Chapter Text
Sam's ears perked up in anticipation before he even opened his eyes.
Despite living in a safe place where there was virtually no risk of anyone hurting him, some habits die hard, and Sam was yet to be put in a situation where caution would get him into trouble instead of out of it.
It was raining outside; Sam heard the raindrops drumming against the roof, hitting the wall and pelting the window. In a past life, he'd probably curse under his breath, already exhausted at the thought of having to dress up in his porter uniform, slip on his boots and go outside into the dangerous rain to haul god knows what to people he never even saw. Thankfully for him, nowadays it only meant that he can bury himself deeper under the covers and snooze while listening to the almost hypnotic white noise whose biggest threat were soaked clothes.
Lou was still quiet, likely asleep, the rain outside becoming a lullaby instead of a waking call for her to prepare, because she'll be needed to help Sam with getting through a field of BTs.
Sam could pick up one more sound, a strange combination of a sigh and a groan. He wasn't sleeping alone, and he was vaguely aware, still like his mind was in the fog, of the weight and heat that was in the bed right next to him.
Surprisingly, that realization wasn't distressing or scary- if anything, it was comforting, a primal instinct that encouraged social mammals to huddle up when they slept for more safety. Sam smiled gently and slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting the wall on his side of the bed. The sound kept repeating behind Sam's back, sometimes longer, other times shorter. Sam slowly turned around to face it, stretching his legs with a muffled groan in the process.
Deadman was still sleeping beside him, completely unbothered by Sam's movement. Emboldened by that, Sam slowly lifted his head and propped it up on his fist, wanting to get a better look at his sleeping partner. It was somewhat strange; just then, Sam realized that he only really saw Deadman asleep after they became a couple, despite the fact that Deadman must've seen Sam asleep about as often as he saw him awake. It felt like he was able to see a glimpse into a very private and well-guarded ritual, like Deadman had allowed Sam to take a look at him at his most human and vulnerable.
Sam has always considered Deadman as someone very elegant and well-kempt, even when he was just wearing a faded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Now, his hair was completely tussled, his eyes were swollen from sleep, and he kept making these noises that seemed like, but weren't, snores. Sam was probably the only person who had access to the well-respected and liked head of the medical division of BRIDGES in such state, before he even put on his pants in the morning, and he had to admit that it made just lying next to him right now feel like a privilege. A satisfied smirk pulled on his lips, knowing that he had something nobody in BRIDGES could take from him.
It had to be a symptom of Sam spending too much time with his head in the lithograph books, but looking at Deadman now, he really reminded Sam of a sleeping bear. Come to think of it, they were somewhat similar; Big, fuzzy and, surprisingly enough, very cute. At that moment, Sam wished he could draw, so that he could at least sketch Deadman as a teddy bear-esque cartoon character, putting together a model kit or looking through a microscope. He decided that his next sculpturing project will be a small bear with a scar on his forehead.
Being with Deadman... well, it wasn't effortless, but it was easy.
Sam still remember the anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach he felt the first night they were supposed to share a bed together. It was one thing to fall asleep in each other’s arms for an hour-long nap after sex, oxy coursing through your veins and brain foggy with that post-coital bliss clouding your judgement, but it was something completely different to sleep right next to the man for eight hours straight with nothing to distract you.
The worst part of it had to be that Sam actually wanted that; He wanted it to go well, he wanted to fall asleep next to Deadman and wake up with him by his side, he just desperately didn't want to risk his phobia to act up and make Deadman feel rejected or sad. The rational part of his brain told him firmly that Deadman knew about his issues, and that he knew that Sam can't control it, so he will understand, but another, irrational part of him just wouldn't budge.
He sat there on his side of Deadman’s bed, battling in a war against himself while he could hear Deadman brushing his teeth in their bathroom, going through his nightly routine. Lou was asleep, belly filled with formula, in her crib, which was moved to Deadman's room (though Sam should probably think of it as "their bedroom") so that they could get up to tend to her during the night without the risk of not hearing her. That, and Sam just wouldn't feel comfortable if Lou would have to sleep in a different room- he'd feel like he was neglecting her, or making her feel unsafe. She needed to know that her daddy will always be there whenever she'll need him.
Well, him AND Deadman; The man was more than happy to step in as Lou's second parent- the word "dad" couldn't leave his throat, not yet, even though Sam had no problems with Deadman calling himself so. Deadman has always respected Sam's boundaries and allowed him to do things at his own pace, and Sam finally had a chance to repay with the same- he decided that he won't press Deadman about how he wants to call himself in regards to Lou, give him space and time to process his new role in life.
Deadman's footsteps got Sam out of his thoughts. He stood there, in the doorframe to his room (our bedroom), dressed in a gray t-shirt that he usually wore to bed and a pair of black boxers.
- So, Sam, ready to go to bed?- Deadman could barely hide the excitement in his voice.
Fuck, you can't fuck this up for him, look how happy he is!
- Yeah, yeah.- Sam nodded, but his eyes betrayed him, straying to the side.
Sam could hear Deadman's amused huff, and his slow footsteps on the bedroom floor. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat on his side, right across Sam, who still couldn't bring himself to look Deadman in the eyes.
- Sam.- Deadman said sweetly, with a hint of loving exasperation. He gently slid his hand on Sam's cheek, brushing against the grain of his stubble, making Sam feel sparks in his lower back.- You don't have to force yourself to do this. If you don't feel ready, just say so. What good will I have from having you sleep here if you'll just keep tossing and turning all night instead of sleeping?
Sam chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. Deadman's attitude was both a curse and a blessing, depending on Sam's mood and the problem at hand.
- I just...- Sam shrugged, sour smile on his lips.- I just don't wanna fuck this up. I want to sleep here, really, but it's like a part of my brain wants me to get a panic attack and screw up.
- How many times do I have to tell you that you won't fuck anything up?- Deadman gently caressed Sam's cheek, dragging his thumb on his cheekbone.- I know you can't control your reactions and that you're not trying to make me upset on purpose. No matter what will happen, if you'll choose to sleep in here or by yourself, it's all right. For now, just relax and let's try having you sleep here, all right?
- All right.- Sam said quietly and nodded. He still wasn't sure if Deadman was just so talented at calming people down, or if he just had such a disarming effect specifically on Sam.
They nestled on the bed, thankfully large enough to allow for some space between them. Sam pulled his pillow as close to his edge as possible, wanting to distance himself from Deadman. He felt guilty about it, but he needed to process the sheer fact that someone else was sleeping in the same bed.
- You need your space?- Deadman asked gently, his glasses knocking gently on his nightstand.
- Just for the start.- Sam answered quietly, slowly lying down.
- Just for the start.- Deadman echoed.- Of course. I, umm... I have a tendency to... reach out to my partners when I'm asleep.- Deadman lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck.- I want you to be prepared for that. Feel free to wake me up if I will, sadly I can't control it. Please don't take it personally.
- Right.- Sam nodded, his head hitting the pillow. His stomach tightened at the thought of being grabbed and pulled, but he tried to think rationally: Deadman would be asleep. How much strength a sleeping man can have?
- Good night, Sam.- Deadman lied down considerably more gently than Sam, the bed creaking slightly.- I hope that you'll sleep well. The clock is set for eight AM. I'll get up if Lou will start crying.
- Okay.- Sam answered quietly.- 'Night.
The light in the room went out, reacting to Deadman's cufflink. Sam was left in the darkness, staring into the wall next to him. He sighed, and noticed that the bedsheets smelled like lavender, the smell of the laundry detergent they've used.
