aren’t at all on board with this whole standing upright piece of shit effort.
Deimos shakes his head at me, looking frantic, shoving his little fists into my shoulders without letting me go because he’s so fucking afraid I’m going to slice up his stupid boyfriend’s face, beat a second crook into Praxis’ nose, blind him on the other side so he can’t look at Deimos like that, all wounded and hurt like Deimos ought to have run into his arms instead of thrown himself all over me.
I turn my face into the dark sheen of his hair. He’s such a little thing, scrawny, never gotten any bigger the whole time I’ve known, him, still looking like a little kid playing at being a fighter. “Myshonok, lay off. I’m going to finish what you fucking started, okay?”
Because at some point Deimos bit back, got his claws out and slashed Praxis’ arm, got stabbed and strangled for it because I don’t know the fuck why but I sure as hell don’t want it happen again. Deimos is such a stupid fragile piece of shit sometimes, picking fights he knows he’s going to lose because he likes being some punching bag, guess it makes him feel wanted at least a little to get slapped and abused. Drives me crazy but I don’t know what else to do except teach him how to win some fights, how to avoid others, go around behind his back and beat the shit out of big stupid one-eyed fighters with tempers who think that just because he’s letting them fuck him that they own him, get to beat him up because he acts like it’s okay.
Deimos puts his head down, gets his shoulders up, going small because that’s that he does when doesn’t know what else to do, he tries to hide and be something you can’t see. I taught him better than that, taught him to pull his chin up and strut, but he’s still always so timid around me I can’t ever get the lesson to stick. Reminds of when I first met him, when I used to wonder why the fuck he ever signed up, until I saw the flash and glare of him, the quick way he hits back even when he’s going to lose and knows it.
Praxis says something, because I couldn’t knock his fucking teeth in like I wanted. “Aleks,” he says, and I wonder how the fuck he knows Deimos’ name, because I know Deimos sure as fuck wouldn’t have told him. “Come here.”
Like that’s going to work, like Deimos is stupid enough to get bossed around like that, but it does fucking work. The stupid little kid that he is, he gets this wide-eyed jolt, kind of turns around slow like he didn’t hear it right, like maybe he’d forgotten that Praxis was even over there glaring and being big and stupid.
Deimos lets go of my jacket and stutters across the walkway. Like he’s in a daze, so I don’t like it, don’t trust the timid way that Deimos folds himself into Praxis’ side. Looks like he’s expecting someone to start hitting him, tense and flinching when Praxis puts his big stupid arm around him. I hate it, fucking hate it, hate it worst that Praxis looks so smug and triumphant about it, maybe a little surprised like he didn’t think it would work.
He says, “Leave Aleks alone, Cain.”
“Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do.” Not one of my better comebacks, but maybe I’m a little surprised too because I sure as fuck didn’t think it would work either, sure as fuck didn’t expect Deimos to fit so neatly against the big guy’s side. He’s got his little fingers curled into Praxis’ jacket, his head curled into him, every fucking piece of him leaning and pressing.
Praxis sneers at me, so I wish my knees would hurry the fuck up and get solid again so I can wipe that fucking smug look off his face. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do. You need to turn around and walk away. Don’t look at Aleks, don’t talk to Aleks, don’t fucking touch Aleks. He’s mine, but I’m not going to put a scar on his mouth to prove it.”
Oh, because he’s so fucking noble apparently, and it makes me furious, makes me feel like there’s no way I’m going to lose this fight so long as I don’t have to throw anymore shaking weak-ass punches. I think my knees have finally gotten on board with the uncooperative piece of shit rest of me, so I get upright, get off the stupid rail. I tell him what a stupid motherfucker he is by saying, “You already put a fucking scar on him.”
He shifts Deimos into him, shifts like he’s going to protect Deimos from me, and Deimos just goes right along with it because he’s so fucking timid sometimes. I bet he’s scared of Praxis, scared and thinking that just means he deserves it, getting tossed around and put on his knees.
I bet Praxis is lousy in bed, just taking and taking from Deimos without giving anything back because he’s big and stupid, and I hate him for how passive and docile Deimos looks up against his chest when Deimos looked equally passive and docile cut up and strangled, lying weak and wounded in medical. Fucking hated seeing him like that, like he was some beaten up recruit all over again, hurting him just to swallow, throat a dark ring of cruel bruises, the horrible ugly rattle of when he lost his voice and a lot more.
“You’re such a bastard, Cain.”
Like I give a shit what Praxis says, like I give a shit my worthless son of a bitch father ran off on my mom and left her knocked up with some snotty-nosed brat and a pigtailed little girl already running around barefoot and poor. Don’t care about it, been called a bastard too many times to care, all the neighbors staring and making her drink too much and cry all the time.
I shrug at him, because he doesn’t have a good excuse and he knows it. “It’s true,” I say. “I never cut him open.”
I’m good to Deimos, just about the only good fucking thing to ever happen in his shitty life, hard to think I’d meet someone with a worst lot of no-good fucked up shit but Deimos likes to be a mysterious little fuck with just one more casual way to make you realize how broken up all those shards of glass are that he’s made of. I might have slapped him around a few times when he deserved it, but I never put him in medical, never nearly fucking killed him.
