Archive of Our Own

Genesis doesn't look up from the sink when he hears the front door open and shut.

"Knock your boots off, Hewley," Genesis calls as he shoves his arms deeper into the water, stirring the collard greens and kneading them in his hands. "What did old man Dixon say?"

"I was already knocking em, Rhapsody, and he'll let me borrow his trailer for the hauling. I'm about to go and start on this tree by the house here," Angeal answers. Genesis rolls his eyes, because Angeal is knocking his boots now, and Genesis wasn't hearing that before now, was he? Angeal lumbers out of the mud room and turns to Genesis in the kitchen, brows raised at the ribbons of collard greens covering their wooden cutting board. "When'd we get greens?"

"This morning right about nine," Genesis says primly. "Missus Sadie had the back of her Chevy packed full. Three bucks a bunch. It's getting cooler, anyhow. You need to talk to Henry's boys about a pig."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, now, we got time before family comes knocking."

"No, we don't, because you were gone fifteen months and no one has believed me that you've a full beard now." Genesis raises up a handful of greens from the water and presses them into a strainer on the other half of the sink. "And I refuse to send pictures. I start sending pictures and people think they get liberties. They'll have to come and see you if they want to tell me I'm lying."

"Ah." Angeal curves behind Genesis to reach into a cabinet for a glass. His shoulder touches Genesis's when he comes to the sink for water. Genesis dutifully ignores this, working the greens through the water with a vengeance. "And here I thought you were being considerate to me."

"What in the world would I do that for?" Genesis sniffs. "I don't care if it's early, go ask Henry about a pig. I'd rather be ahead of the crowd anyhow."

"Yes sir," Angeal says in that obliging way of his, where he still disagrees with the sentiment but won't fight opposing tides. "We got enough bacon grease for this many greens?"

"Who are you talking to," Genesis huffs with only half as much heat as he intended for the words to hold. "Out of my kitchen, Hewley."

Angeal doesn't answer primarily because he's already headed back to the mudroom, duly hydrated, but Genesis gets hot about it anyways. The next round of greens is shoved into the sink's waters with all the force of intentions to drown someone.

—

"Glad you could make it," Genesis lies through his teeth. He kisses each of Gillian's cheeks and shakes hands with Hollander. "He's been waiting to see everyone, he's been so excited, really."

It's easier to lie to his in-laws than to his actual parents. He feels less guilty because it does matter to him that they're happy, but their imbalanced opinions of him and his past can lick the pig shit off his boots.

His parents come after, his mother fashionably late because she was probably inspecting her skin for wrinkles and tweezing her brows to fine points. Genesis's father tries to hug him and Genesis does not move from the stance he'd taken for a handshake.

It's not a dinner of reunion in any other meaning of the word but literal. There is no love lost between the majority of them, and the only relationship at the table without tilled soil and sour spilled milk was Angeal and Gillian's, ever the dutiful son and the wise, loving mother.

"You're still looking rather plump, dear," Genesis's mother comments at one point. She at least has the decency to say it away from the dinner table, having followed him to the kitchen as he topped up some glasses. This sliver of decency doesn't stop his vision from almost instantly turning red-hot. "I told you you'd need to lose a bit of that before he got home."

"Laser treatments will stop being enough soon, mother dearest," Genesis says back, sweet as he can. "I met a few surgeons in the city. Why don't you just call me when you're ready for an appointment?"

His mother leaves well enough alone. His father keeps calling him Ginny, and while Genesis doesn't call him out on it, he knows good and well what his father is doing. He could fight him on it, has fought him on it before, but he's too tired. He's far too tired, watching Angeal put on his perfect prince cap, smiling with Gillian and politely laughing at his mother-in-law's jokes, calling her Mrs. Rhapsodos in his most charming southern drawl. Hollander is his oddly quiet self as ever, watching Genesis with that look in his eyes that Genesis doesn't even bother deciphering anymore. Genesis has a feeling that neither he nor Angeal would enjoy the revelation of what's behind it.

They send them on their way later into the night than should be feasible, their father's truck lights illuminating the woods all around, each of them helping their mothers up into leather seats. Hollander gets to chatting with Angeal about some shingles in the bed of his truck. Genesis ends up caving to his father and giving him a hug, a hug where the loudest sounds are his own heartbeat and the owls hooting in the night.

Hearing their tires crunch the gravel as they leave is such a breath of relief that Genesis could collapse against the door. He practically does, leaning against it hard.

Angeal rounds the corner, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder, and he looks at Genesis with those eyes. It's a call, and Genesis was always the response, offering himself to Angeal's arms and sheltering himself in the crook of his husband's neck. That was the place where everything would be better for a moment, a place where the world was only the synchronization of their breath and the love whispered between them.

Today, Angeal calls, and Genesis lets it ring out.

"You better not have touched my cast iron skillet," is what Genesis says, swallowing every choking moment of the evening, resolving that he'll struggle to breathe just one last time. "I just seasoned it a week ago."

"Your cast iron is fine, honey," Angeal answers a bit wearily, the look in his eyes dimming as Genesis passes him by without any acknowledgement. "Are you okay?"

"I've got nothing to talk to you about," Genesis says point blank.

Angeal's shock is loud. Genesis plays like he's deaf. The night goes on, and they go to bed in two different rooms. Genesis hugs his pillow like he's not lonely because he can't afford it. He bores holes into the wall with his eyes, hearing Angeal's snores through the wall, absolutely infuriated that he can miss such an annoying sound.

He still loves him, is the problem. Not many married men get to say that, but Genesis does. That night, he deliriously dreams of trophies where all he's won is heartbreak.

—

Genesis still loves him, and Angeal Hewley is far from hard on the eyes.

In fact, he's a little too easy. Enough so that when old man Dixon's tractor gets halfway stuck in a ditch because his grandson got happy with the gas and Angeal of course goes on over to help get it out, Genesis notes far too many of the blonde crones eyeing his husband up appreciatively.

Does Genesis know he's at a new low, glaring at farmer's wives because his well muscled and broad shouldered husband has his shirt off? Yes, he does. And if he catches himself glancing at the flex of Angeal's thighs beneath his mudded down overalls as he slides into the ditch, well, no one's catching Genesis but Genesis. All the ladies are a bit busy looking at the same thing, to Genesis's ultimate chagrin.

Angeal comes out of it breathing hard and shining in the sun, stinking of grass and pine needles and that specific spice in his sweat that Genesis first noticed when they were far younger. Genesis's chest aches so fiercely he could bowl over from the pain. He wants to kiss his cheeks, taste the salt on his husband's brow, get some of that mud down his front while he stakes his claim.

What Genesis does is loudly announce that Angeal is not riding in the cabin of his truck like that, and that he's going to have to ride home in the bed. The neighbors laugh, the vulture crones circling Genesis's husband tittering away at his joke. Angeal says his farewells with far more gusto than Genesis can manage.

How delicate, not liking the man you love enough to love him, but liking him enough that anyone else looking at him makes you homicidal. Genesis truly takes only the easiest routes, doesn't he?

He hits a few dips in the road on his way back for pettiness' sake. Angeal starts hollering at him around the third one. Unfortunate—Genesis doesn't even bother holding back a grin as he indulges in his new outlet.

—

By the month mark of Angeal being home, they've gotten the hang of their routine of avoidance. Genesis has blown up at him all of three times, which considering the fifteen months he had to wait, is showing intense restraint. Angeal does what he does about the house, fulfilling Genesis's requests as they come with all the determination of a beast of burden. Genesis cooks his ass off and then mixes his ass off so he can eat well while he drowns a bottle by his lonesome. He does so regularly. It becomes an expensive hobby. Anything is better than seeing Angeal in the kitchen again. Genesis's heart won't take it, he knows, and so he's being proactive about it.

They argue here and there, Angeal keeping up his infuriatingly calm voice, acting like he's not arguing when they both know damn well what's happening. Hurricane season peaks, and Angeal's still milling through trees around the house, selling the wood off fast as he can. Some of the logs are kept in the shed because Angeal likes to start stocking firewood early. Genesis gets his eyeful from the kitchen sink's window as Angeal swings and swings and swings, shirtless once more. Genesis doesn't know if he's being hormonal or if it having been so long is finally getting to him now that his husband's home.