He changed the sheets just so they wouldn't smell like him.
Sam wanted to groan out of frustration with Deadman's thoughtfulness, but he felt his cheeks heat up slightly instead; This man was too nice to him for his own good.
He pulled his knees to his chest, like he needed to protect himself from something that was threatening to get him. The room was quiet, with the only sounds being the crickets chirping outside, making Sam feel like he was the only person in miles around. Maybe it won't be so difficult? He couldn't smell Deadman, feel the heat of his body and was only vaguely aware of the weight beside him.
Sam closed his eyes, sleep still not coming for him. He chose to focus on listening to the crickets, to give his racing mind something to focus on. Deadman made a sigh-like sound, making a chill run-down Sam's spine. The worst part had to be the fact that Sam didn't even know why exactly was he so tense; he literally had sex with Deadman before, why was just lying next to him while they were both clothed so difficult?
He had a growing suspicion that he knew exactly why; it was a sign of an emotional bond. Sex was something you could have casually, no strings attached. While Sam didn't find the idea personally appealing, he knew that Deadman didn't have as many reservations about it. Deadman asking Sam to sleep beside him, without any sexual activity taking place meant that he, without a doubt, saw Sam as someone more than a partner for casual fun, that his feelings for Sam ran deeper than sexual frustration related to isolation.
This should make Sam happy, that Deadman took him and their relationship seriously, and he probably was; but admitting it would mean that Sam was glad to be important to someone, that he liked feeling loved and cherished, that he wanted to seek out Deadman's proximity, attention and touch more often. After years of struggling with connection, touch and his place among other people, he couldn't identify how he felt, and it frustrated him to no end. Sam was happy, scared, tense, excited, fearful and curious at once; The number of conflicting emotions and thoughts messed with his head. He just really hoped that Deadman won't end up receiving the brunt of the mess inside his skull.
The sigh-like sound came from Deadman's part of the bed again. And again. And once more. It was odd; It wasn't like snoring, it was more like a mumble, like the air he exhaled caught on his vocal cords without his knowledge. Was Deadman even aware of it? Did anybody tell him about that? Sam just hoped that it didn't mean that he's sick.
That certainly complicated things. The scent, the weight, the warmth he could ignore, if he got as far as he could on the bed, but the sound was impossible to miss. Even if he tried, Sam could never trick himself into believing that he was sleeping alone.
He sighed deeply, squeezing the douve he slept under in his palms. Despite his anxiety, Sam did his best to unclench his jaw and hands, and to loosen up the muscles in his shoulders. He slowly stretched his legs, trying to focus on the smoothness of the sheets and softness of the mattress. The couch he occupied for the last two months wasn't bad by any means, certainly beating out sleeping on the ground with ease, but it had nothing on how soft the bed was.
Sam allowed himself to sink into his pillow, forcing his mind to relax. Sleep started to slowly creep on him, his body feeling heavier and heavier, like something was pulling him down, as if the mattress was about to swallow him whole, like a whale shark sucking in a microscopic krill. Sam could still hear Deadman's quasi-snoring, the sound deep and rumbling.
His half-awake mind supplied him with images of Sam lying content with his head against Deadman's chest, happy and unafraid. Sam could only snort, as he fell deeper, the idea of him feeling so comfortable with human touch laughably but pleasantly absurd. The sounds Deadman made quickly stopped being distressing, and instead became soothing, lulling Sam into slumber.
The night went better than Sam would expect. He slept deeply, only once roused by Lou's crying ("-Sleep, I'll handle it"- He heard Deadman's raspy, hushed voice and promptly drifted away again). The morning, however, started off on a much more hectic note: The alarm clock Deadman set up the last evening started to screech at eight AM, as it promised, forcing the two lovebirds to dig themselves out of their nest.
Deadman awkwardly reached to the table by his side of the bed, fiddling with the clock without looking at it. After a few seconds that felt much longer, the room fell silent once again. Sam's face was turned towards Deadman, who was lying on his back, right forearm covering his eyes. They clearly crawled closed to each other during the night; Sam was close enough to see every gray hair in Deadman's beard, the warm, pale morning light glinting off the stubble. He was convinced that Deadman could sense his breath on his skin, but he seemed perfectly calm, unlike Sam. What Sam felt wasn't fear per se, more like anxiety combined with that god forsaken uncertainty. Finally, as if sensing his tension, Deadman turned onto his side to face his bedmate.
His eyes were bright and shining and so pleased that it was impossible to think he felt anything else but pure joy when he looked at Sam. Deadman had a gentle, sleepy smile on his face, like he was convinced that he was still dreaming and Sam won't be here when he wakes up, so he wanted to enjoy himself for as long as he could. Sam couldn't help but to respond with the same, his smile noticeably shyer, but still just as honest.
- Good morning, Sam.- Deadman rasped, his eyes still staring into Sam's.
- 'Morning.- Sam blinked slowly.
- Did you sleep well?- Deadman asked, his mouth opening widely in a yawn.
He never covered his face when he did, giving everyone around a perfect opportunity to check the state of his dental health. Sam always found that odd, that it clashed with the image of Deadman he had in his head, someone very proper and well-mannered. He supposed that everyone has cracks in their image like that, but he didn't mind; If anything, it made Deadman more human, rougher and less polished. It was even cute, in a way, reminding Sam of a bear that has just woken up from hibernation.
- Yeah.- Sam answered shortly.- Much comfier than the couch, that's for sure.
- That's good to hear.- Deadman rolled his shoulders.- The company's better too, I hope.
- Couldn't dream of a better one.- Sam felt like a fool, but oddly enough, he didn't care.
- Isn't that flattering.- Deadman chuckled.- Sam, may I...- Deadman averted his eyes in an uncharacteristic bout of shyness.- May I... give you a... good morning kiss?
- You don't have to ask.- Sam huffed, but kept smiling.
In one swift move, Deadman closed the distance between them, planting his lips at Sam's. He wasn't trying to deepen the kiss, being completely satisfied with a loving, intimate smooch. Just the brush of Deadman's lips and the warmth of his skin made Sam's heart flutter in his chest, making sure that it woke up after the night. As fast as he got close, Deadman backed out in one swift move.
- I'd rather know what you're all right with first. I'll remember for the future that this is all right.- Deadman smiled brightly.- Ah, this is so exciting! I've always wanted to wake a prince up with a kiss!
- Prince?- Sam quirked his eyebrow, his cheeks slightly warmer. Nobody has ever called him by any sort of pet name before, especially not one that implied that he was someone's dream man.- You think I look like a frog?
- Of course not! I meant that you're the son of the president, right?- Deadman shrugged.- I suppose you're as close to a prince as possible. I'll take what I can get.- He chuckled.
Deadman propped himself up on his arms, with Sam only following him with his eyes and not moving. He felt as if the bed was engulfing him whole, like he was warm inside and out thanks to Deadman's affection and care. It was somewhat embarrassing, to get so weak in the knees over a quick kiss and a silly pet name, but it felt so strangely good, like someone was tickling his heart, and Sam didn't want it to stop.
- I need to get up, but you can stay here for as long as you want.- Deadman sat on the edge of the bed.
- I kinda do, but...- Sam yawned, turning his head away.- Lou will probably want to eat soon.
- Ah, responsible dad, as always. Can't let himself sleep in once.- Deadman chuckled as he reached for the glasses on his nightstand and slipped them onto his nose.
Sam felt that Deadman seemed a bit different today than he did usually; he tended to be in a pretty good mood overall, but now he seemed unusually light-hearted and happy. A part of Sam hoped that his joy was related to him, that his presence made Deadman feel so good and carefree, despite a different one feeling slightly uneasy about being a source of such positive emotions.