Praxis looks so offended, head high and arm tight over Deimos. Controlling him with it, so I bet Deimos couldn’t get away if he tried. I bet he tried, I bet that’s what they fought over, I bet Deimos tried to say no in that stupid broken voice of his, or maybe Praxis flubbed around and said a bunch of hogwash bullshit about feelings and shit, like I’m pretty sure he told me only I was high as a fucking kite on painkillers. Pretty sure we were talking Russian, or I was anyway, drugged up enough to hate it, and stupid Abel hanging around looking ready to cry again so I couldn’t stand it.
Son of a bitch is holding Deimos like that, Deimos looking so small and scared, timid and passive like he couldn’t get away if he tried, and it makes me so angry.
“You tried to kill him, you son of a bitch.” Good, knees really are cooperating, so I can slink over to them and grab Deimos’ arm. We’ll rip him in half unless one of us gives, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me. Praxis lets him go, looking like he’s doing me a favor about it, motherfucker probably knows I couldn’t really fight him on it.
Deimos looks at me, wide-eyed, tense and upright, shoulders square. He’s trying to lean away from me, wary about it, but he’s just staring at me with a horrible amount of trust so it makes me angrier, makes me wonder if this is how he looks at Praxis, scared but trying not to show it, wanting to seem like he’s not made of shattered glass.
I run my hand up his arm, feeling how tense he is, feeling the way he won’t fight me, the way he’s so fucking timid even though I’m sure he could kick my ass right now, I’m sure the fucking big-eyed navigator who is just watching everything in stupid silence could kick my ass now. And maybe even if I weren’t held together with drugs and bandages, maybe if I could take a deep breath and not feel it burn, maybe even at tip fucking top shape Deimos could kick my ass if he wanted, if he ever fucking fought back rather than be so scared and timid.
I put my hand on his neck, right where I can feel the upward scaling panic of his pulse. His pupils dilate, his face goes white, something horrible happens to the way he’s breathing just through his nose, so fucking scared but just standing there, letting me do this.
I look at Praxis, I want him to see this, I want him to see how I put the slightest pressure on Deimos’ throat and he just breaks, face twitching like he might start shrieking, resisting me without moving a muscle. I’m not hurting him, he’s fucking fine, but he’s so scared, so panicked, that it’s awful.
“This is what you did to him,” I say. So angry I can barely get the words out. “He should have fish-hooked your stupid face just like the last guy who bruised up his neck so bad he can’t even fucking talk anymore. Ever think about that? Ever think about why he never fucking talks, or were you just too busy shoving your dick down his throat to care?”
I fucking hate when Deimos makes this kind of sound, the whined terror that he used to make at night sometimes, stranded up in his top bunk. I’d have to get the fuck up, crawl up in there with him, get him so he wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. He was so little as a recruit, he’s still so little, soft eyes and pretty features, delicate like some girl and horny dck-wagging bastards think they can paw at him, think that just because his won’t say no means it’s okay. I fucking hate it, and Praxis is just the same, some of stupid idiot who can’t understand Deimos like I can.
“Stop it, Cain. Let him go.”
Probably sounding so angry because I’m proving my point, showing him what a stupid piece of shit he is to have done this to Deimos. Sitting at my hospital bed when I can’t get away, picking on me just because I’m so fucking high on all the morphine and whatever the fuck else they’ve got dripping into my veins. Telling me some fucked up shit about feelings, like maybe he feels bad that he strangled some poor kid half to death and needs to make it up by being a possessive, jealous dick.
“Is this how he looked when you choked him? Fucking terrified, scared out of his mind because some bastard already got him down and strangled him near to fucking death? You big stupid son of a bitch, it’d been better if you’d just stuck to fucking him.”
Deimos pats at my wrists, really starting to panic now. It’s nothing, he’s fine, he could breathe just fine if he calmed down, but he won’t, he’s too scared, he’s probably forgotten it’s me and that I wouldn’t put him in medical. I hate seeing him like this, hate it worse to know that Praxis saw him go all the way down, those big stupid hands squeezing and bruising, digging into his slender throat, all the worse because someone already did it to him once, broken him all the way down.
“Cain! Let him go!”
Panicked, because Deimos is panicking, because it’s a bit of madness in the way I have to win this fight without throwing any more punches. It gets ugly quick, gets where he might throw me over the rail or break my face if I keep it up. Praxis grabs my shoulders, shoves me so I shove right back, and Deimos puddles to the floor with all those ugly terrible noises he makes, so scared out of his fucking mind it hurts.
“Stop it, stop it all of you!” So maybe we’d all forgotten about Praxis’ dumb as fluff navigator, but now he’s shoving at us, trying to shove his big fighter off me, shrieking at us. Praxis keeps hold of me but seems a bit less likely to snap my just-healed ribs. I try not to act like he could.
The navigator, whatever the fuck his name is, I don’t give a shit, he gets down next to Deimos and puts an arm over his shoulders. “God, Cain, you’re so awful! What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t hurt him. He’s fine.” Because it’s the truth, and Deimos is already figuring it out. He’s starting to let himself breathe again. I glare up at the other fighter. “And get your fucking hands off me, Praxis.”
“I ought to—“ He shoves me, hard enough that it’s fucked, that I really might go over the rail anyway. I have to stumble for my balance, make a big deal about it, so it’s worse than if he’d just punched me.
The navigator says, “Praxis didn’t hurt Deimos. He wouldn’t do that. You have it all wrong.”