Not soon enough, a part of Genesis whispers, and that part is right. Not enough.

So no, Genesis doesn't give Angeal any ground. Genesis preps the pantry and Angeal preps the house, calling people they know, making sure everyone has enough of everything. Junebug's son is having issues with the runoff at his house—bad drainage over where he is, the land's so damn low—and Angeal ends up over there helping out. Genesis brings snacks and drinks because he'll be damned if anyone makes him out to be anything less but a dutiful husband, doesn't matter who's sleeping in what bed.

The tropical storms start getting names. Lines at the gas station start getting longer, long enough that one day Angeal comes back and says Ms. Josie was in line, the only person in town renowned to be more reclusive than Genesis himself. Bread's hardly on the shelves anywhere, and that's hard enough when Genesis has to drive damn near an hour of dirt just to get to a store. Old man Dixon has to ask for his trailer back—and no wonder, with all the land he's got—so Angeal has to stop where he is with cutting down the trees.

The hurricane that gets them is a night storm, and the power goes out in the first hour. Genesis hates night storms. If he closes his eyes it sounds too close to his childhood. The thunder sounds like violent thuds against walls, the lightning cracks of light blinking under his door as shadows stretch from the hallway lights. He can hear yells if his eyes stay shut long enough. He'll go back to that place where he hides under the covers and waits the storm out, terrified despite himself.

Genesis is upright and rigid for hours, huddled in a blanket in the bathtub, the radio sitting on the sink. Angeal's flashlight flickers beyond the door as he checks around the house, probably squinting out into the dark uselessly to try and see where anything is falling. The man on the radio recounts the evacuation route for the counties around them for the sixth time since Genesis turned it on. A splintering crack echoes through the night. A heavy thud, enough to shake the house. Genesis's heartbeat lingers in his ears long, long after.

"Should've just taken those last ones down," Angeal mutters to himself as he passes the bathroom door. Genesis faintly hears the linen closet open and shut. Angeal sets the flashlight on the counter before he almost gets the redhead in the eyes, dragging a comforter and a couple of pillows with his other hand. "Hope you don't mind the company."

"I'm not that much of an asshole," Genesis gripes. "Get in the tub, we got it this big for a reason."

There is, in fact, enough room for both of them with their comforters and pillows, Angeal setting the radio on the lip of the tub before he sinks down next to Genesis. He's a secure line of heat at Genesis's side. He is very pointedly not looking at the redhead next to him, fidgeting with the fabric between them or pointing his gaze to the doorway.

Now, to be clear. Genesis likes Angeal uncomfortable. He's still in his petty stage. He very much enjoys Angeal being uncertain and on edge around him.

What makes this much less appealing at the moment is that Genesis is also uncertain and on edge for entirely separate reasons, and seeing the bulwark of a man he's known all his life act sheepish is enough to make Genesis want to shoot himself.

Fucking sue him. A tree could fall on the house. For now, Genesis wants what he wants.

"Stop it," Genesis commands, and in a moment of weakness, turns onto his side. This tucks him against Angeal, his hand lightly resting on his husband's chest, their two covers tangling in each other as their legs do their shoddy best to intertwine. "Don't think too hard about this. It's just for tonight."

Angeal does the best thing he's ever learned to do around Genesis, and he doesn't vocally acknowledge this at all. He only winds an arm underneath the redhead to support his neck, beginning to gently comb through his bangs with his fingers. Genesis relaxes instantly. The radio chatter starts to fade.

It doesn't matter how long Angeal's been gone. Genesis's body knows where it's safe, and he goes to sleep. The night storm doesn't even follow him into his dreams.

—

Something shifts. Somewhere between Angeal trekking out to start up the generator, Genesis making full meals on the grill, Angeal helping drag debris out of the roads, Genesis bringing an elderly woman over because her bedroom flooded, Angeal fixing a roof, Genesis finally calling his parents—somewhere in there. Somewhere, at some point, after the point where they keep accidentally locking eyes before both skittering away, they shift a little closer to where they were before.

Another month passes, and the air starts to get a little bite. Genesis catches himself being softer on Angeal than he should be. Angeal sneaks touches a bit more now, pushing his boundaries hesitantly. He's started calling Genesis husband aloud once more, and Genesis has to act like his heart doesn't flutter every time.

Angeal's hand finds the small of Genesis's back when he passes. Sometimes when they speak, Angeal's head lowers ever so slightly, eyes going half-mast, and Genesis is reminded that his husband's domestic life kink is a force to be reckoned with. The way Angeal licks his spoon while he compliments Genesis's meals starts to feel suspiciously passionate. Genesis isn't even sure if he's imagining that one or not.

Don't think Genesis left any of this unanswered, now. His mother's a stuck-up cunt, so she can't appreciate that even though Genesis has gained weight, he doesn't mind walking around his house topless. Genesis is quite aware where Angeal's brain goes when he finds Genesis cooking in the kitchen with only an apron and boxer briefs on. Genesis refuses to act as though anything is out of the ordinary, and Angeal's eyes keep dropping to where one of his nipples is slipping from behind the apron.

They're teasing, somehow. Teasing, after sixteen, no, seventeen months of being separate. They're only now touching again and they're both already getting greedy. Genesis notices this to his immediate displeasure. His most immediate solution was to start creating distance again, flirting less, touching less, easing off until Angeal got the memo. His husband doesn't get to complain about however hot or cold Genesis feels like being. That's how Genesis feels, at least. Angeal can still yet surprise him.

Genesis should've assumed Angeal would surprise him.

Being shaken awake close to midnight puts him in a bad mood, but then he catches the aura of excitement rolling off Angeal in waves. Even in the dark, his husband's eyes glint. Genesis only grumbles a little as he pushes himself upright, curiosity piqued.

"Trev called, honey," Angeal starts off, and Genesis is too tired to decide whether he's pissed off or duly soothed by the pet name.

"Which one?" Genesis grunts. He sniffs once, making a slight face at the smell on the air. It's getting cold enough at night that they're having to turn the heat on, and the slight burnt smell from the A/C switching modes still lingers.

"Fire station Trev. He said a tractor trailer turned over, poor trucker kept dozing off. They're dragging it down to Justin's field."

Justin was the boy who, drunk off his ass and joyriding his daddy's muscle car, lost control where the concrete met the dirt and launched himself into the woods. They got the body out and left the car. Smoked out metal frames tend to find their way out there ever since, dragged by the local towing company. They won't ever call it the junkyard its becoming, no, it's Justin's field.

"Why am I being involved?" Genesis grumbles, rubbing at his eyes. "If you wanna go, go."

"Honey, if I leave you, you'll wake up in the morning and ask me why I didn't take you with me," Angeal deadpans. Even in the dark, the unimpressed look in his eyes is quite visible. "I'll find your jacket. Do you want something caffeinated?"

"No," Genesis huffs as he starts to sling his legs out of the bed. He's nosy more than anything, and the longer he thinks about the turned over trailer the more curious he gets.

Of course, even though Genesis said no, a cup of black tea is in the passenger seat's cup holder when he climbs his way into Angeal's truck. He sips it on the long way over and comes alive. He offers Angeal the rest and Angeal surprisingly heeds. Or maybe not so surprisingly—it's midnight on a dirt road and there's no light poles. He'd better stay awake.

Genesis has to keep his phone flashlight on the ground as they hike through the weeds to the glowing underbelly of the truck. Henry's three sons are already there, large flashlights propped against the skewed walls of the fallen tractor trailer, giving it an eerie white-blue glow. Headlights flash through the woods as word spreads and trucks arrive, a few vans coming in, voices slowly beginning to fill the night. Someone pulls up in a sedan with their bass hanging on for dear life, hollering over the noise for a relative closer to the glowing metal corpse.