He still wasn't used to someone actually noticing him and caring about him personally as someone more than a pawn in a bigger game, not even mentioning loving him so intensely; It was a good feeling, he knew that he wanted it to last, but it also caused quite a lot of anxiety in his head and in his heart.
- Speaking of breakfast,- Deadman turned towards Sam, his eyes shining with joy so honest that it made Sam's throat tighten.- Toasts sound good?
- S-sure.- Sam said quietly.- Can you heat up some formula for Lou too?
- Good idea.- Deadman smiled.- We shouldn't keep the young lady waiting.
Deadman carefully slid his hand on Sam's cheek, and gently brushed the strands of his tussled hair behind his ear, goosebumps going through Sam's back due to the touch and tickling sensation of hair sliding against his skin. Slowly, Deadman leaned closer, planting a kiss on Sam's cheekbone, causing more shivers to flair out on his back.
The proximity, the warmth of Deadman’s lips, the scent of his skin, the scrape of his beard... All of that should cause Sam to panic or flee in disgust, but all he could feel instead was an odd sense of glee, which caused him to grin despite his tightly shut eyes. Sam felt absolutely ridiculous, unable to understand what he was feeling, the mixture of anxiety and pure, warm joy, seemingly at odds, stirred in his head and in his heart. The positive emotions seemed to be winning out, but the tension still hasn't quite left him.
He felt ridiculous, but in the same way he imagined all the poor, lovestruck fools in human history felt at one time. Sam just never expected that he will ever join this proud club at any point in his life.
- Get up whenever you'll feel like it.- Deadman backed out and placed his soft palm on Sam's arm, right below the shoulder, gently caressing his skin with his thumb.- Just don't keep me and Lou waiting for too long.- He winked from behind his glasses.
- I'll try.- Sam smiled slightly, managing to keep the eye contact, not feeling the subconscious need to escape.
Deadman took away his hand, brushing Sam's left tricep for the last time and got up, his bare feet padding against the heated floor.
Like clockwork, Sam heard Lou's babbling coming from her crib, like she heard her dads' voices and wanted to say hello to them too. Sam smiled, the sounds of Lou and Deadman turning on the kettle in the kitchen to prepare tea for them made him feel like he was in a dream, but the feeling of Deadman’s lips on his face reassured him that all of this was definitely real. He sighed happily, pressing his nose against Deadman's pillow to etch this moment into his memory, and groggily stood up, eager to greet Lou and eat breakfast with his family.
Easy, but not effortless.
Each night that Sam spent sleeping with Deadman in one bed, he tended to fall asleep quicker and feel more at ease both with himself and with Deadman's presence. In the morning, he usually woke up closer to Deadman than he was when they went to sleep, until one gloomy morning, when he awoke with his face pressed firmly against Deadman's soft chest.
Sam yelped, jumping back in surprise, with Deadman groggily waking up, startled out of his sleep by Sam's sudden outburst. Blush crept up Sam's cheeks, embarrassment heating up his blood. He hid the lower part of his face in his palms, a tic he had from childhood.
After finding out the reason for Sam's strange behavior, Deadman just laughed softly, but when he saw that Sam was still sitting on the bed, tense, looking at Deadman through his fingers, he became more serious, a gentle smile painting on his lips.
- Sam.- He rasped gently; his voice low from lack of use.- It's all right. Come over here.
Deadman slowly lied down on his side of the bed, and patted the mattress right next to him. Sam swallowed thickly; cuddling up to Deadman was a big step in his eyes, a sign that he trusted him to be so close at his most vulnerable, which was quite a silent confession in Sam's eyes.
Some deep, deep part of him, his most earnest and raw, unrestrained by all the hesitation, fear and embarrassment, desired nothing more than to fall asleep in Deadman's arms, feel the warmth of his body against its own, bury his face in his chest and feel his gentle palms roam all over its body, keeping his blood comfortably hot, like a cup of fine tea.
When Sam gazed into Deadman's sleepy, gentle eyes, some of the fear he felt melted away. He looked at him with such kindness and care, like nobody ever looked at with Sam before, like he could somehow see the deepest part of Sam's soul and fully accepted what he saw. Sam trusted him, which in itself was new to him, and he went on with Deadman's request, timidly lying down next to him, resting his neck on Deadman's arm.
Carefully, Deadman wrapped them both with the douve they slept under, being especially attentive to Sam's shoulders, and slid his free hand up Sam's back, gently stroking along his spine between his shoulder blades and sighed, the vibrations caused by the rumbling in his chest making Sam's cheeks itch with heat.
Sam felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon- snug and close to turning into a liquid state. Being so close to Deadman, hearing his heartbeat under his skin, and feeling his chest slowly raise and fall as he breathed made it impossible to forget just how alive and human both of them were. Sam was aware of his own heart and lungs to an almost painful degree, making his neurotic disgust with all signs of life act out.
That was the main reason as to why Sam avoided human contact like the plague in the past- it wasn't just about touch, it was about him finding all signs of life repulsive on a very base level- he couldn't stand the touch of skin, the body warmth, the heartbeat, the breathing... thinking about it too long made his stomach turn and nausea rise in his throat. Sam was convinced that this is just how the rest of his life will look like- alone, living in the wilderness by himself, no friendships, no romance, no holding hands, no hugs, no kissing and no sex, just him, slowly waiting to die of old age, since even suicide won't get him out of this.
But with Deadman... He didn't feel it. His body didn't repulse Sam the way countless others did. Of course, it took time and effort, overcoming any phobia does, but the more Sam waited for that queasy feeling in his stomach to come, the more surprised he grew. The blood in his veins felt like syrup, thick and sweet, and he could sense it weighing down the tips of his toes and fingers.
Despite his anxiety usually screaming at him to flee in moments like this, he simply couldn't move- not because he was petrified, but because he simply felt good. That had to be the most shocking revelation to Sam- that someone else's touch can simply feel good. While he did feel uncertain, Sam felt safe in Deadman's arms- he was sure that he won't harm him, a very comforting revelation after years of associating others' hands with pain, if not outright violence.
Deadman's palms were so unlike his own- his were soft, rounded, with smooth, pale skin, a far cry from Sam's more angular and bony ones, with multiple small scars on each, memories of cuts, pinches, scrapes and pierces he gathered in his years on the road, and the simple skull adorning the outer side of his right one. The only scars Deadman bore on his hands were two pale ones, one horizontally on each wrist, both even and perfectly sutured back together, one piece of the puzzle telling the story of Deadman's youth and the seemingly never-ending list of surgeries he needed to keep him alive. Deadman's hands were gentle, caring and considerate in every move, clearly belonging to a man who chose the life of a medic, for whom bringing comfort and solace came as second nature, without him even having to choose than consciously.
Sam felt it in the way he brushed his back right now, his strokes slow and methodical, reminding Sam of the way he himself soothed Lou when she woke up crying for no apparent reason. Sam's were more used to punching, gripping rocks, pulling triggers or throwing cargo into people's faces, and he could only muster that kind of gentleness towards the ones he cared about.
Sam took a deep breath, until he felt like his lungs are going to burst, inhaling the scent of Deadman's skin until it was the only thing he could think about.
Safe.
You're safe with him.
Let yourself enjoy it.
With that, Sam's mind plunged into darkness, unraveling like a butterfly crawling out of its cocoon and spreading its wings for the first time in its life.