“Ethos, shut up,” says Praxis “Take Deimos and get out of here.”
“No,” he says. Bratty navigators who whine and talk back are the worst, at least Abel’s got a pretty enough face that he just looks hot snipping at me, not sweet and stupid like Praxis’ tubby navigator.
I can’t believe Deimos is just letting this navigator rub his shoulders like he needs comforting. I didn’t hurt Deimos and he’s fine, so I don’t know why he’s still hunched on the floor shaking.
The navigator says, “It’s my fault anyway. The fighter I had before Praxis, he attacked me. Deimos saved me, that’s how he got hurt, but he killed the other fighter. Praxis told everyone that he did it so Deimos wouldn’t get in trouble, but it’s my fault. I’m the reason he got hurt in first place. It wasn’t Praxis – Praxis would never hurt Deimos like that.”
“Tch.” They’re all dumber than spunk if that’s the truth of it. “Sounds like self-defense. Why lie about it? You’re a fucking idiot, Praxis. What if Deimos crapped out and died? They’d hang you for the lot of it because you’re such a fucking idiot.”
The noble-hearted piece of shit acts all calm about it. Says, “If Deimos died, I wouldn’t care if they killed me too.”
I fish my smokes out from the inside pocket on my jacket. Pack’s a bit crumpled since I’ve been having to hide it from Abel, like we both don’t know why my hair smells like smoke when he buries himself into me, trembling in a way that’s fragile, like he doesn’t want me to know how glad he is that I’m back in our room again even if I can’t do shit besides sit around and bitch at him. First day back, tried to get him to blow me for a quickie. He wouldn’t touch me the whole time I was in medical, wouldn’t let me touch him more than the one time I brought him off with my hand, so he splattered come on my bandages and freaked out about it.
Figured it’d work when he started sucking at me, stupid smashed up ribs making it hard to breathe but I tried to fake like it was fine, told him he wasn’t hurting me, that it was fine, how bad I wanted his mouth. Thought maybe it would be fine, maybe I’d get him to hop up on top and ride me a bit afterward. Ended up blacking out and coughing blood, not sexy at all, didn’t even get to come first. Now Abel just presses at me as close as he dares, smells my hair, puts his slender fingers all over the parts of me that aren’t broken. I’m going to fuck him stupid just as soon as I can, just to prove I can.
Praxis helps Deimos get to his feet, all fucking courteous about it, so concerned because I guess he’s never actually seen Deimos lose his shit like that, spent all that time in the brig being a stupid white knight piece of shit I wish I could keep hating. I draw in enough smoke that my lungs burn. Fuck.
“Myshonok,” I say. Makes him turn to me, won’t look at me, acting timid like the mouse he is, just something small and squeaking, fierce with little claws when he remembers to use them. I switch into Russian, figure I can tell if he’s lying easier that way. And pissed at the navigator for talking out of turn, talking like we give a shit about his peeping earnest opinion. “Is that what happened?”
Deimos nods. Not talking, the stupid motherfucker, scared and timid, getting shy in a way that’s weird because he’s just about the last person I expect to act like some sniveling navigator.
I look at Praxis, the way he’s acting like he thinks Deimos might fall over for no reason, the way that says he’ll catch him if it does happen, put him back on his feet and keep him there. And I look at Deimos, stupid fragile Deimos, a little recruit named Aleks who wanted to be something else, needed to find his claws. Nights when I was the one making stupid noises, so he came down from the top bunk and pressed up next to me, smelling my hair like the same stupid way Abel does.
I sigh smoke and ask, “Are you in fucking love with him, or just love fucking him?”
He looks up at me like I slapped him, eyes searching with that creepy intensity that says he’s trying to read your mind, asking you a ton of questions without saying a word, not letting you answer because he already knows. And then he smiles, strange and brittle, so I’m not sure at all what question he asked and what answer he got.
He steps toward me, comes right at me, slow and steady so it freaks me out for a second, makes me lean back until I remember the rail, how I’m not going to run away from fucking Deimos of all people. He puts a hand on the rail, keeps leaning at me, he smells soft, fresh, almost musky like cut wet grass, stupid lawns on stupid colonies like we’re too stupid to know it’s shitty.
He kisses my cheek. Puts his lips right on me, so intentional it’s like a slap, so sweet that I think he’s gone crazy, that maybe I broken him. He’s always gone at me with desperation, terrified I’ll shove him down, wanting me to shove him down, so tangled up and confused that I hate him just as much as I can’t ever let him go, couldn’t ever make him leave me alone even though it’d be easy, he’s always given me all the power, always been so completely mine that it makes me crazy.
“Yes,” he says. Calm, serene, like I’ve never seen him look or sound, his whispering rasp so hushed and quiet that it doesn’t sound like him. Sounds like a little recruit named Aleks, not a lean silent fighter named Deimos. “I love him.”
And then he backs up, turns away from me, so absolute with the gesture that I feel panicked, that I wonder what the fuck just happened. He collects Praxis and his navigator like he can, pushing at them like he knows they’ll obey, not saying anything because he doesn’t have to, and it’s just about the strangest fucking thing ever.