The thrill of it becomes contagious, frozen hands and quivering lips and frozen food. There's meat, pureed fruit, uncooked rolls, frozen and good for transport. Genesis can see his breath on the air as he laughs with another man over some stupid joke he only half heard, the two of them passing boxes between them as people come closer and make requests. Angeal in particular trudges about, regularly making trips out to the road to speak with people coming in, making sure no one gets blocked in.

Genesis has to make sure their own truck bed is sufficiently supplied and, his careful eye watching the crowd get larger, makes the executive decision that this is where they need to go. Things are dwindling, and while people are perfectly civil now, that can change.

He waves Angeal over when their eyes catch in that annoying way they've been doing lately, and Angeal heeds. Genesis has already cranked the truck to warm up by the time Angeal heaves himself into the driver's seat. Backing out is a long ordeal where Genesis offers to get out and direct three times and Angeal keeps politely but insistently saying he's got it. They do indeed get out, and they make it home, chatting idly about who they saw, about who they can pass some food on to, how much space they have and what can stay out overnight, seeing as it is below freezing. Genesis can't believe he's thankful for the cold weather coming on so early.

They get home and promptly divide and conquer, transferring boxes from the bed, dividing their contents between their inside freezer and their garage freezer. They feel like a unit again, well oiled and balanced, moving around each other quickly and efficiently. Genesis asks a question and Angeal has the answer. They feel so simple, so easy, so alike to before.

It's so easy, in fact, that they both forget themselves.

Genesis's feet hurt, and he doesn't even feel like making it to the bedroom. He stumbles from the kitchen to the living room and collapses on the couch, groaning softly into a throw pillow. He hears Angeal's footsteps but doesn't open his eyes, lids fluttering as he sighs.

A hand cards through his hair, heavy and familiar and oh so gentle. Genesis hums to it. Angeal hums back at him. Genesis is dozing off before he knows any better.

If it was only that, Genesis might've been able to go on without minding. Waking up to find Angeal in the same bed as him? Not so much. He nearly jabbed his husband in the throat on reflex.

The largest issue is that Genesis wakes up in Angeal's arms and does not want to move at all. He wants to stay there, where he can feel the warmth and weight of his husband he missed so dearly.

But there's no pure enjoyment he can take here. Every moment of lingering contentment wars with what his mind knows, the things his heart tries to discard. Genesis knows enough to know that letting himself love Angeal again is a horrible idea.

Except Angeal must've woken up while Genesis was quietly panicking, because he suddenly holds him tighter.

"Don't think too hard about this, Rhapsody," Angeal whispers. His hand travels up the length of Genesis's spine and scratches lightly between his shoulder blades. "Sleep. Be angry with me in the morning."

Genesis, against his better sense, goes to sleep. Also against his better sense, he can't summon the anger he needs to lay into Angeal in the morning. How dare he get so presumptuous, bringing Genesis to his bed, holding him in his sleep knowing damn well they don't do that anymore.

Except when Angeal starts explaining himself as Genesis cooks breakfast, the anger won't come. Angeal talks about how the redhead wouldn't stop clinging to his collar and Angeal couldn't bear to leave him. Genesis listens and has the horrible realization that he misses his husband enough that the inflexible barriers he'd tried to raise are already crumbling. He thought he could drag this out for eternity. Genesis thought he was the one with spare time, enough that he could wait Angeal out.

He was wrong. Too late to do anything about it now.

Genesis never blows up at him that morning. Angeal keeps watching him warily, waiting for it to come, and Genesis doesn't bother to tell him that there's nothing coming. The last advantage he has is that Angeal still thinks Genesis hates him more than he loves him. Genesis will have to abuse that assumption until he figures out what to do.

—

It isn't a special day. Genesis couldn't tell it from any other. Apple cider is simmering away on the stove, the whole house smelling of spiced apples and citrus. He's flicking through jobs, resigning himself to something remote. He's not getting anything in town worth his salt. Fucking transphobes.

Checks with no small amount were coming while Angeal was gone, so thankfully, Genesis didn't have to pick himself up immediately after…everything. He had time to find his way back to the light, but it wasn't easy. He was alone. He had people to call, of course, Sephiroth even stayed with him for about a month once he had a gap in his schedule. Genesis can't tell the man for the sake of not letting him get a big head, but Genesis doesn't think he'd be alive if not for that month. He was a right bitch and Sephiroth had to endure him more than he comforted him, but it was what Genesis needed. He's thanked Sephiroth enough, but he does make sure to check up on him more frequently these days.

Genesis is no longer in that position. In fact, now he feels like he's at his house too much, considering the fact Angeal is also here. The first two months of Angeal being home was more pointed—Angeal had a laundry list a mile long of things he wanted to do with the yard. Genesis had been maintaining the house and the flower beds closest to it, but he can admit that looking out over their land just made him tired. He could remember their plans for all of it, of course he did, but they were supposed to do it together. Of course he didn't get anything done.

It's good that working on the yard was the first thing Angeal decided to do when he got home. Starter trees have been planted with their poles and ropes. He finally changed the mulch beds to rock. He put up a pump house around the well, and he had contractors come to set up the full sprinkler system, front yard and backyard. He'd also promised Genesis a patio, and Genesis wants the porch screened in. Genesis can keep finding ways to make the list longer. He's already thinking about fencing in the back yard so the deer quit eating all the buds off his roses.

All in all, it isn't a special day for Genesis to be ruminating all of this when the engine of Angeal's truck grumbles its way down the driveway, cutting out before doors open and close, open and close, and then his husband has entered the mud room.

"I'm back," Angeal calls out from behind the door. The sound of his boots knocking together thuds its way through the wall between them. His coat rustles loudly as he peels it off. "Smells good in here."

Genesis doesn't answer beyond a mildly acknowledging hum. Genesis has given some ground, some purposefully and some on accident, but Angeal doesn't get a 'welcome home' yet.

"I didn't make lunch, figure yourself something. The cider'll be ready by dinner," Genesis mutters when Angeal enters the kitchen. He keeps scrolling the jobs on his screen, lip turning up at the sheer number that don't want to disclose their pay rates. Goddamn skeeves.

Angeal demonstrates common sense and also doesn't respond to this with anything more than a hum. Genesis doesn't look up as Angeal putters around making himself a sandwich. At least not when Angeal can see him. Genesis almost expected him to start cooking something, so the cold cut and two bags of chips that are selected nearly gives him whiplash.

Angeal says his grace and eats at the counter. Angeal used to go to services, not because he thought the church was right, but because he found it part of his worship. Genesis used to go with him as more of a solidarity thing—and people around here already thought him a heathen, he might as well get a few brownie points by showing up on Sundays. Genesis could only endure one month of attending services after Angeal left, and then the whispers got to being too much, and he stopped putting the front up.

Angeal hasn't gone back since he returned either. Genesis has unlabeled feelings on that, but if he had to name one, he might call it relief.

Genesis keeps doing what he's doing. Genesis has a moment of clarity about the absurdity of the moment—two husbands in their kitchen not speaking with each other at all. You'd think they were married to people other than each other.

"I can't stand this," Genesis blurts against his will. Angeal pauses chewing, and slowly turns around. His cheek is squished up like a squirrel's. He looks so absurd, and Genesis's head is spinning, chest caved in with what they've become. "Figure out if you're leaving me or not."

Angeal stares, then slowly resumes chewing. Genesis stares at him, hoping he looks like he's fuming and not like he's about to burst into tears. Angeal swallows his bite. The look in his eyes is stone sober, eyes flicking as he watches Genesis carefully.

"I was waiting on you to figure out if you're leaving me or not," Angeal confesses. He's ever so gentle with his tone. Genesis is sick of his gentle, acquiescing tone.

"And you're, what, not doing anything about it?" Genesis snaps at him, "Is your name on the deed or not? Is your name on our marriage certificate or not?"

"Are you horny?" Angeal interrupts him midway through, face serious as the grave.

That actually stops Genesis. He stares at Angeal. Angeal calmly meets him, nothing in his stance suggesting that he's joking.

"Are you fucking serious," Genesis answers, laughing incredulously.