That night, something snapped inside Sam's mind, and he felt like some of the dark, murky water that was taking up 3/4 of his brain was drained, allowing him to take control of the parts of it that felt inaccessible for so many years. Suddenly, Sam started to feel this deep-seated hunger for the touch of another person. This unexpected craving startled him at first, feeling so unlike him that he started to worry that his personality will soon change completely and that he was losing it, but the unexpected curiosity and desire to explore this new want ultimately won, breaking through fear and uncertainty.
Sam started to look for small opportunities to be physically close with Deadman, in any way possible; lean on his side and lay his head on his shoulder when they were watching TV, wrapping his arm on his shoulders to get his attention when he was lost in his reaserch, laying his head on Deadman's pillowy thighs and curling up next to him when he read before bed ("-Don't you think you're getting a bit too comfortable?" Deadman asked, as he slowly stroked Sam's cheek with his free hand. Despite Sam having his eyes closed, he could see the loving, slightly mischievous smile on his face. "- Keep cozying up like this and you'll fall asleep, and I'd hate to have to wake you up. You look too cute when you sleep." Sam just sleepily mumbled something incomprehensible and nestled even more, sighing deeply and practically purring in content like a cat. Despite the warnings, Deadman kept caressing Sam just as lovingly, with Sam being lulled into a comfortable peaceful state of mind by the gentle scrape of turning book pages).
Deadman seemed a bit surprised at first by Sam's sudden displays of affection, but he started to enjoy them as much very quickly. Sam was very grateful for Deadman's seemingly innate gentle and caring nature- his touch was always slow and affectionate, like he knew what Sam wants more than Sam himself. It was greatly appreciated, as Sam still felt a bit awkward with his lack of experience in any sort of intimacy. He had no idea what kind of touch he liked, what he enjoyed in bed or how he wanted to be treated in a relationship, exactly, but Deadman's touch and soothing understanding made him less nervous about it; Sam felt like Deadman understood, and reassured him that he's still there and Sam should just relax, enjoy himself and give himself some time to figure everything out while he’ll be waiting by his side. It was like each stroke of Deadman's palms on him brushed out a bit of Sam's doubts, insecurities and fears from under his skin.
Actually desiring things like touch, attention, affection, sex, and being able to actually get it, instead of forcing himself to smother even a brief fantasy was something new to Sam. Since he started his recovery, he felt more and more alive with every day he spent in Deadman's cabin and under his care, like his blood was just teeming with life and the desire to actually live, not merely survive until tomorrow. Things he shunned or was embarrassed about being enthusiastic before were bringing him a surprising amount of joy. However, it was the wanting that surprised Sam the most- He wanted to eat and enjoy good food, he wanted to hike and enjoy nature, he wanted to look at the stars with Deadman in the hot spring outside, and then straddle his thighs and kiss him until he's breathless, grinding against him as his hands roam on his back, the contrast of the warm water and cool, night sea breeze only raising their temperatures.
Before, Sam didn't really want anything other than for everyone to leave him alone. Looking back, Sam felt sorry for this poor dumbass and his desperation to nip any desire he might have in the bud, which just made him bitter and defensive. Right now, Sam felt like he fully came back to the world of the living; Repatriation fixed his body, but not his mind, and now both of them were slowly healing together, Sam felt an appetite for life like he never did before.
Looking at Deadman's relaxed, sleeping face now, this whole situation felt incredible; Years ago, when he was at his lowest, Sam just accepted that he will never be in a loving relationship ever again, not wanting to bring more sadness and disaster into anyone's life. He shunned contact with people, touch of others and their sympathy, living alone and not tied to anyone but himself. Sam always dreamed about having his own family growing up, looking after his plushies like they were his babies and thinking about how his future spouse will be like. His own childhood was a lonely and sheltered one, cut off from anyone who wasn't Bridget, Amelie or the trusted staff who worked in their living quarters.
Truthfully, Sam has always yearned for connection, but that want was successfully repressed for years. Having a caring, loving partner and a healthy, joyful child was all Sam ever wanted in life, and now that he had it, it sometimes felt surreal in just how safe it felt. Sam worried sometimes that his life with Lou and Deadman was just an illusion or a nice dream that's going to shatter any minute now, causing him to wake up in the cold, dark water of the Seam, but then he felt Deadman's lips gently press against his cheek, and his hand gently stroking his shoulder, or heard Lou laugh in joy over just seeing Sam's face, with her chubby palms clumsily grabbing his cheeks and he instantly forgot about whatever was troubling him.
Falling for Deadman was... unexpected. Not because he was a man- Sam knew he would be happy with anyone, regardless of gender, since he was very young. No, it was moreso because, after Lucy, Sam almost accepted that he will never be in a relationship again. He started to grow fond of Deadman during his expedition, each time he asked him how he felt, or urged Sam to sleep, eat or shower, Sam felt a pleasant tingle in his chest. Watching Deadman badly pretend to be detached from Lou, only to slowly come out of his shell and bond with her like he did, finally accepting her as his own was touching, and the experience of mutually caring for Lou helped them become more open and grow closer together, developing the kind of strange bond neither of them could describe fully- something beyond friendship, but not quite romantic love.
Deadman's fretting over him and Lou when they first got to his cabin was nice. Probably nicer than Sam would like to admit, as a matter of fact. Living with Deadman, spending every day with him and seeing him right after he woke up, eyes shiny and hair messy, making tea for both of them, teaching him how to properly hold Lou and seeing how oddly cute he acted when he got nervous, playing board games with him or chatting at the terrace really made Sam slowly fall for the man who cared for him so deeply and respected him as a person and a friend. He sensed that the new feeling ran deeply into him, wrapping its roots around his heart, gently squeezing it whenever he saw or interacted with Deadman.
New thoughts begun to emerge from the deep waters of his mind- he wanted to grow closer to Deadman, both physically and mentally, he wanted to feel the warmth of his body and the brush of his skin, to be the first person he thinks about when he wakes up, and the last one before he falls asleep.
These thoughts scared him, at first, like some other entity was feeding them to him, twisting who he was at the core (or at least who he thought he was), but the more time he spent with them, the more he tamed them and accepted them; Sam begun to shyly test the waters- brush Deadman's shoulder when he passed next to him or put his laps on his thighs when they watched a movie together. The contact didn't cause any pain, and if anything, it made Sam crave more, like his body demanded to be touched, held, caressed, petted and kissed. The intensity of his desire embarrassed him, causing hot goosebumps to flair all over his body.
Even in his sleep, he often dreamed of a pair of soft, pale hands of someone he knew very well gently roaming all over his body, tracing the patterns only he knew, like Sam was being a subject in the world's most sensual experiment on repatriate’s sexuality. Sam was lying on his back, eyes tightly closed, his hands balled into fists above his head. He wasn't restrained in any way, but he had no desire to move or stop the touch from going further, anticipating what will come next with the excitement that made all of his nerves tingle.
The palms slowly made its way from gently brushing his neck to his chest, the thumbs slowly circling his nipples while the other fingers brushed against his ribs. After getting Sam to moan quietly, the pair of hands slid down to his belly, a pair of lips and a tongue joining in, slowly licking the cross-shaped scar right in the middle, making Sam groan and bend his right leg in the knee, his body close to trembling with begrudging excitement about what will come next.
One of the hands slid slowly down Sam's hip, making him arch his back, and teasingly brushed his inner thigh, pressing down on his bent knee, lying it flat against the bed. Sam tried to swallow to relieve some of the tension in his body, but it proved useless when the palm rested on his inner thigh, dangerously closed to his groin and his cock, fully erect, throbbing and leaking precum down its entire length.