I don’t want him to go. Know it just as soon as he starts to leave, kind of hate him for the fluttery way I have to wonder what the fuck just happened, so I can’t tell how he feels when it’s always been so easy, when I’ve always known where I’ve stood with him. Never wanted him to, always kind of hated him for it, tried to make him go away and then always chased him back because if he’s not mine than I can’t fucking stand it.
“Myshonok.” I have to call after him. Knees aren’t part of the game anymore, aren’t going along easy. I’m probably going to have to sit down after they leave, when they won’t get able to see me go down. Abel’s going to pitch a bitch-fit when he sees I’ve probably busted open a few of the stitches along my shoulder. I can feel the wet against the bandages, bleeding into my shirt, probably going to ruin my jacket here before much longer.
Deimos stops, stands there listening to the silence, and then comes back to me. I don’t know what I’d have done if he didn’t, if he ignored me and kept going, but he comes right back to me when I call for him. I motion him over and he does that, too, gets up close to me like I want but not as close as I expect. He’s not sure what I want and looks tense about it.
I grind my teeth for a bit, hating that this has to be awkward. I remember the last time it felt this awkward. Him crying in a stupid utility closet, sobbing like sniveling recruit, letting me fuck him without saying no and making it so fucking awkward. And I remember the first time he made it awkward, the night he lost his voice, when I felt so helpless because of how he looked staggered into the barracks, bloodied up and beaten, wheezing breathlessly, making ugly wrecked noises I’d never heard before and now they’re just about all he ever makes.
Just about the most awful thing ever, that night, the way he tried to cry and couldn’t, could barely breathe, found me and couldn’t tell me what happened, pitched forward into my arms and wasn’t even able to be calm when unconscious, just kept struggling and struggling through the ruin of his throat. Later, calm finally, so calm it scared me, silent in a way that went beyond the tender way he could barely swallow, the way every breath seemed fragile. He acted dead, acted beaten in a way I’d never seen, so I had to hold him, him being the only thing I had, something I wanted to protect, something that needed me so it felt good.
It comes out soft and smoky, so I sound hushed up like him. “We’ll still get out of this mess like I said we would, right?”
He looks at me in a way that’s timid, in a way that’s hopeful, nods quick like maybe he was scared I wouldn’t call him back just now, that I’d let him go.
I poke at his side, right where I know that puckered red scar has to be. “You better not be fucking lying about this.”
He denies it, no reason to because they can’t hear us, because he wouldn’t dare fucking lie to me. I have to believe him, and it sucks. I stare at him. He’s got some stupid half smile on his face, the same strangeness that he had earlier when he kissed my cheek, his eyes bright for once, not clouded or lost in thought like he gets sometimes.
The stupid motherfucker looks like how Abel did, seeing me wake up in medical. He looks just like that. Just like Abel, so my throat gets tight and I think about that stupid fucking navigator smelling at my hair, knowing I smell like smoke because I snuck a quick cigarette when he was off punching numbers into screens, him smelling all that smoke and not saying a word, just trembling at me.
I look away, snarl because it’s that or something worse. Ask, “Does it have to be him?”
Because it’s fucking Praxis, who I hated anyway, but at least maybe this will keep him away from Abel. That’s me, trying to find the bright side to everything, a bright fucking sunshine cloud of cheer with how fucking gone to shit this is. I’m definitely bleeding into my jacket now. Knees completely bailing, so I’ve got to best fucking friends with this rail.
“Tch.” I ditch the cigarette so I can get both hands on the rail. Deimos looks shy about it, so I look over to where Praxis is glaring daggers. Has to be Praxis, I guess, couldn’t be someone small and meek for me to kick around if things go south. I tell Deimos, “You’re a mess, kiddo. Get out of here before that fucking Cyclops makes up his mind about kicking my ass.”
So then he looks over and makes some face at where Praxis and his navigator are standing. He’s too fucking happy for his own good right now, eyes bright so it reminds me of Abel.
I don’t want to think about it, but I remember that weird fucked up night when he made everything awkward. Me trying to be nice to him, humming at him the stupid lullaby that Natasha used to come into my room and sing, the one that Mama used to come into her room and sing but I was too young to remember, just remember that she drank and cried, just remember the way Natasha cried and the neighbors cried and everyone cried but me because I was too fucking little and stupid to know what all the black clothes and tears meant.
Only cried later, when I asked Natasha when Mama would be home, when my sister put her hand across my face so it stung, shrieked about it, the two of us just two stupid kids so it wasn’t like I ever got mad at her for it later, so I cried and she cried and that was just how it went because life sucks.
And it sucks that some stupid recruit named Aleks had to take everything the wrong way, had to look so desperate and broken, scared of me when he kissed me, so I got scared because I didn’t want it to be like that, didn’t want to lose the only good thing either of us ever had. Acted like a little bitch about it, hit him like everyone else, so I felt like shit about it. Didn’t know what to do, how to let him down easy, because fuck feelings and he’s so scared and timid. He didn’t look happy about it.
Felt so guilty afterward and figured that was it, figured he’d hate me now instead, but he just followed me around and kept right on following me. Silent, only talking when I made him, everything different, everything about him broken, nothing ever right after that and fuck if I knew how to fix it so I just had to let it go until it became normal.