"No, I'm doing this right," Angeal says, which is objectively an insane statement from a man on thin ice. "You tell me what to do and I do it. I don't get in your space. I touch you as much as you let me. I've made no comments on what you do or what you want done—"

"You made comments about the pantry last night, actually."

"I ignore when you're being petty," Angeal adds on without missing a beat. "I'm doing this your way and I have been. You're horny, and I'm here, and you're not happy about it."

Genesis opens his mouth and shuts it. Then, for the sake of his point, he sneers.

"Yeah, I've been going 18 months celibate when we were very active, what do you think?" Genesis scoffs. "My sexual frustration is irrelevant. This is about you."

"No it's not." Angeal deflects it like it's the most natural thing on the planet. He hasn't moved any closer, but Genesis holds his breath like they're right on top of each other. "This is about you, and it should be. I've been trying to be a…a good husband."

The hesitance before he says it doesn't go unnoticed. Genesis openly huffs a breath of disbelief at him. Angeal's face flashes with pain, and Genesis's vindication is stronger than his sympathy today. That doesn't mean his sympathy isn't dangerously active. The guilt is knee-jerk.

"I'll do that however you tell me to." It's only now that Angeal takes a step forward, and when Genesis makes no move, another step. Another, then half a step, and his husband is right there, all deep blue eyes swimming with love. "And if you want me fucking you to be part of that, I'll do it."

Genesis still hasn't breathed. Their eyes are locked in complete silence for far too long.

Genesis lunges upwards and smashes their lips together for the first time in eighteen months.

Genesis is violent and Angeal is steady as ever, only moving to the side when their teeth knock together, but never shying away as Genesis crashes against him. Their lips remember their rhythm again, both their tongues going the ways they've already mapped out. Angeal's arm wings around Genesis and holds him firm, pulling him in as he presses closer. Genesis's hands end up in Angeal's hair, a little longer than before, following the line of his beard hungrily.

"Couch," Genesis demands when he comes up for breath, but he only need shallow sips before he dives back in. He forgot how hungry he was until he'd tasted Angeal again, thankful there wasn't mustard on that damn sandwich. "Couch, now."

Angeal lifts him up like it's nothing and Genesis does not swoon from it, never mind he's a little heavier than before. He knew objectively that Angeal would still be strong enough for his extra pounds, but feeling it is so different from knowing it. He attacks the column of Angeal's neck so his husband can see where he's walking, working on a set of hickeys. He's been dying to do that. He'd never be jealous of the spray tanned, fried blonde hussies in this town, but he grew up with enough of them back home in Banora to know they have much less qualms about cheating on their husbands than Angeal does.

(Isn't that the most ironic part of it all? Angeal said he didn't cheat when Genesis accused him of it, and even though Genesis didn't act like it, he believed him immediately. The man and his damn honor. He wouldn't, even away for fifteen months doing god knows what, he wouldn't. Genesis believes that, probably to his own detriment, but he does believe.)

Angeal sits on the couch and keeps Genesis in his lap, kissing him, feeling up and down his back and hips and sides. Gripping at him and all the places with more fat than before, clutching almost greedily, and Genesis realizes he may have also underestimated his husband's interest in returning to this part of them.

"What do you want, honey?" Angeal mouths against the underside of Genesis's jaw, groaning softly when Genesis rolls his hips and finds Angeal's dick chubbing up in his jeans. "You miss fucking my face, don't you? You want that?"

Genesis clenches down without even thinking, and he feels the wetness drool out of him. He's thought about it, alone with his hand or a toy, careful to keep it for when Angeal's out or away because Genesis can never fully be quiet. He's thought of Angeal's beard burning his inner thighs, thought of standing up with his hand in Angeal's hair and thrusting his hips, or even straddling his head and thrusting down, always spreading himself all over Angeal's face. He's thought of it so much, but it's not what he's been wanting most.

It's been fucking torture, because if Genesis doesn't watch his face, what he ends up seeing is Angeal's hands. Tanned and worn, calloused but gentle. He's had to watch the muscle in Angeal's wrist pulse as he swirls a glass.

"I want you to finger me until I cum," Genesis orders, running his teeth over Angeal's ear. "And once I do, I want you to do it again. If I can string a sentence together, you're not done."

Angeal's breath stutters and he hoarsely manages, "Lube," before he quickly sets Genesis to the side, practically launching himself towards his bedroom. Or maybe Genesis's. Genesis doesn't know, he's too busy stripping his clothes off, determined to be naked by the time his husband returns.

He succeeds, and the look on Angeal's face as his breath punches out is more than worth it. Genesis grins even makes a show of leaning one elbow onto the couch arm, stretching his legs out as he lays on his side, his other hand teasing at the junction of his thighs, stroking the coarse red hair that trails down his stomach, pinching the new layer of fat on his hips.

Genesis is still opening his mouth to taunt him when Angeal crosses the distance between them and sits on the other end of the couch, dragging Genesis to him by his ankles. Genesis's yelp is shortly followed with laughter. A smile is quirking on Angeal's lips too.

Angeal rests each of his freckled legs against his lap. The fabric of his jeans rubs against the back of Genesis's knees, while the soft fabric of his plaid tickles the top of Genesis's thighs. Genesis knows he feels Angeal's cock against his calf, but he does nothing more than a teasing graze before Angeal gets strict and moves his leg. No fun.

There should be more bitterness, Genesis thinks, but he can't summon it. His husband's hands are running up his calves and down his thighs, marveling openly, fingers tracing stretch marks that weren't there before. Genesis says nothing, breathing heavy with his mouth open and his eyes lidded, watching Angeal study how his redheaded husband has changed.

"When I was away," Angeal says softly, fingers crossing softly over the raised lines crossing Genesis's freckled skin. "I'd think of you here, back home. A little you in one arm. Comfortable and beautiful."

Genesis's heart does something between a fall and a flight. His breath catches, and Angeal glances up at him, but his hand doesn't stop its journey around Genesis's thighs. In fact, the journey lengthens to include Genesis's waist, gripping without groping, thumb pressing gently as it strokes over his freckled belly.

"I'd put you everywhere I could think of. Napping here on the couch. Reading by the bay windows." There's the small click of a bottle cap opening, and Genesis remembers where Angeal's other hand is. Angeal hums deep in his chest as he raises one of Genesis's legs up, hooking his knee over Angeal's shoulder and behind his head. "Fucking yourself against the wall in the shower."

Genesis did. It was months that passed before he managed it, months before the hormonal swings got to him badly enough to do it, but he did. He remembers early before Angeal left, Genesis had been so tight, and they couldn't fuck as fast as they used to. Genesis had that dildo that was smaller than Angeal, suction cup on the base, the one that usually felt too small but had felt just right for those few months. Angeal would hold his hands, encouraging him softly as Genesis pushed back, fucking himself against the wall. Genesis thought of him when he did it, thought of Angeal kneeling in front of him with worship in his eyes, telling Genesis to keep going, asking him if it felt good.

Oh, Genesis remembers. His breath gets shallow and his eyes sting. Angeal looks him in the eye, and Genesis knows he sees it.

"I can stop," Angeal says softly. "I want to tell you. I want to take care of you, and I want to explain, but it can just be…"

It can just be fucking, is probably what he means, but Genesis knows he can't say that and mean it. It could never just be fucking for Angeal. He carries a sort of devotion in his attention that can't be divided from his lust. His quiet would only be to Genesis's benefit.

Genesis turns his head away and covers his eyes with his forearm.

"I don't care," Genesis lies, "just don't stop."

Angeal hums somewhere beyond Genesis's blacked out vision. "Change your mind any minute."

It's worse when he can't see, which he should've known. They weren't vanilla before, and both of them have worn a blindfold in bed. Genesis has no right to be surprised when Angeal's hand slaps his thigh gently, an appreciative hum following soon after. Another soft slap. Deep hum. Another, not even hard enough to sting.

"Are you watching my thighs jiggle?" Genesis asks incredulously once he figures out what's happening. Angeal laughs softly and then doesn't answer before slapping his thigh again. Genesis squawks.