Sam couldn't hear his lover's voice; he knew full well who it was, but he was glad that he was staying mercifully silent, because he felt like if he opened his eyes and saw him or heard him, he would wake up, too shocked when actually confronted with the truth of his desires, and he wanted this dream to last a bit longer.
Sam gasped when he felt the warm tip of a finger gently touch the base of the underside of his cock, and agonizingly slowly pressed it down onto his belly, aligning it with his scar. The finger slid up to the head with intent, pressing down on a bulging, throbbing vein, the featherlight pressure causing him to moan loudly, more precum leaking onto his belly. When the finger got to the tip, it stayed there, the stroke not finished, making Sam groan with frustration. His dick was now pinned down, his lover making a low, proud hum of satisfaction; whether this was a reaction to Sam's body or seeing him unravelling under his touch, Sam couldn't tell, not like he could think coherently right now anyway.
When Sam felt warm breath on his thigh, he felt a shiver going up his spine, anticipation making him shut his eyes even tighter. A pair of lips was pressed against his pale skin, and Sam made the loudest moan he ever heard in his life, his back arching and his toes curling. Sam wasn't even aware that he had it in him to be so loud- years spent in near silence, both out of loneliness and the need of survival, tend to make you forget about the strength of your own voice.
As his lover continued to kiss, lick, and gently nibble his way up Sam's groin, Sam kept moaning out in pleasure, like he was trying to let the whole world know that he's not alone anymore, and that he gets to savor every second of that realization.
Sam's lover had a beard, which chafed against the sensitive skin of his thigh, the muscle underneath quivering from the stimulation. Despite knowing that he's attracted to men for years, Sam never had a chance to explore it outside of his own head, and now that he finally got to do so, he regretted that he didn't have the opportunity and mental drive to try earlier.
When he finally got to Sam's dick, the man slowly dragged the smooth part of his cheek along its side, with Sam gasping and bending both of his legs in the knees, goosebumps flaring up on his entire body. He tightened his fists, which he held overhead, but still didn't decide to stop. After pulling his cheek away, Sam felt his lover's lips pressed against his skin, right next to the base of his dick, still pinned down to his belly with a finger.
After that, he continued to gently kiss alongside the outline of Sam's cock, peppering each smooch with a satisfied hum. Sam wanted to dismiss it as just another creative way his lover came up with to toy with him, keeping his lust burning without actually giving him the stimulation and release he craved, but it wasn't that simple. Something about this act was particularly intimate and loving, like it wasn't just about physical desires, but something more. Sam felt almost like he was worshipped, like his body was a shrine to himself, with his lover giving him his offering of touch, desire and love that went beyond physical lust.
The dreading realization knotted his guts; Sam wasn't merely fantasizing about a sexual encounter- he was dreaming about being loved and cared for, treated like something precious and worth such attention and gentleness.
When his lover got to the tip of his cock, he slowly licked the precum that dripped onto Sam's belly. Sam groaned, half in pleasure and half in shame, finally moving his hands to hide his face in his palms, resting it on his burning cheeks. This act completely undone him, with its further implications- Sam saw it as a final confirmation of his fears.
If he had merely dreamed about being fucked, he could live with that- dismiss it as a sign of his libido waking up after years of depression, struggling with survival, malnourishment and other assorted issues with his brain. However, this wasn't merely a spicy encounter- it was a mixture of Sam's deepest feelings and desires all rolled up into one.
- Is everything okay?- A voice, a soft, caring, familiar voice asked.
Sam didn't want to get fucked. He wanted to be beloved and cherished by someone, a very certain someone, with no guarantee that he will love him back. The nice moment collapsed onto itself like a badly constructed house of cards. Sam's situation just became much more complicated, and he had no idea how to handle it by himself.
Realizing just how much he could love somebody, how intensely, without being sure that his feelings could be returned terrified him. His previously scorching skin instantly became chilled, as Sam sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks.
- Sam? What's wrong?- The familiar voice grew even more concerned.- Did I do something wrong?
Right now, Sam just wanted to end this and wake up. He took a shaking sigh, and slowly pulled his palms off his face, his eyelids cracking open.
A pair of familiar, blue eyes stared at him from behind a pair of glasses with such worry it twisted Sam's stomach. This wasn't even really Deadman, yet even this version of him was so incredibly caring towards Sam. He sniffled, before the image was suddenly cut.
Sam bolted upright, covered in cold sweat, tears streaking down his cheeks, his cock hard and heavy in his boxers. He gasped for air, desperately trying to ground himself in the moment; he wasn't dreaming anymore, he was in his and Deadman's lodge, and that whole scenario was just a dream. Deadman was probably snoozing in his own room, completely unaware of what Sam is going through in his head.
Without second thoughts, Sam tried to listen for any signs of Deadman being up, which was tough due to his heart hammering in his chest so hard he felt it in his ears. When he was sure that he was the only one awake in the home right now, he sneaked into the bathroom as quietly as he can, hoping that his years of experience in getting through BT territories won't fail him now.
After the door slid behind him and the light turned on, Sam could see himself in the mirror above the sink. His cheeks were red, flushed with blood, as was his chest, small part of which peeked through the oversized crewneck of his shirt. Brown strands of hair were sticking to his face due to sweat, and his eyes shone with terror, like just looking at himself was horrifying to him; Despite that, Sam could still see sparks of desire deep, deep in his pupils, which made him whip his head away from his reflection.
He needed a shower. A cold one. Quick.
Sam flipped the right switch in the shower cabin, and took off his shirt, drenched with sweat, and boxers, carelessly throwing them onto the floor. He entered the cabin on shaking legs, vague reminder to be careful not to slip echoing in the back of his mind. Sam slid the door behind him and sat down on the floor, letting the cold droplets hit against his scorching skin.
It's been a while since he closed himself in the shower to think; he used to do that quite often during his expedition, the private room cabin being the only place where he could truly be alone, without his whole support team and miscellaneous BRIDGES staff monitoring his every move. Just another small reminder of his past he thought he could leave behind, that nevertheless came back to bite him in the ass.
He gently bumped his head against the back of the shower, the water flowing down the crevasse of his face, sinking into his sweaty hair. Sam felt so hot that he wouldn't be surprised if the water droplets hitting his skin were instantly evaporating.
Sam wasn't sure if he was ever so worked up over anything, especially not over a dream. His sexuality lied dormant for years, stifled by his depression, exhaustion, malnutrition, distaste for human touch and Sam's own repression. If it ever managed to break through all those layers, it left Sam disgusted with himself, always wishing that he could get rid of this part of himself permanently, since it was just another way his craving for human touch he tried to deny so much manifested. Thanks to his recovery, Sam was more open to accept it as a part of himself, but he felt like it was all happening too fast, like he was thrown into the deep water without being able to do as much as stand at the shore in the shallow water first.
Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping against the wall he was leaning on. He couldn't believe he fell in love, just like that, completely suddenly; no grand realization, no fireworks, no puppy eyes, just his subconscious giving it to him straight. Sam felt like his chest and stomach were filled with coal, hot, heavy and filthy, its steam escaping through the pores of his skin.
He looked down at his cock, still as hard and flushed as before, throbbing against his leg, the sensation distracting him from thinking. The thought of masturbating briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it away, biting on his reddening cheek. It would probably relieve him from physical discomfort, but he really wasn't in the mood; besides, as a porter, he was used to such small unpleasantries.
The most important question that Sam could come up with was "What now?". What should he do with his feelings?