Never looked happy about, telling me he loved me like it made him miserable, because it was a miserable fucking thing and he knew it, bet he’s always known it, bet he knew it would never happen because I’d never ruin the one good thing either of us had. He didn’t look happy at all, miserable and desperate, like I wouldn’t just stay with him because I said I would, because maybe families are shitty but they’re there, you can make them or leave them or take them, and he never fucking knew how anything went except beating and fucking. I never beat him, only fucked him because I figured I wouldn’t hurt him, I’d be nice about it at least, not like everyone else who only ever hurt him, so I hurt him worse than anyone because he let me.
So now I don’t know what to think, don’t know anything and maybe never did, maybe ruined everything anyway since I don’t deserve anything good. He starts to leave and I feel panicked about it, have to catch his hand.
“Myshonok,” I say. Can’t sound like I’m begging even though I want him to understand, want him to know. “You’re like a little brother to me. You know that, right?”
He looks at me, shocked, so surprised, so it’s like maybe he’s going to say something.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap. Growl it at him, desperate now because it was a stupid thing to say, maybe something he ought to have already known, maybe something I didn’t really know until I said it. Fuck all this shit, fuck this rail, fuck the wet feel of my busted stitches, the burning in my lungs and my stupid fucking knees for being nothing but weak. I’m going to go down, know it, know it like nothing, so he needs to get the fuck away from me.
“Tell Praxis I’ll cut his other eye out,” I say. Best kind of apology I can give so he’ll just have to take it, know that I won’t murder the big stupid idiot unless I have to, unless he takes the only good thing that’s ever happened to him and ruins it.
Deimos nods, still looking so happy I think he might start skipping, and he hurries away. I see him grab at Praxis’ hand, see the way he huddles up next to him, head down because he’s shy like that, because I have to wonder what the hell he’d be like if he was just Aleks again, some boy running around on Earth rather than the colony cesspool, if he’d grown up like an Abel rather than like a Cain, like me, everything kind of shitty so you sign up to go shoot shit in space because, why the fuck.
I wait until I figure they’re back at the lift, until I figure no one’s going to see. Goodbye, railing, good fucking riddance, hello floor you stupid piece of shit. I whine and bitch about it, sink down to my wobbly knees and then over on to my side, about as controlled of a fall as I can. I roll out of my jacket so it doesn’t get completely bloodied and then just lay there, lungs burning, everything spinning, like Abel’s begging at me to respond through the comlink but I’m somewhere else, trapped and having to hear him beg.
Everything’s a bit less awful the longer I lie there. I hate when medical is right, them telling me to rest and take it easy so I’ll recover, hate it more that Abel’s going to know I sure as shit wasn’t resting tonight. Soon as I think my legs will cooperate, because I’m not crawling. I’ll lay here forever before I start crawling.
I hear someone getting close. Well, fuck, can’t let them see me sprawled out and easy for the pickings. Can’t keep Abel safe if everyone thinks I’m weak, can’t do my fucking job if I can’t fight. I pick myself up, kind of flop and roll into the stupid railing. I know I won’t get upright in time, so I just have to push myself into a sitting position. I lift a knee toward my chest, act like everything’s casual, I’m just sitting here because I want to, chilling out because why the fuck not.
And it’s Abel, of course it’s fucking Abel, looking worried until he sees me and then he just looks terrified. “Cain!”
“Hey, sweetheart.” Grin at him. Like it’ll work.
It doesn’t, obviously, he rushes straight for me and crashes to his knees next to me. “What happened? Where have you been? I’ve—oh!” He flutters his hands at my shoulder.
I kind of turn my head, frown at the half-moon smear of blood. “It’s fine, princess. Stop fussing.”
“No, it’s not fine.” Great, now he’s getting stern about it, acting the fucking nursemaid and I don’t even get to see him being sexy about it, white uniform and lace thigh highs. Yeah. I’m going to fuck him stupid just as soon as I can.
“Here,” he says. He’s reaching for me, collecting my hand and gathering my elbow. “Can you stand?”
“Didn’t know you felt like dancing,” I say.
I get maybe halfway there when my knees decide to be little bitches about it and bail. I stagger into Abel, have to lean real fucking heavy on him. I bitch about it a little, coughing in a way that starts dry and turns wet. Abel fusses and I hope to fucking hell and back I don’t hack blood all over his white navigator uniform.
I don’t, shit evens out, I get where my lungs aren’t quite so traitorous and hitching. Abel clings at me, scared enough that I feel all the shittier for it, so I just kind of sigh and let him drag me away, my arm slung over his shoulder, his arm around my waist. He’s got his lips pressed together, not saying anything, probably going to bitch at me later, so feisty that I’m hot just thinking about it.
I nip at his throat in the lift, chuckle and say, “Hey, sweetheart. You come looking for me for a reason?”
“Yeah, Cain, because—“ He starts to snap at me, but it ends up short, runs out of sarcasm real fucking fast. I feel a little shudder go over him, the way his arm tightens over my waist like it’s more than just him trying to hold me up.
Looking all soft-eyed and wet, happy but like he’s going to cry, tender and stupid with the way he’s clutching at my hand, leaning over me in medical, so I try to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, but all that comes out is his name, the way I whisper it, the way he looks so happy just because I’ve opened my eyes and said a single fucking name that’s not really his and we both it, so I wonder if he’s got some stupid silver spoon name like Theodore or Remington.