"I like it." There's no shame in the soft way Angeal says it, just an intimate confession with an undertone of hunger. "I had to think of you happy so I didn't think about what I was missing."

Genesis's chest wants to hollow out again but Angeal refuses to let the feeling sit. (Genesis gets that old feeling he's had from their childhood on, the one where it feels like Angeal can read his mind.) A hand surprises Genesis by passing over his chest, pinching at his nipples. Not too hard, not too soft, enough for Genesis to feel it and enough for his back to arch, somewhere between pushing into his husband's touch and trying to get away.

"But nothing I could think of did you any justice." Genesis jolts when he feels a kiss to the inside of his knee. The redhead squirms at the sensation, gasping softly, and Angeal's hand leaves his chest to softly press against his stomach, holding him in place. He murmurs against freckled skin, leaving soft, wet kisses behind, "You opened the door and it was all I had not to fall out. My knees were so weak. You still do that to me."

Angeal's other hand travels up Genesis's resting thigh, fingers nudging at the fine hairs he finds, callouses catching on wetness. Genesis is so turned on he's dizzy with it. Angeal hasn't even touched him yet, not where Genesis wants it, not where it matters most.

"Still gorgeous," Angeal says softly. Fingers follow the path of stretch marks once again, pressing gently, massaging, kneading like Angeal has to find all the ways pressure moves his husband's skin. "So gorgeous."

The hand following the darker lines on his skin stays faithful, and the hand Angeal was using to brace Genesis's leg starts to work its way down. Genesis breath gets shorter with every inch teased, fingertips trailing down with his palm barely grazing after.

Angeal's hand finally, finally, parts Genesis's folds, knuckles nudging the heavy underside of his dick. His hips jerk, a whine ripping from him at the sensitivity and the cold wetness on his husband's fingers. A knuckle nudges him again, then becomes two knuckles holding Genesis's cock between them. The hand that was exploring becomes firm, holding him in place when Genesis starts to squirm. Genesis gasps for air to feed the punched out noises his throat makes as Angeal jerks him off, the arm covering his eyes leaving in favor of digging into the couch arm. His other finds Angeal somehow, maybe the skin of his shoulder or his bicep, and Genesis digs his nails in. Angeal hums but makes no indicator of pain.

"One last mission." It's the most bitter Genesis thinks he's ever heard Angeal sound. "They said one last mission, five months tops. I thought I'd be home sooner. I thought I'd be home in time. Knew you'd be angry, but I thought…"

Angeal doesn't explain any further, and he doesn't need to. He was wrong. They both know he was wrong. Genesis's arm isn't there to shield himself when the tears come unbidden, the wound old and ever weeping.

"You should've said no," Genesis says hoarsely. His eyes sting and his cock throbs and he throws his head back, overcome. "You could have."

"I should have. And I didn't, because I thought it was the right thing," Angeal agrees. The two fingers are joined by a thumb, passing over the tip of Genesis's cock over and over. Genesis keens softly and throws his head back against the arm rest, eyes growing unfocused, Angeal's voice piercing past the sound of his own breathing. "I was thinking of how I'd find work, how you'd find work, childcare, the trucks, taking care of us. Taking care of you. I thought I could do it best if I did one more and cashed in my retirement."

Genesis hears him, he swears he does, and he even halfway focuses, but the pleasure between his legs keeps going, wave after wave of it. Genesis has to grit his teeth around his next whine, trying to hold back, certain he can't be this desperate, but fuck him, he's dripping. They'll probably still need the lube for when Angeal really gets to it, but he won't need anymore for this part.

"It was stupid, honey, I know it was." Angeal's thumb swipes over the head of Genesis's cock and this time doesn't leave, rubbing back and to as his knuckles keep jerking Genesis off. "I had thought you could at least be happy, once you had her."

It'd be less painful if he stabbed Genesis in the stomach, but somehow it's no less pleasurable. Genesis is officially too overwhelmed, turning his face away and closing his eyes. He doesn't care what Angeal sees of him, only that he doesn't see the tears.

It doesn't matter if it's from pain or stimulation, Genesis can't have him see this now. Not now. Not while his stomach keeps tightening and he's approaching the edge too fast, faster than he thought he could do anymore, but that was with toys and nothing but the sound of his own voice. This is his husband. His husband's hands, his husband's voice, his husband's eyes. Genesis wants to cum and cry at the same time and he doesn't know what to do with that.

"I thought my love would show to you through the checks that came home. I don't know why I didn't know better." Angeal's mouth is in his inner knee again, speaking there, biting gently as one hand speeds its work between Genesis's legs and the other holds his hips down as well as he can. Genesis's moans are reaching pitches he's used to hitting after fifteen minutes with a vibrator, not ten minutes in his husband's lap.

"Almost," Genesis gasps out, hungry for it despite it all. He wants his husband to shut up and keep talking and make sure he cums, and he misses him so badly, but he shouldn't. God, he shouldn't, and it doesn't matter if—

"I should have, my love, I know I should have," Angeal whispers reverently, "I'm sorry I didn't."

Genesis's back arches off the couch, one of his hands definitely dragging bloody lines down Angeal's back as he falls off the edge. He clenches down on nothing and clenches his teeth hard with each one, eyes rolling, a keen that doesn't feel like his ripping high from his throat. Angeal's grasp keeps him from thrashing himself off the couch, and Genesis moans far louder as Angeal's other hand keeps working Genesis's cock into oversensitivity.

Genesis's post-nut clarity hits him with utter vengeance. His eyes open and he blinks away his own tears blearily, turning his head to look at his husband. His husband is, predictably, already watching him. Genesis has to trudge through murky waters of his mind to find the words he's looking for. He's not pleased to be delivering them, but they need to be said.

For his own sake. Not Angeal's. But because it's what he's had to think, over and over, months on months, just to cope with doing it all alone.

"It wouldn't have mattered if you'd been here," Genesis rasps. "You wouldn't have met her."

And the confession, quieter, still colored with shame that he's held ever since that moment in the hospital: "I didn't even meet her."

Genesis can't look his husband directly in the eye. His husband doesn't say anything for several long, long moments. Long enough Genesis stops feeling feverish with sex and a chill hits his skin, goosebumps raising. The tears are stinging again. He's back there in the hospital and he can't find his way out.

He doesn't get to worry about it for long. Angeal's lowering the leg on his shoulder the next second, (and ah, there's a twinge, he'll be sore from that tomorrow), setting it to one side as he turns and carefully lays down on top of Genesis. His plaid top smells faintly of outside and his spiced cologne. Genesis couldn't stop himself from putting his arms around Angeal's neck even if he did have energy. At least, that's what he consoles himself with. It smells better than the hospital, better than the OR, better than Genesis's own sweat and piss and far, far too much blood.

Angeal doesn't call him out at least. No, Angeal only winds a hand beneath Genesis, massaging his fingers into the small of the redhead's back. Genesis holds on to him and tries not to get swept away, but he can't stop the tears now that they've started. He sniffs hard, trying to keep it at bay, and Angeal shushes him gently, bumping their foreheads together until Genesis looks up at him.

"Listen to me," Angeal says, soft but firm, blurred in Genesis's waterlogged vision. "You are no less the father of my child. You made me a father, and you are a great father even now. You did all you could do and more than I could've done."

That cracks whatever was left. Genesis wails, and he doesn't know all of what comes after. He says her name over and over—he's hardly allowed himself to think it—sobbing out everything he kept down in the aftermath. He was alone, but he felt like he had to keep it together. He had to keep it together so he could tell Angeal once he was home, because surely one of them needed to be some kind of stable. They could take turns or something. That's what couples are supposed to do.

But then Angeal wasn't back when he thought he'd be. The time kept going on. Genesis kept trying to hold it together. He was angry and passionate and dying a slow death by Greek fire. He hasn't seen her headstone since he bought it, doesn't think of the coffin, oh the coffin.