The ideal scenario would be to confess, have Deadman squeeze him so hard Sam couldn't breathe and excitedly say that he has felt the same this whole time. But... what even were his chances? Did Deadman even see him this way? They were friends, of course, Deadman was open about seeing Sam that way, but did he saw Sam as a potential partner?
Deadman was kind to him, sure, his help probably went above and beyond what most people would do for their friends, but that was just who he fundamentally was; a very good person. He had helping others in his DNA, and who knows, maybe that's something they put in him in one of his surgeries. Deadman looked after Sam for so long, let him stay in his home indefinitely for pretty much nothing in return, helped him with looking after Lou... He had to feel something towards Sam, right?
Yeah dumbass, friendship.
Sam sighed sadly, shoulders slumping. Falling for the first person you have near you just because they were nice to you? That's kind of pathetic, Sam.
His mind was right, what would Deadman even think about him if he finds out? He wouldn't throw him and Lou out, Sam was sure of it, he was too kind to do that. Doesn't matter that the relations between them wouldn't get awkward or tense. Sam tilted his head upwards, letting the cold water hit his face; he cherished his friendship with Deadman more than anything else in this world, besides Lou. Sam wouldn't want to lose or strain the only deeper connection he made in his adult life.
What if he wasn't even Deadman's type? Sam swallowed thickly, trying to loosen up his throat. Deadman was smart, elegant, kind and well-educated. Sam was just a beast of burden, a bumbling idiot who could haul other people's shit or be someone's pawn at best. Deadman deserved to be with another doctor or scientist, maybe someone like Heartman, with whom he could connect intellectually on the same level, not someone like Sam, who had no idea what Deadman even researched, exactly.
Sam knew Deadman was attracted to men, but that didn't mean he was attracted to every man, and it was entirely possible that he thought that Sam was as attractive as a piece of wood.
And if they even would get together, Deadman would become a second dad to Lou- the two of them were a package deal. Sure, Deadman and Lou adored each other and Deadman said that he'd want to have a family, but that didn't mean he'd want a family right now. Deadman already helped Sam with caring after Lou, and when they played together Sam couldn't take his eyes off them due to how cute they were, but it's one thing to help a friend with looking after their child, and another to actually step in officially as a parent. Maybe he'd rather focus on his career rather than play house with Sam?
Everything inside Sam felt tight- his chest, his stomach, his head... All he wanted now was to bury himself under his blankets and stay there, not sleeping, not moving and not doing anything for as long as Lou would let him.
Sam felt like he was alone in the Seam again, floating aimlessly in the cold, dark ocean that seemed to go on forever, himself no bigger than the cryptobiotes that would sometimes swim past his face. The last time he was there, he was pulled back into the world of the living by Deadman and Lou; he huffed with bitter amusement at the similarity.
His skin cooled and his cock softening, Sam turned off the water in the shower, half-heartedly wiped down his body with a towel hanging on the wall and pulled up his boxers and his shirt. Just as silently as he entered, he left, sneaking back to his bed, wrapping himself tight in his blankets, secretly craving the embrace of someone else.
The compression of the materials provided some comfort, unlike the choking pressure he felt in his chest. For now, Sam just needed to be alone, tame the feeling clawing at him from inside and decide on what to do next. The maps he studied showed that there was a nice, easy but long hiking trail alongside a river, that will probably take him the whole day. Nothing helped him with thinking better than wilderness and solitude.
Luckily for him, Sam didn't need to fantasize about how sleeping in Deadman's arms would feel like this morning. Slowly, he scooted over, careful to not wake his bedmate up- From what Sam knew about Deadman though, it's not like he was a light sleeper. Sam squeezed his head between Deadman's arms, resting his neck on his left arm and pressing his cheek against his soft chest, right where Deadman's heart was.
Deadman was always meticulous about his grooming. He showered every single day, washed his hands before doing absolutely anything in the kitchen and always told Sam to get cleaned up the second he said hi to him when he came back from a hike (though Sam could swear that he felt Deadman's eyes linger on his sweaty arms and mud-covered legs once or twice). Sam figured it had to be a remnant from his work as a doctor, where cleanliness and personal hygiene could be a matter of life and death. While Sam didn't exactly consider himself filthy, his habits had nothing on Deadman's regime.
That's not to say that Sam didn't benefit from Deadman's attachment to cleanliness. His beard was always a bit scratchy, but the hairs themselves were always very soft and smooth, unlike Sam's scraggly goatee. One evening, before their scheduled movie night, Sam actually managed to catch Deadman putting on beard oil on his face; let's just say that Sam didn't remember much of the movie, because he was too focused on kissing Deadman's cheek and rubbing his own against his beard, the nutty scent of almond oil enchanting his senses.
As an element of caring for his skin, Deadman also used some kind of body lotion every evening before they went to bed. He explained to Sam that it's supposed to make his scars less pronounced and make sure that his skin folds won't chafe against each other. It had the added bonus of smelling like coconut; Sam never tried one before and wasn't sure if they were even available anywhere, but if they tasted as good as Deadman's lotion smelled, then he was convinced that he found his favorite food.
Deadman seemed quite confident with his body, at least around Sam, and frequently left the bathroom door open after he showered, standing in front of the sink wearing only a pair of boxers. Sam often managed to catch a glimpse of Deadman brushing his teeth, cleaning his glasses or doing any other mundane activity one does before sleep. He didn't think much about them, aside from a brief, loving feeling related to seeing Deadman so human and casual around him.
One night, when he has just put Lou to bed, he wanted to take some empty, dirty cups that once contained tea from Deadman's desk to the kitchen, when he saw Deadman, standing in the bathroom, rubbing the lotion into his skin.
It was a scene like many others Sam saw through the course of living with Deadman- him getting ready to go to bed for the night- but something about this particular time froze Sam in place, making it impossible to move or look away.
He stared at Deadman's skin, pale, scarred and much frailer and more delicate than his own, being almost lovingly caressed by his hands, sliding effortlessly thanks to the lotion. Sam watched Deadman's palms trailing along his sides, up his belly and chest, covered in bushy white and gray hair, his "fur" much more robust than Sam's own sparse chest hair. He rubbed the lotion slowly, not exactly sensually, like it gave him sexual pleasure, but like he was performing some kind of private ritual for his own body; Sam assumed that it had to be similar to his own soaks in their own hot spring- a practice meant to cleanse and care for body and soul.
Deadman slipped his fingers between the skin folds on his sides, his touch gentle and caring as he made sure that he has spread the lotion evenly. After he was done, he once again pressed his palms to his chest, slowly pulling them down to his navel, like it was a form of massage. Briefly draping his palms and fingers over his nipples, pressed their tips under his swollen breasts, moisturizing the skin underneath.
Sam watched in awe, unable to move. He wasn't sure if the sight of another human being has ever captivated his mind as much as seeing Deadman engaging in this every day, not inherently sexual activity. Something about how casual this setting was, paired with Deadman's relaxed, slow drags of his palms, closed eyes and satisfied, slightly dreamy expression made Sam feel like he was watching some kind of beautiful nature spirit he remembered learning about from his favorite English tutor when he was a teenager, bathing in a spring, completely oblivious about being watched, or maybe knowing and even enjoying it to a degree.
Sam thought about standing behind Deadman, his chest pressed against his back. His hands would roam on his chest and belly like Deadman's did a while ago, moving gracefully thanks to the lotion, lovingly and gently tracing every one of many scars, kissing his shoulders and neck in the process, to remind him that Sam truly doesn't care about any of them, and loves them just as much as he loves the rest of Deadman. When he would relax sufficiently, Sam would make his way up his neck, to his ear, and gently nibble at his earlobe (which Sam learned through trial and error, had a similar effect that kissing his own neck had), and play with his nipple, squishing his rounded chest. His other hand would make its way to Deadman's belly, past his bellybutton and through all that glorious hair-
Sam's cheeks went hot and his head whipped to the side in instinctual embarrassed. Thankfully, he had some time to practice and didn't fully succumb to his brain's trained panic and he managed to stop it from spiraling, like he pulled out a flighty rabbit who almost managed to escape and hide in its burrow by its ears.