“Cain?” He jostles me, tries to drag me forward. The lift stopped and I hadn’t noticed, the doors are open and I hadn’t moved. I bet if I go down here he’d just have to drag me, grab me by the ankles and haul my dead fucking weight around. I almost want to see him try.
I stagger forward, let him drag me anyway, weaving down the hall to our room. Mattresses put together like I put them, gotta let him know who’s in charge. Not very tough with the way a silly navigator has to help me lay down, has to brace me upright while he strips the blood-soaked shirt from my back.
“You’ve sweated all through,” he says. Dismayed about, because I can’t go three feet in any direction without getting slick and dizzy, weak-kneed and shaking. Spent forever sleeping, they tell me, Abel so scared and happy just because I opened my eyes.
“Gonna give me a tongue bath?” I ask.
I think maybe he’s frowning because he’s being a little bitch about it, getting all offended that I’m joking, or maybe he thinks I’m serious and doesn’t want to. I kind of hear myself, like an echo, and realize I slurred it at him, voice thick, sounding stupid and weak like something worthless. Can’t keep him safe if I’m not tough, fucking hate when he sees me being weak like this.
“Stay here,” he says. Like I’ll just jump right up and skip out the door. He leaves for a minute and comes back with a wet washcloth. I sit there and feel pretty accomplished that I’m sitting upright rather than lying flat on my back, worthless to him if I can’t fight.
He sits next to me, starts carefully running the cool wet cloth over the back of my neck, across my forehead. He fusses at the bandaging. “I ought to take you to medical,” he says.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
My navigator presses his lips together, so the cute little scar flares up like a beacon. I grin, lean toward him because I want to kiss him, fuck him stupid just as soon as I can, but my lean turns into a tilt that I can’t stop, so I just fall into him, make him have to catch me.
“Cain?” Sharp, panicked, like I might have just passed out.
“Right here, princess.” I nibble at his ear.
Makes him kind of laugh, shaky and relieved. He kind of hugs at me, clinging in a way that makes me want to push him off me, makes me kind of glad I can’t. He unwraps me some, checks that the bleeding’s stopped and presses the cloth at the blood that’s there, so I hiss and curse at him, call him a stupid motherfucker even though we both know I don’t mean it, it’s just that it hurts so I don’t know what else to do. Makes me cranky afterward, sullen when he wraps me up again with the miles and miles fucking white gauze medical sent me away with.
I lay down with my head in his lap later, once I’m done being sulky, so he can run his fingers through my hair and I can pretend to be asleep. I’m thinking enough that it sucks, that I’m sick of thinking, sick of feeling sick, sick of Abel looking so scared and panicky just because I’ve gone clumsy. Wish I could get him to touch me some, wish I could touch him, can’t wait to get strong enough to put him against the wall and make it good.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Slurring it again, because I’ve actually gotten sleepy or maybe I was asleep. It’s dark now, I don’t know when that happened, don’t know when he got me laying down like we’re going to bed. He’s pressed up against me, huddled close and trying not to touch me too much, treating me fragile so I hate it.
“Mmm?” He must have been asleep. Makes a little noise like a cat, sort of stretching, nuzzling his nose at me like he’s just going to smell my fucking hair again.
I didn’t have a follow up ready, so now there’s just weird silence where I’ve woken him up.
He doesn’t seem bothered by it. Gets up on his elbow and leans over me. Slender fingers against my forehead, brushing at my hair, being sweet because I can’t bite back. “Cain?” Just whispering, worried.
I put my hand into his hair, all that soft, pretty, pale hair, he’s so fucking pretty all the time I can’t stand it. I kiss him, hard, demanding, showing him how tough I can be still, how I’m not so fucking weak that he has to look scared anymore. Don’t want to wake up anymore to find him crying. Can’t stand it, can’t stand when he cries.
I let him go, get my hand out of his hair before he can feel me shaking. “Going to fuck you,” I tell him.
“What, now?”
He sound so flustered, so surprised, that I kind of snort and laugh at the same time, try not to cough about it when my lungs bitch about it. Can’t wait until it stops feeling like I’ve breathed a shit ton of smoke, a whole burning hanger full of smoke, because I sure as shit don’t remember Abel crashing the Reliant into the Sleipnir to save both our lives, but I guess he did it. He can’t ever tell me the story without crying, so I’m fine not knowing the details.
“No, dammit.” Super sulky about it, too, so then he has to laugh although he sounds nervous, always so fucking scared just because I had to sleep for a while, got a little confused and said some weird stuff, spoke a lot of Russian which he couldn’t understand so that just scared him worse. “Why, you want it now? I can probably stay hard if you do all the work.”
“Cain!” Scandalized, laughing a bit more. Probably because I’m not slurring at him anymore, less beaten to shit now that I guess I passed out some. I hate when they’re right about resting being good for me. His fingers go through my hair again, tickling over me. “You’re impossible.”
“Isn’t that why you love me?” Completely flippant, out of my fucking mouth before I think about it, smug and sneering but I’m not so stupid to catch his fast little intake of breath, the way his fingers twitch into my hair, the fast way he sits up more so I bet if the lights were on he’d be bright pink.
He doesn’t say anything, which is weird, and now it’s fucking awkward because he doesn’t even laugh it off. I just hear him breathing, fast little noises, tight and strained and – fuck.