Angeal's arms surround Genesis and Genesis hangs on, babbling nonsense through his tears, and Angeal holds him through it all. His voice stays steady and loving, soothing even when it wavers. It takes some time for Genesis to realize the wetness on his neck is Angeal's tears, not his own.

For the first time since…anything. Everything. Her. They hold each other and they cry together. What they should've been doing since the beginning. What they could have been doing if Angeal was here.

"I should have been here," Angeal repeats, and he says it like an oath, his voice wet with his tears. Genesis realizes he might've said more of his thoughts aloud than he'd meant to. "I should've never left at all. I never should've left you."

Something in the words rips from Angeal, a wounded sound deep in his chest following, like it'll cut him in two from the inside. They both cry more. Genesis is thinking of all the times he sat on their bed or in the tub made for two people or across from the crib Angeal hadn't finished before he left. He's thinking of all those times he sat down and wondered what he did wrong, wondering if Angeal's god had an explanation for how he lost his husband and his daughter one after the other.

Genesis is thinking of those days and nights, the nights where he believed the worst of himself, the nights where he wasn't sure he'd make it to anywhere. The nights he'd truly started giving up. The morning Angeal was back, and the relief that he'd felt before the rage kicked in. He'd waited so long. And there was his husband, too late, but there.

Genesis had only ever wanted him there.

He doesn't know what Angeal's thinking of. He doesn't even know where they sent Angeal, and Angeal won't be able to talk about it. Angeal's job used to be Genesis's job. He knows how it works, their corner of the military, and he knows how lonely it has to be. That's why they were leaving. Why they'd started trying for a baby. It was the first selfish move they'd made in years, and they made it together, and this was meant to be the start of their new life. Genesis hates this town, but he loves the quiet out in the woods, so they compromised.

Genesis thinks of it all, how far they went and how far they've fallen, and he cries until he has too little in him to make noise. Angeal's shoulders are still trembling above him. Genesis is collected enough to rub his shoulders gently, staring up at the ceiling.

See? A small voice in his head points out, dry with humor. Taking turns.

Genesis doesn't know how long it is before Angeal's shoulders shift with intent to move. Genesis does know his arms are tingling when he releases Angeal's neck, watching his husband rise above him. His eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks riddled with trails that disappear into his beard.

"Still works," Angeal says a bit dryly, his mouth twitching into a half smirk that he can't quite hold on to. "Knew you were horny."

"Shut up," Genesis hisses, though he can feel his cheeks burning. It's an old joke with some mild truth—Genesis does get cranky when he's pent up—but Genesis retains the right to feel offense at the implications. Getting an orgasm wrung out of him doesn't guarantee his approval, just…calms him down a little.

"You didn't even bother to get dramatic with me when you asked if I was leaving you. I thought you could use the oxytocin."

Genesis gapes at him and Angeal laughs gently, grunting as he heaves himself off the couch. He turns around and picks Genesis up, one arm behind his back and another beneath his knees. Genesis does nothing to fight him, but for the sake of appearances, he has to protest.

"Put me down," Genesis demands with absolutely no weight. Angeal keeps walking like Genesis didn't say a word. "Hew-ley."

"Rhap-so-dos," Angeal enunciates right back at him.

"What's this anyways, you're supposed to be fingering me to tears," Genesis accuses, admittedly scrambling for something.

"I've put you in enough tears," Angeal says firmly. "Unless you'd really, really like to cum again, I think we're done for the night."

Genesis could. He could demand three more orgasms of Angeal and he knows Angeal would. Only issue is—Genesis has cried himself out and he mainly wants to sleep in his husband's arms. It's been so long. How bad off has he been to finally get some sex and then he doesn't want it yet?

"You really did a number on me," Genesis accuses the moment it comes to mind.

"I know," Angeal sighs. "I'm sorry."

"You can never do that to me again," Genesis demands against his husband's neck while they're together in the tub, Angeal gently washing him down with a cloth.

"I won't," Angeal says, voice vibrating under Genesis's cheek.

"Don't you dare leave me alone," Genesis says quietly once they're in bed. The feeling is so relieving and so painful, having his husband's arms around him, hearing his strong heartbeat when Genesis lays his head on his chest. "I won't do this again. If you leave again, I'm finding a boytoy."

"As is your right," Angeal rumbles, but Genesis hears a bit of laughter in it. "I love you."

And because Genesis is a weak man at heart, he couldn't stop himself from saying, "I love you, too," even if he'd actually tried.

It's the best he's slept since before.

—

Things change.

They've lost their reasons to dance around each other anymore. They have the worst of the conversations, and it opens the door to a few better ones. Hello kisses start up again. Goodbye kisses start up again. They visit her grave together, and Genesis watches his husband trace the letters of her name, whispering the same way he used to with his ear pressed to Gendsis's stomach. A lot of tears are shed. More of them are good ones than Genesis thought there'd be.

Genesis finally lets Angeal into his own kitchen, and the man wisely uses his new privileges to bring Genesis breakfast in bed nine days in a row. Yes, Genesis counted. It was good breakfast.

Genesis finally asks Angeal about going to church one Sunday morning, and Angeal stops in his tracks, face very carefully neutral.

"I think I'm done with that." Angeal sounds downright uncharacteristically closed off, and Genesis raises his brows immediately. Angeal sighs and explains, "My mission…"

Genesis doesn't need any more. He's had plenty of missions he'd rather not explain. That's all he needs to know, unless Angeal decides differently one day.

They aren't before, but they're something new and a little more secure. Other people start noticing too, usually at a grocery store or old man Dixon's bonfires or a dinner one of them inevitably gets invited to. They notice Angeal's arm around Genesis's waist again, and they notice Genesis kissing his husband on the cheek again.

Genesis catches some bitter looks from the younger butchered blondes of the town, but a few of the older women look very approving. One even quietly says that she's glad everything worked out between them, calling them 'such a handsome couple'.

Genesis knows what the majority of the town is like, but a few of the events slowly reveal he has a few more allies than he thought. Loving his husband again takes away quite a bit of his pessimism, apparently.

He and Angeal do the dishes together again, Angeal washing and Genesis drying to put them away. Angeal mentions re-coating the cabinets. Genesis says he wants his fence first. Despite Angeal being incredibly stupid by going away, he was unfortunately right about his last mission—they're financially set for a good while. They have the option to do both and the ability to finish them soon, but they argue semantics of outside work when summer is on the way, but oh, it'll be hotter in a month or so; but why don't they just work inside and let the house air out? Well, Genesis hates when bugs get inside, and that's why Angeal needs to hurry up and screen in the porch.

Angeal eats him out on the counter and Genesis agrees to do the cabinets first. They're back to something like normal, all in all.

Genesis isn't expecting anything new, but Angeal sneaks his arms around Genesis while the redhead is making coffee one morning, nosing through soft hairs and kiss at his nape and the sides of his neck.

"You're clingy," Genesis comments idly.

Clingy is Genesis's thing. Angeal has a purposeful touch, hands in the small of his back, on his elbow, hovering over Genesis's waist when he passes by. But he's not clingy.

What's wrong? Is what Genesis is actually asking, but they've been together long enough to not need such heavy words.

"Tomorrow night," Angeal mumbles beneath Genesis's right ear, kissing behind it, soft as ever. "Let me take you out."

Genesis stops in the middle of prepping the coffee, blinking in mild surprise. Going out was Genesis's thing, back when they lived in an actual city, but eating out is pretty much impossible in a small town. The best they have is a few gas stations with kitchens that sell varieties of fried chicken and fairly mediocre sides. Except for Ms. Erin's mac-n-cheese. That's the best mac-n-cheese Genesis has had in his fucking life.

"Just to clarify, we're going out."

Because Genesis can't get too excited. Angeal isn't big on eating out—there's a narrow margin of cuisines that he can't make at home—so Genesis could be thinking of a rather nice place and then they end up at a steakhouse or something.

"Do your worst and dress your best," Angeal elaborates accordingly, leaving a parting kiss on Genesis's shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. "We're going out."