These thoughts weren't anything he should be ashamed of- he was in a relationship with that man, for crying out loud! Having desires and wanting physical intimacy was all right- he wasn't imposing his thoughts on anyone after all. Sam was baffled at what his brain found worthy of panic and what it didn't; Sex was fine, but cuddling during the night and mere thoughts that involved implied sexual activity were not. He allowed himself to smile slightly, not yet bold enough to let it completely unravel on his face, and sneaked into the kitchen, thankfully unnoticed by Deadman.
The smells of cosmetics were something Sam wasn't used to, a thing his mind discarded in place of the nauseating, stinging odor of the chiral tar and wet ground. Remembering them was necessary for his survival, but getting familiar with more pleasant scents again was a calming change of pace, a small, subconscious reminder that his life took a sharp turn, one that Sam wasn't planning on coming back from.
Deadman's cosmetics had a gentle, soft smell, a natural one with a tinge of artificiality not letting you forget that they were still an imitation- a pleasant one, but a one notherless. They were different from the raw, unmodified smell of the outdoors, but also from the chemical tinge the BRIDGES facilities had that stung Sam's eyes at first. It was a compromise between the two, wild nature somewhat tamed and safe facilities with a hint of adventure.
Sam nuzzled his cheek against Deadman's soft chest and slowly dragged his nose along his sternum, still sensing the coconut lotion, now mixed with the scent of his skin. It made Sam relax, which almost made him laugh- Just a year ago, the mere thought of sensing another human's skin would almost made him puke, not even mentioning deliberately seeking it out. The fact that he now related it to safety seemed absurd, but it was true. And if Sam were to be honest, he much preferred his life now than the one he led back then.
Deadman, sensing Sam's affection, tightened his grip on Sam's body without waking up, a deep, rumbling sigh making Sam blush. One bear paw ended up on Sam's shoulder, and another one wrapped around his waist, pressing him closer to Deadman's body.
A warm shiver went up Sam's spine; he felt like a stuffed toy, like he imagined Nomad, the plush otter that Lou had in her crib did. The restricted movement and close proximity made him tense up briefly, an involuntary reaction Sam didn't quite cull out entirely yet from his mind, but a deep sigh helped him regain his composure. He remembered the way Lou always calmed down when she was given her favorite toy, and how Sam saw her sleeping in her crib with her tiny hand holding onto its paw, like it calmed her down and allowed her to relax- Sam thought that if she was older, she'd probably cuddle it close to her.
Could he be fulfilling a similar role to that plush for Deadman? The thought of helping him sleep better and feel at ease was a pleasant one, Sam's heart skipping a beat at the thought of his presence and proximity, not his work or physical effort, but his mere existence being comforting and helpful to somebody. Sam yawned, nestling his cheek against Deadman's heart, slowly putting his left hand on Deadman's waist, with his hand moving slightly on Sam's shoulder in response. Maybe being a plush toy wasn't so bad after all.
Sam liked being held. A lot, in fact; so much so that it surprised even him when he realized that. Of course, he saw every other act of love Deadman performed and heard every pet name, word of admiration or compliment that never failed to make his cheeks tint pink, but never did Sam feel truly more loved than when Deadman held him so close that he could feel his entire body against his, his soft palms slowly petting his body, starved for any physical affection it could get. It didn't matter if they were sleeping, watching a movie, spending time with Lou or simply resting, if Sam could lean on or curl up next to Deadman, he was happy.
It made him feel oddly small. It was just his mind's subjective feeling though- they were both about the same height and both quite bulky, but when Deadman held him like that, tightly against his body with both hands, Sam felt like he couldn't be bigger than an aforementioned plush toy.
It should've made him scared, to be so tiny and almost ensnared, with no way to back out without waking Deadman up, but in fact, he felt the complete opposite- never in his life did he feel so safe and protected. It was odd to get used to, at first, after years of looking over his shoulder and then protecting others, but he settled into it surprisingly smoothly. For the first time since he could remember, he felt that he was special enough to someone to warrant being held so tightly and affectionately, like Deadman was afraid to lose him; That his uniqueness didn't come from being a Repatriate or DOOMs sufferer or the president's son or the one-man expedition to make the nation whole again, but just because he was who he was, with all the flaws, strengths, quirks, memories and behaviors it entailed.
Sam being Sam was enough to Deadman to want to keep him so closely and safely, to make sure that nothing bad ever happens to him again, and to be next to him if it somehow does. While he tried to deny it at first, Sam finally accepted it, quietly and in the depths of his mind and heart, that he enjoyed being treated like this and that he deserved it, after all that he went through. Recovery was a slow process, but both his body and mind were taking small steps every day.
Just two days ago, Sam and Deadman were watching "Godzilla" one of Deadman’s favorite movies of all time. Deadman lied on the couch, resting his back against the armrest, with Sam sprawled on top of him, resting his head against Deadman's chest, with his cheek squishing his left eye closed, one of the blankets Sam used to sleep under back when this was his den wrapped around them both.
Sam tried, he really tried to pay attention both to the movie and to Deadman’s passionate rambling about the whole "Godzilla" universe, hushed to both not talk over the movie too much and not wake up Lou, sleeping in their bedroom. He was adorable, Sam thought, like a big kid explaining an elaborate scenario for his playtime that included all of his toys and living quarters participating in a multi-layered epic quest with pages upon pages of lore. Sam did his best to listen to to Deadman's in-depth lore expertise and watch the movie at the same time, but something about being so close to him, listening to his hushed voice and feeling it rumble in his chest, right under his head, enjoying the gentle warmth of his body and scent of his skin, combined with Deadman's absentminded slow stroking between his shoulder blades and another hand wrapped around his waist, and Sam had to struggle to keep his eye open.
Never in his life was Sam just undoubtedly convinced that he is loved. No words have ever made him feel as close as this simple moment, in the cabin in the middle of nowhere, watching a movie about a giant lizard destroying a city while the badly quieted, excited words of his lover vibrated in his chest, right next to his heart, which was underneath Sam's cheek, beating rhythmically, affirming just how alive both of them felt, though in different ways. This was exactly what Sam was longing for when he lied in bed as a teen, hot tears streaking down his face, because he felt like everyone in his life except for his sister abandoned him, when he thought about what was wrong with him as a young man, unable to establish a bond of any sort despite trying his damnest, and when he was trying to start a fire in a cave he hid in to escape the Timefall, faint wishes of having someone to rub his sore shoulders feeling like feverish dreams of an exhausted mind.
Despite the battle he fought with himself, his eye closed, sleep quickly snatched away his consciousness.
When the rays of the morning started to shine in from the giant glass doors leading to the patio, Sam woke up to the two of them in the same pose- Deadman lying on his back on the couch, Sam curled up on his chest. He slowly cracked open his eyes, seeing their reflection in the TV's black screen, that had been turned off at some point during the night. Deadman's hands were still holding him close to his chest, like he wanted to make sure that Sam won't sneak away anywhere when they're sleeping, and that he will still be in his arms when the morning comes. Sam looked in the sleepy eyes of his reflection as both of them rose and fell with each of Deadman's usual, slow, deep, mumbling breaths.