“Hey.” I get upright, push up on to my elbows. Don’t like the way things sort of go sideways, the way my body reminds me to stay down like the bully that it is, stomping on my chest at the end of a fight I’ve lost. “Sweetheart, cut that shit out.”
“What? No, nothing,” Abel lies. He’s a shitty liar. Fast little breaths because he’s crying, I’ve made him cry, can’t fucking stand it when he cries. There’s the quick flicking way he attacks his face, pulls away from me, trying to lie and hide even though we’re the only ones in the room and he’s a shitty liar.
Well, fuck, this is fucking awkward, I hate when shit gets awkward, I hate that he’s crying. I have to come after him, get my battered body functioning, making it enough of a struggle that he flutters at me with concern, gets close so I can grab him. I get him pressed to me, close like he won’t, so he’s right up against the bruised up smashed up fucked up mess of me, so it hurts but I don’t give a shit.
“You cut that out,” I tell him. “Stop fucking crying, princess. I already told you once.”
And he didn’t say it back, so fair’s e-fucking-nough, message came through loud and clear it’s my fault for saying flipping shit without thinking about the consequences. He’s probably feeling guilty about it, feeling sorry even though I never asked him to, don’t want his fucking pity. He kind of clutches at me, slender little fingers afraid to touch my back, all of him afraid to hurt me when he never even said it back so, fine, not that I care, just shouldn’t have said something stupid.
“I know,” he says. Small voiced, sounding all scared like when I kept waking up and caught him bawling too many times. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just stop fucking crying.”
A wet, hitching kind of laugh. “Okay. I’ll stop.”
He’s a shitty liar. I push him away a little, get where I can hold the back of his neck and shake him some. “Abel, stop it. I don’t actually think you love me, okay? Just being a smartass. Figured you’d know me well enough by now.”
“Nnng!” Well now he’s curling his knees up, making this ridiculous shaky noise and, what the fucking hell, I’m trying to be nice and he’s making this even more awkward.
“Look. Hey, fuck. Cut it out, Abel. Quit fucking crying like that, I fucking hate it when you cry.” Getting angry now, going to start slapping sense into him if he keeps sniveling, he doesn’t get to be the sad about it when he’s the one who’s a liar, when he never even said it back but just keeps smelling my hair and pressing at me and crying. Fucking crying because—
“What the hell,” I say. I shake him more, so he kind of blubbers into sniffling silence. “Abel, you fucking stupid – Do you love me? Huh, princess? Is that why you’re fucking crying?”
“Cain, stop.” Whining about it, but trying to sound angry. He’s getting to that indignant stage of crying, the stage when he’s getting embarrassed about it and I’m no good about when he cries so it just gets awkward. “Don’t be horrible.”
“You fucking answer me.” I snarl it at him. Heart going fast like I’m going to pass out, so he better hurry up before I do.
“Mnn—“ Never heard someone try so hard not to sob, so it’d be funny if he weren’t making me feel so scared. This is awkward, and I hate it.
“Abel!” I snap at him, shake him hard, so he knows I’m tough, knows I’m not so weak. I have to stop before he figures out my hands are shaking, too, it’s either shake him or let him feel how I’m trembling. “Do you love me?”
It just bursts out of him, almost a sob. “Yes! Yes, I love you! Fuck!” Oh, good, he’s figured out how to sound angry again, how to bite back. “You’re so awful, yes, I love you. God help me, I love you, so you can—“ He runs out of steam pretty quick, sniffles and a bit and cringes. Glad it’s dark so I can’t see his face, so he can’t see mine, so we’re just voices and shudders in shadow.
“Cain, I love you.” The smallest fucking sound ever, like I didn’t even know someone could sound that small.
“Tch!” I want a smoke pretty fucking bad, but I doubt Abel would be so kind as to go get the light so I can find my crumpled pack, and I’m not sure I could move around to find them in the dark. “Why didn’t you fucking say it?”
“What?” he says. Utterly bewildered, breathless, too surprised to cry anymore so it shuts him up, makes it so I can actually hear the thump of his heart.
No, that’s mine, beating too hard like I’m going to be sick. I need to lay down without making it seem like I need to lay down. “I told you once, told you I’m not telling you again.” I’m sneering at him, maybe a little mad he’s been holding out on me like this, making it so I keep getting upset like it fucking matters what a sniveling little blond navigator thinks of me. I flop down into the bed and make it look like a sulking huff rather than a slow, controlled collapse.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“No, Cain, I—“ Breathless, getting his hopes up, so I think he’s stupid because it wasn’t like I fucking stuttered. “Cain?” He creeps toward me, lays down next to me. Presses up close and puts his nose in my hair. “Cain? Cain…”
I don’t say anything, just stare at the dark ceiling.
I can almost hear him bite his lip, the nervous, timid way he asks. “Cain? Do you…?”
Breathless and hopeful, so I have to remember how shitty I actually kind of don’t remember saying it, just that I did, just that I was awake enough to dream and it was awful, knowing he was in trouble but unable to do anything about it, couldn’t even find him, something bleary grey and forever wanting me to come on over and stop hurting, but I figured Abel was over where all the hurt was, so I had to go because I couldn’t be without him. So fucking helpless just because I get lost without my navigator.
So I don’t remember saying it, just know that I did say it and he never said it back, not when he’s the weepy one, not when he’s some silly blond pretty soft sweet sexy stubborn persistent stupid – “Said I fucking love you already, don’t ever make me say it again, settle down and sleep or I really will fuck the stupid out of you.” All one long snarl, so I kind of have to catch my breath at the end.