Genesis is probably far too excited for that entire day and then the day after. He didn't realize until he was fishing through his closet how long it had been since they'd gone on a date, and now that it's happening, he's damn near frantic. He does his makeup three hours before they need to leave and then spends every minute of those three hours planning an outfit in his closet. Angeal doesn't even knock on the closet door to ask if he's ready.

Genesis fidgets in front of his closet mirror for another ten minutes after he's…probably ready. He hasn't pulled out his fancy stuff in a while, and it's only now that he's put it on that he realizes the weight he picked up makes it look different. He frowns at the mirror, tugging at edges of the dress that used to hang looser, eyes flicking from his shoulders to his far more noticeable stomach.

He loves this dress. It's one of the few dresses he keeps—he threw so many of them away after she died—and it's been his favorite a long time. It's blood red and sequined, something he's not always a fan of, but the way the arrows of sequins layer over each other is particularly hypnotic. When he first bought it, his waist cinched in, and the large arrows laid flat over his middle. Now he distends the arrows with every breath, and the dress clings enough that his hip dips show. It ends about mid-thigh, and he's always paired it with a pair of strappy black heels that, thankfully, still fit. He still loves how the straps dance up his calves, but the rest…

He almost doesn't walk out of the closet. This is the dress he wants to wear, but it doesn't make him feel the way it used to before, even though he objectively knows he looks nice.

Self-consciousness is a new and old feeling all at once. The last time he struggled with it was back in school, when his acne was at its worst and looking in the mirror always came with a sinking feeling of dread. It's been a long time since then. It's been a long time since he's looked in a mirror and didn't know what to do. It's been a long time since he's seen something about himself that he didn't like that he couldn't fix with a style change. All his clothes have been like this for the past three hours, and they'll keep being that way if he tries again.

Genesis pops his cheeks lightly, careful not to smudge his blush, and forces himself to suck it up. He's not going to be late for their date, even in fashion-ability, because this is their first in a long time and they both obviously want this to be nice. So. He's dolled up. He's done what he can for what he has. He will get over it.

So he grabs a clutch and walks into the living room to be greeted with Angeal's back, a red button-up stretched to high heaven over his shoulders. Even from behind, Genesis can see he's got the nice belt, the one with the overly expensive silver buckle that Genesis bought him years ago. A glance down to Angeal's feet reveals he's wearing the matching boots, engraved leather and silver buckles and all.

And his ass has always looked good in slacks. Genesis whistles without an ounce of shame.

When Angeal turns, Genesis has to whistle again—top three buttons undone, enough for some chest hair to peak out? His husband is practically slutting himself out today.

"Hello gorgeous," Angeal says on sight, and Genesis preens despite himself. Angeal means it, and his eyes say he means it, roving up and down Genesis's body over and over. Genesis only hesitates when Angeal's eyes linger on his stomach, gaze no less intense than anywhere else. "I remember this one."

"You better," Genesis laughs, and despite himself, a bit of the nerves leaks out.

Angeal's eyes dart up to his face immediately, intense gaze becoming curious, stepping closer to Genesis hesitantly.

"It's nothing," Genesis tries to reassure, but he doesn't mean it, and he doesn't sound like he means it. "I just…haven't worn this in a while."

Understanding washes over Angeal's face immediately and he shakes his head as he closes the distance between them. Kisses are pressed carefully to Genesis's jaw—his husband knows better than to smudge his work—and Angeal pulls him into his arms, never minding that Genesis is a tad taller than him in his heels.

"I'm into it, if that wasn't clear," Angeal says softly, brushing Genesis's hair away from his eyes. "I love how you look, and I love having more of you to look at. But if you aren't comfortable…"

"I want to go out," Genesis says firmly. "Don't you dare suggest we stay home, we're going on this date."

"I was about to say I reserved a private area for us. A booth in a corner. It'll be just you and me." Angeal smiles, and Genesis, even with a slightly fouled mood, can't really resist returning it. He's been too happy lately. "And if you don't like it there, we can do it the way we used to."

"We rolled in the hay out of necessity, don't try and get nostalgic with me." Genesis sniffs, but he can't stop smiling as Angeal steps away, hearing the yes, let's do it, between his words. "Although…the truck bed used to be nice."

"Don't get nostalgic with me about that truck," Angeal mutters as he leads Genesis to the garage, hand in hand, grabbing his suit jacket off the hook on the way out. "Buster didn't die fast enough for me."

"You loved that truck." Genesis cackles at the look of distaste on Angeal's face. Likely thinking of how often the Buster would backfire—hence the name. "Come on. We christened every surface of that thing. Don't tell me you don't have any sentiments?"

"Hrn," is all Angeal will answer, and Genesis's delighted laughter lasts until they're on the road.

It's a good hour and a half away, and as Angeal's hand keeps fondling Genesis's thigh, Genesis believes him more and more, and he checks himself in the truck mirror and feels a little more satisfied. Angeal can make bad decisions, but he doesn't lie to Genesis. He doesn't have it in him.

Genesis's confidence trickles back bit by bit, and by the time they're at the restaurant, he's strutting the same way he did fifteen pounds lighter and is quite happy about it. He steals Angeal's suit jacket, partly to be a minx and partly because he's cold. He credits the jacket for why he catches Angeal staring when he holds the door and Genesis passes by, lust-hot promises there in his eyes. Oh yes. Genesis is satisfied.

The restaurant is gorgeous. Genesis knows Angeal chose it because of the flowers wrapped around the columns dispersed throughout the building, oddly blocky for the forbidden forest vibe Genesis can definitely tell they're reaching for. It's two floors, stairs and a ramp leading up to another seating area, lit mostly by candles and wall sconces. Flowers sprout from the center of each table like they're growing from them. Every waiter and waitress wears a flower crown. The design and coordination has Genesis duly impressed.

"This used to be a courthouse," Angeal whispers as they're led to their reservation through the throng of tables. Genesis's hand stays securely in Angeal's the whole way. "Refurbished, obviously. They gutted the courtrooms to make private areas. Four a courtroom I believe, with dividers."

"Pricey," Genesis comments. "How'd you come by this?"

"The building owner may or may not be a certain son of someone we know."

Genesis turns that over in his brain, squinting as he tries to figure out who they know with a son old enough and rich enough for a place like…

Wait a damn minute.

"This can not be Shinra's place," Genesis hisses, suddenly very critical of the second floor and its railings, squinting to see if the gigantic chandelier hanging from the ceiling, vines wrapped around its spires and curves, could be hiding anything. "Since when does Rufus care about food service?"

"He doesn't." Angeal's lip quirks, poorly hidden amusement in his eyes. "He owns the building. The business belongs to Tseng."

That makes far more sense.

They're finally shown to their booth after passing a set of very heavy doors, and Genesis is once again happy to be impressed. The other booths around them are empty, just as Angeal promised. Flowers spring from the middle of the table, but they also line the tops of the separators that make the booths. Rose petals litter the ground, and portraits of flowers and their meaning hang up on the walls. A mural is painted onto the wall at the back of the booth, a riot of reds and blues, and Genesis is certain there was no better place Angeal could've found.

But who is he if he doesn't make Angeal work for it a little? Genesis doesn't say it outright, but Angeal has a satisfied air about him that borders on smug.

They talk like they used to, holding hands, sharing an appetizer. Their flower-crowned waiter is a darling, and he absolutely spoils Genesis with one of the best pinot grigio's he's had in his damn life. Genesis has had a lot of pinot grigios. This is no small feat.

Dinner's delightful. Asian was expected, but bougie Asian-Southern fusion is a surprise. The portions are good, Genesis turns his nose up at Angeal's pork belly and grits before he realizes it's pretty damn good. His shoyu tomago with caviar is nothing to sneeze at either.

"Thank Tseng for me," Genesis has to say over dessert, a pot au creme with miso caramel and a sesame brittle. "This is amazing."

"I will be." Angeal can't completely quell the pride in his voice and, for once, Genesis doesn't try to humble him.

They take their sweet time, drinking and finishing off their desserts, but Genesis notices Angeal getting oddly…squirmy. Genesis ignores it for a bit, but he can hear Angeal's knee bouncing by the wall the heel of his boot keeps catching on the floor.