It seemed like Deadman nabbed a few more pillows to support his neck and shoulders, but Sam had no doubts that they both will be sore as hell for the next few days, and not in the fun sense of the word, either; Sam remembered how Deadman complained about tense shoulders from spending a whole day at his desk a few days ago, laughing and saying "We're both getting old, Sam, aren't we?", as he set the water to boil to make a tea for them and a bottle of formula for Lou, who babbled excitedly in the baby sling Deadman kept her in when he worked.
Despite what the statement usually implied, Deadman's voice was cheery, and his eyes twinkled happily from behind his glasses when he briefly looked at Sam, who was lounging on the sofa in the rays of the setting sun like a particularly satisfied housecat. It seemed like Deadman was almost eager to get older with Sam and Lou at his side, like he anticipated it like an outcome of an experiment or a study.
Sam smiled tiredly, the corner of his reflected self rising ever so slightly. Thanks to Deadman and Lou, he also had a sweeter reason to anticipate getting older than the one he harbored since he discovered that he was a Repatriate.
Lou must've slept through the whole night too, since even if Deadman tended to her, Sam certainly wouldn't sleep through being taken off him and picked up again- his survival instincts have dulled as his mind healed and realized that it can stop being on a constant lookout for danger, but not to that point. That could only mean that she will certainly need one of them soon. It was selfish of Sam, he knew that, but being curled up like this made him feel so good that he didn't want to budge.
He carefully grabbed the blanket that has slipped off them during the night and pulled it over his shoulders, making sure that the corners were pulled up to Deadman's shoulders as much as possible without covering Sam's head. Lou will tell them if she'll need them. He can relax for now, listening to the chatter of the swallow family outside.
And that's the mindset Sam had on this gloomy morning, resting in Deadman's embrace and enjoying his warmth, slow breathing and just the intense feeling of love that made his chest tight and his heart hot with blood. While he would find that feeling unpleasant in the past, now he just enjoyed how alive it made him feel, how he finally felt like he belonged fully in the world of the living, along with other people. He was alive, Deadman was alive, Lou was alive and the nature around them was alive. Sam didn't really remember feeling this strongly even with... her.
Sam still thought about Lucy sometimes; How could he not, after all? His feelings towards her, however, have changed; Instead of this profound sadness that gave everything he did a grayish, joyless tint, he felt a sort of wistful melancholy, like he was looking at autumn leaves, floating up in the sky, away from him.
The memory of her became a distant echo of a familiar voice of someone from Sam's past, not something that he could sense right next to him on an almost daily basis.
Sam loved Lucy when she was alive, he didn't have any doubts about that. He also thought that Lucy loved him too, in a way. It was wrong to compare Lucy and Deadman, Sam knew about it; Both of them were different people, with different personalities, experiences, pasts, quirks and attitudes to life, who met Sam at different points in both his and their lives.
Despite that, it was hard for Sam to ignore at least some parts of their relationships which were similar or different; Lucy wasn't nearly as physically affectionate as Deadman. Sam couldn't remember many times she hugged him or kissed him, she also tended to sleep completely on her side of the bed, with maybe their fingers brushing sometimes under the covers. They had sex, sure, but it always felt like Sam giving Lucy what she wanted, with him focusing on her pleasure and forgetting about his own, with Lucy not really asking him about what he wanted or expected, and Sam's timidity didn't allow him to just start that conversation with her. Despite all that, Sam didn't think of his relationship with her badly- maybe, if they had more time with each other and could talk openly, their marriage could've been better for the both of them. Sadly, this was not meant to be; Sam could still vividly remember the crater he saw when he repatriated, the smell and taste of chiralium from the explosion burning his nostrils and eyes.
Deadman wasn't like Lucy in that respect at all- he was incredibly affectionate, always happy to hold Sam when they were resting, kissing him good morning and good night and focusing on his pleasure during sex. Sam thought that Lucy was more reserved in her emotions due to her personality being more introverted, and it would be selfish to expect her to fully conform to Sam's whims. But it was harder to swallow now that Sam has experienced being with someone who openly and shamelessly adores him, both his mind and his body. After so many years of wallowing in sadness and feeling like nobody will ever love him like Lucy did, it was hard to admit that somebody might love him in a way that he liked more than Lucy's.
The more he thought about the two, the more the differences between them became clear, like Sam was about to reach a breakthrough of some sort. With Lucy, he always felt like there was a glass wall between them, even if he was too afraid to admit that when he was younger; She was always distanced from him, reminding Sam of some teachers he had when he was growing up, with the same aura of authority, maturity and more knowledge, with Sam being taken down to the role of a student, not a husband. This feeling was absent when he thought about Deadman- sure, he had a high position in society and definitely knew more about science and medicine than Sam, but he always felt on equal footing with Sam, not above him. Deadman was in turn fascinated by Sam, his experiences as a porter and the kind of practical intelligence one develops when they have to think and react fast or die. Sam couldn't recall a single time Lucy have asked him about his job or hobbies.
He wondered if the fact that he and Deadman were friends before they were a couple had to do with how good Sam felt with him. Lucy was his therapist first, quite an uneven relationship, and then they got married almost instantly after she got pregnant. They didn't have time to get to know each other, talk, live together and learn about each other. Deadman not only knew him for the almost year the Second Expedition took, but also for the three or so months they lived together, seeing each other every day and spending a lot of time together. Maybe if he got to have that with Lucy, life would've been different.
Deadman pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, like he usually did, when he yawned through his sleep- an odd quirk of his that Sam found endearing. Sam felt Deadman's chest muscles and tendons tensing up under Sam's cheek, and the beard on his chin scraping the top of Sam's head. Then, his jaw closed with a click of his teeth, and he tighten the grip around Sam's body slightly, whatever was occupying his mind at the moment making him sigh, the low, long noise making Sam close his eyes in joy, an honest smile crossing his lips. He was so grateful to have Deadman in his life, his love and help and kindness, and he could only hope that he made Deadman as happy as he made him. Given by the way Deadman's eyes lit up whenever he was looking at Sam, like the sea reflecting the rays of the noon sun on a pleasant and warm day, perfect for building sandcastles, collecting shells and walking along the shore with your loved ones, he didn't have much to worry about.
This had to be the first time in Sam's life where he was truly, genuinely glad to be alive. Even before he met Lucy and the worst period of his life starting after her death, he just felt like he existed, like kelp being carried by waves or jellyfish, who are hardly "alive" in the first place; they're just living, drifting and eating and not expecting anything more from their existence. Sam was like that too, once- living because he didn't have a different choice, not really enjoying or looking forward to anything in his lonely life particularly much.
Now, everything around him made him happy in some way; Lou's giggling when he made faces to make her laugh, leaning his head on Deadman's chest when they watched TV or talking about his research during breakfast, hot soaks in the hot spring where he felt all of his muscles relax, discovering new hiking trails, forgotten by humanity, where he could look at new plants growing and new birds joining the choir as nature was reborn, soft bedsheets, delicious food and nicely smelling cosmetics. These were small things, sure, but Sam always considered himself a simple man, contrasting Amelie's visionary grandeur. Everyday things made him happy and that was enough for him. After living in a stupor for so long, this was more than enough.
Sam nuzzled his head to Deadman, eyelids heavy with sleep closing over his eyes. The rain outside, hitting the roof and the window in the bedroom, contrasted by Deadman's warmth and the calmness he exudes put him to sleep near instantly.
In the last conscious thought he had before fallen asleep, Sam decided to stop dwelling on the past. The living were much more interesting anyway.