“Oh.”
I think that might be the end of it. That he’ll let me go back to sleep now so I can rest and get strong, strong enough to hold him and make him stop looking scared, get tough so I can protect him.
“Oh.” Softer, all air, an outrush that’s trembling and then he’s over me, lips in my hair, lips over my brow, slender perfect hands brushing at everything that isn’t bandaged or bruised, which is mostly just my hair. He laughs, all air, there’s nothing to him but air and softness, the sweet silly feel of him, the hungry, happy, breathless way he kisses me.
“Cut it out,” I say. It’s weak stupid navigator shit when I want to fuck him hard, bury deep into him and, God, he actually bites my fucking lip and then we’re really kissing, no more soft stupid fluttering kisses like he’s scared of breaking me but real, passionate making out that’s so hot.
“Ah!” He presses at me, hot and eager, whimpering with how much he needs it because it’s been forever, just that one time I put my hand on him in medical. “Oh, oh, I love—“
Cut him off with a kiss, searing heat, need him to stop saying that shit before I push too hard and cough fucking blood all over the place again, not sexy at all, gotta wait until I’m better but I hate the idea of not being the best. I get my hand on him, so he gasps, because he’s so hard and eager it’s worth having to say it again.
I get him against my side, let him huddle into me, stroke him slow and steady so he’s shivering and breathing fast, such a stupid little navigator. He’s got a nice cock, I want to put my mouth on him, make him really squirm, not more of this little cuddling bullshit where he nuzzles at my hair and whimpers about it. I’m sick of ruining shit, sick of feeling an asshole and getting called out for it, this stupid navigator’s just about the best thing ever so I let him paw at me, kiss my nose, rub on me and buck his slim hips into my hand.
“Want—?” Trying to ask it, kind of too breathless to talk, I wish the lights were on so I could see his face, the flush and stretch of it as he shudders and humps my hand. He reaches for me, tentative. Of course I’m hard and aching, it’s kind of impossible to be anything other than stiff-cocked and hot when he’s being this slutty about it. He strokes me back a little, shifts and moans.
“Mmm, ah, Cain! Oh!”
I get his sack in my hand, squeeze it, feel how he’s tight and ready to pop off and start shooting. Want him bad, makes me sick I want him so bad, hating that I’m too weak to put his face into the pillow and just rut all into his firm, tight ass. Got an ass like heaven and it’s all mine, no one’s ever been in him but me.
“Hey.” Kiss him so he’ll listen, so I can nibble his little cries. “Say something else.”
“Oh, anything!” Because he’s gone senseless with it, too slutty and eager to stroke me right, which is fine, didn’t think I’d get to anyway, probably would get lightheaded and pass out before I get to see him squirm and ruin the sheets with spunk.
“Say, ‘Sacha.’”
“What?” All breathless, he’s nothing but air and softness, pressed all up against me. Poking, curling toes, jutting knees, cuddling into me with weak, silly, navigator eagerness. I stroke him fast, demanding, pumping so he can’t breathe except in gasps.
“Ah! Oh! Mm!” Nope, he’s not going to make it, or I think he won’t, but it says it right as he gets jittery and jolting, coming into my hand, getting all over the bandages just like in medical. “Saa-Sacha!”
Yup, fuck, that’s good, like hearing him say that, maybe get tight and go a little myself in a way that’d be pathetic if I weren’t so eager from not getting laid in forever. He’s all over me, almost sounding like he’s sobbing about it, coming hard just from my hand so it’s too bad I couldn’t show him something really nice.
“Sssnnn!” Well that’s not coherent, not at all, no idea what the fuck he was trying to say with that one. He sags into me, shivering all over, weakly trying to kiss the side of my head, so I have to take pity on him and kiss him back. Kiss his lips, the soft, breathless hush of him, the way he sighs deep and fluttering. I can feel the pale brush of his lashes, the whispering intimacy of it making me feel stupid.
Eventually he gets up, cleans everything tidy like he likes it, something of neat freak but I won’t bitch at him for it when I’m feeling dumb like this, wanting him to hurry up so I can go back to sleep, so I can get my arm around him and let him smell my hair. He settles back down, seems timid about getting close until I pull him into me, curl the softest strands of his hair behind his ear.
“You done crying now?” I ask. Don’t mean to sound as bitchy about it as I do.
He doesn’t seem to mind. Just says, “Yeah,” real soft, nothing but air.
“Good.” Close my eyes like I’ll get to sleep now, feel his little nose pressing at me.
Almost asleep when he says it, real quiet, like maybe he thinks I’m already asleep. “Ethan. I’m Ethan.”
“Okay, princess.” Mumble it back, pretty tired and just wanting to sleep so I can get strong enough to fuck him, get everything back to normal so he’ll never cry again.
I hear him sigh a little, soft and airless, not being moody and bitchy but sweet about it, sounding happy. He better not get so happy he cries again, that’s the fucking worst, I’ll kick him out of the room if he does, go back to medical and make them lock the door.
He presses at me close, sighs a little softer, with a little less air. Just kind of whispers it, “Love you, Sacha.”
So I whisper back, just as soft, “Go the fuck to sleep, Ethan.”