"Whatever it is, spit it out," Genesis says into his glass as he works on draining the last of his pinot grigio. "Or I'll start getting the wrong impression."

Angeal snaps damn near ramrod straight at the words, betraying himself, and Genesis only smiles behind his glass before he sets it down. Angeal gives him a lightly exasperated look before taking a deep, obviously bracing breath.

"I um. Ahem." Angeal clears his throat one more time and smiles, sheepish. Genesis crooks a brow amusedly but lets it fall, satisfied with notifying his husband that yes, he's onto him. "I don't know if I told you that I always regretted the way I proposed."

"Really?" Genesis plays along, seeing the ghost of a script Angeal has already written in his head. "Whyever would you?"

"Oh come on, I was a disaster." Angeal laughs and Genesis snorts obligingly. Angeal had tripped all over himself that day. Genesis found it adorable. And also— "I know you found the ring before."

"You shouldn't have hidden it in your sock drawer. All I do is steal your clothes, I don't know why you thought I'd be different with your socks," Genesis teases. "That's your fault for getting comfy ones."

"Yeah," Angeal chuckles, shaking his head. "I was too nervous to tell that you knew. And I remember thinking that, if you said no, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

Genesis sobers, watching Angeal look down at the table like he's far away. Genesis reaches over the table and rests his hand over Angeal's. Angeal's hand turns before his hand has even rested atop it, holding onto him, a calloused thumb rubbing over the back of Genesis's slightly smoother hand.

"I'd try to think of a life without you, about where I'd go or what I'd do, and it never felt right. Even before I knew I loved you that way. It's always been us."

Angeal squeezes his hand and looks up. Genesis is leaning forward a bit, and he doesn't know what his expression must look like, but it makes Angeal smile hard enough the dimple in his right cheek shows. It makes the love in his eyes overflow.

"I've known a long, long time, what I wanted, even before I knew what to call it." Angeal's hand squeezes again, tighter. "I forgot what that meant. Putting you first. Making sure I'd be by your side, not leaving it to chance. I got…I got wrapped up in how I didn't want her to grow up like I did. Struggling. Then I left you to struggle alone. I did that wrong, and I'll never have apologized enough."

Genesis doesn't respond. His attention is rapt, because Angeal is leading up to something, but what in the world…?

"That's why," and Angeal lets go of his hand, gently scooting his chair back, before he takes two slow steps to Genesis's side of the table. With their eyes locked, he slowly gets down on one knee. Genesis's hand is over his mouth before he thinks of it, a strangled noise leaving him as Angeal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black box. "I wanted to do it again."

"Angie," Genesis says before he can keep it down, hand lowering off his mouth. A childhood nickname he'd almost kicked the habit of, mainly for his own dignity, but he has nothing better. Tears are welling in his eyes already. "Ang, you didn't."

"You deserve this. You, the best my life has found. You, for there's no better for me." Every word has utter conviction, and Genesis isn't even standing and his legs feel weak. "I was granted my formal leave two days ago. I needed to make a way for you to believe me when I say I'm never leaving you again."

Genesis has to use both hands to fan his face, breathing shakily through his mouth. His bottom lip won't stop trembling. "You fucking bastard, you didn't tell me to wear something waterproof."

"I didn't trust you not to find me out like last time." Angeal laughs and Genesis chuckles wetly with him. Angeal's fingers look tight around the box, but he takes another bracing breath. "It is my shame that I left you alone when you needed me most. I could have done more. And I never want there to be another time in my life where I think of you and think that I didn't do enough."

He opens the box, and instead of one, two rings rest there. They're both gold, each one designed like three cords have been intertwined. One has a ruby inlaid in the top, the other a beautiful, vibrant lazulite.

"Genesis Rhapsodos, my love for who there's no better," Angeal swallows and holds the box higher, hands shaking like it's the first time, "Will you re-marry me?"

Another noise between a laugh and a sob rips from Genesis, both hands still fanning his face and losing the fight.

"This has absolutely no legal weight," Genesis says through his stupid tears.

"You love dramatic," Angeal answers, lips twitching into his gentle smile, happy and nervous. So, so loving. So, so his. Only for Genesis. This is only for Genesis.

"I love dramatic," Genesis chokes out, and then immediately caves to throwing himself from his seat and collapsing against his husband, arms thrown around his neck, trusting him to catch him around the waist so they don't fall. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Put the damn ring on me."

"Okay," Angeal says in Genesis's hair, but the steadiness is false. Despite his words, Genesis doesn't move from Angeal's arms when he starts rocking them back and to. Angeal's breaking right beyond Genesis's vision, swallowing thickly before he speaks. "Let's go get married again."

—

It's an affair only for them, set up in their own yard. They wait for spring to come. No one's there to see but the wildlife hanging in the pines and the man in the moon. Genesis gets a small, moonlit wedding, and something in him seals when Angeal puts a new ring on his finger, right next to the old one, and they whisper vows into each other's mouths before they kiss under their makeshift arch. It's a new security—one Genesis didn't realize he needed until he had it.

Genesis forgets his husband knows him well, sometimes. Which is fine—Angeal seems more than pleased to repeatedly remind him.

It's far more fine because Genesis also knows his husband, and they've been sexual creatures since before they figured out they were in love. Of course Genesis has something up his sleeve.

Up his sleeve is a lacy red number, ribbons crossed over his stomach and shoulders, garters high on his thighs and straining. Angeal's jaw drops and Genesis is quite satisfied.

A wedding needs a wedding night, doesn't it?

Well. The wedding night might turn into a wedding day. The delights of two retired military men is the utter lack of demand for them to be anywhere at all.

Genesis has pretty much no reason to be surprised by the two parallel lines on the test in his hand.

He doesn't know what to do with it. He just tried on a whim, from the stash he always keeps stocked because they've always…accidentally forgotten to take precautions. (Read: they usually get caught up in the moment because Genesis loves to taunt.)

He turns and leaves the bathroom in a daze, finding Angeal in the kitchen making breakfast. The bacon made Genesis want to gag. That's why he checked.

Fuck, they weren't even trying this time. What if it's not something Angeal wants anymore? What if one failure was enough? What if Genesis is wrong for, despite it all, despite knowing better, what if he's wrong for—

"Hon?" Angeal's voice snaps him out, a concerned look in his deep blue eyes as he moves a skillet off the eye and immediately makes his way over to Genesis. "What's—?"

He stops when he recognizes what's in Genesis's hand. He stops, and he stares at it, but he can't see the results from his angle. Genesis stares back at him, frozen in place.

"May I see it?" Angeal asks softly, low as he can. His eyes say, carefully, Do you want me to?

Genesis doesn't answer. He just holds it outward.

He watches Angeal's face. His eyes widen, his breath leaving his mouth in a soft woosh. He stares at it with his mouth open for a few seconds, then closes it, swallowing deeply. His expression is carefully closed by the time he looks back up at Genesis.

"Do you want to keep them?"

Genesis is terrified. He hadn't taken the time to register the fact he could…there could be a second. There could be a second he doesn't carry to term. There could be a second that he does carry to term. He'd never opened this world of possibility, even though it was always there. He always thought it'd be them and her headstone. He didn't think of…

"Do you?" Genesis asks, afraid, afraid, afraid.

"I want whatever you'll give me," Angeal says without missing a beat. "And I'll support whatever you do. I…I want to meet them. But if you don't, that's it."

Genesis looks down at the test in his hands. He thinks of the unfinished crib collecting dust. The baby clothes Genesis had bought, sealed away in boxes. The toys Angeal never finished, taking up a shelf all their own out in the shed. The room they haven't had the courage to repaint.

"I want to try," Genesis whispers, still so afraid, but certain of that much. "Fuck me, I want to try."

"Then we will," Angeal murmurs back, kissing Genesis's temple as he takes his husband into his arms. "We'll try again."

Genesis breathes unsteadily and leans into him, the test shaking lightly in his grasp.

They can try again.