Chapter Text
“Aren’t these things for couples in trouble?” Michael asked, hands playing over the wheel as he drove them north to the cool and deepening pines.
Alex bit his lip; they’d had this conversation a few times, in the past few weeks. “It’s not like that --”
Michael reached across the bench seat of his truck, tucking his fingers under Alex’s thigh. “I know, I know,” he took a deep breath. “It’s just weird to tell Iz and Max and everyone that we’re going to be out in the wilderness 10 weekends in a row.”
Alex held back a smirk, reaching down to grip Michael’s wrist. “‘A recurring couples retreat’ is an awkward cover story, I know.”
“But it’s not like we could tell them we’re going to adult kink camp.” Michael closed his eyes before refocusing on the road. “Isobel would have wanted to come along I bet; Max would never make eye-contact again.”
“Isobel was the one to introduce us to Marcy and Maven --”
“But she’s been too busy with Anatsa to come to any play parties, which is why we could start going to them.”
Alex nodded. “I have no more interest in being in a kink space with your sister than you do.”
Michael looked like he’d bitten right through a lemon rind, teeth deep in the pith. He slipped wrist out of Alex’s hold, gripping down on the wheel.
Michael's voice was careful. “And you're clear that we can leave, right? And we don’t have to do anything we don’t want to?”
This too, was a conversation they’d had multiple times. Alex tried to keep his words cautious. “Do you know that? We can just rent a motel room and enjoy each other on our lonesomes if you’re not feeling it anymore --”
“No, that’s not --” Michael shook his head hard and blew out a hard breath, eyes tracking a curve in the empty country highway. “I just worry, you know? Things are so new, and we haven’t even said --” His knuckles were white on the wheel.
Alex wondered if he was going to ask. If Michael was going to drag it out of him, demand to know. Even now, 6 months after Jones was dead and re-interred in unyielding stone, he still hadn’t told Michael directly how he felt about him.
He knew Michael was giving him space; being gentle with him. Alex just wished he knew, knew what this blockage was, what was stopping him.
Alex tried to use his words, just like he'd seen the other couples do at play parties. “I don’t think going is going to hurt us,” Alex said, glancing down at his phone where the full program and itinerary were carefully saved offline, since they’d have limited reception at the ranch. He forced his jaw to relax. “I kind of think of it like taking a university extension course --”
“But in sex?”
Alex cracked up and loosened his seatbelt to lean over, bumping his shoulder against Michael’s, something deep settling in his belly when Michael pressed back just as hard.
Their bodies knew what to say, that was the thing of it. They always did. It was just words, his heart filling his mouth when he tried to use the slippery things to describe those huge, unnamable feelings inside him.
“Not ‘in sex,’ in -- in intimacy and relationships and connection?”
“And kink.” Michael murmured, ducking in to press a kiss Alex’s crown. Alex closed his eyes, savoring the touch and trying not to think of jacked-up trucks roaring by them, blowing coal at them, doing worse, on this rural road.
“Well, it’s not like we need any more help with that,” Alex said, settling a little more against Michael. “We’ve certainly got enough practice.”
For over a decade, connecting through scenes had been their one constant. That moment of trust, of consent, of contentment, when they had a few hours alone with each other. The chance to balance things out between them, to reset, to give each other the love and care they both couldn’t give or get anywhere else. The look in Michael’s eyes when he went down low and quiet, the ease he could find there. It was the only other good way of easing his entropy Alex and he had ever found.
Michael snorted. “You’re just bringing me out here so you can see me in that collar you bought in Berlin.” Alex rolled his eyes, thinking of the small arsenal they’d packed in their shared black duffle.
“Given that the third week is “Switch Week,” you might get your chance to try it out on me.”
Michael shook his head, and his curls tickled Alex’s forehead as Alex leaned in even closer. “The fact that this whole thing has themes and challenges is the most Type A shit I have ever heard of in my life.”
“Fair. I do have to say the structure and planning are part of the attraction.” He flipped his phone over in his hands. “And that we know everyone there.”
Once Michael had quietly confirmed that Isobel wasn’t involved at all in the small public kink community spread-out across southeastern New Mexico and West Texas, and once he and Alex had gotten their feet under them, he’d started coming out to play parties with him.
Alex had been going for more than a year at that point, his best way of unwinding while he spent a year traveling, undoing the sins of Project Shepherd, unwinding his father's legacy until it was no more than a ball of yarn in his hands: tangled and dirty and harsh, but unable to bind anyone ever again.
He'd started out going to munches and open parties. He wasn’t looking for a partner or for sex, but if he was in an area long enough, he could usually find a volunteer role. Everyone always needed more party monitors. He was reliable and steady, not afraid of confrontation, and knowledgeable enough about the dynamics at play to know the difference between flirting and creeping. When he’d been in Austin for 3 months, he’d even given a few ropes courses as an assistant for someone who taught them regularly and liked the way he tied his hitch knots.
It wasn’t the most orthodox way to make friends, but Alex was done pretending to be anything other than who and what he was. And he figured, if he met a new friend at a play party, they would already have so much more in common than he would ever have with someone at a random VFW barbecue.
It also fed a deeper need for him. Getting some more adult friends, some more queer couples and families in his life, it felt as urgent as breathing in the months after his Dad had died in front of him. He wanted the accountability of community, the knowledge someone was watching him, making sure he didn't hurt anyone; he’d always thought that was part of why his Dad had been able to hurt him for so long. No one holding him in judgement, no one ever holding him accountable.
On long, dark drives between spread out cities in the desert, Alex had recognized that some twisted-up, shaking part of him desperately wanted Michael to have ways to escape him. Having kinky friends, having friends who knew about this part of them -- it felt like a lifeline. And when Michael had shown interest in joining him, back when they were in Roswell, Alex could not have been more relieved.
(Alex may have dropped a few hints to Isobel about ceding the local scene; she'd been happy enough to find other places to spend her energy, particularly with Anatsa's quick eyes and bright smile filling up her world. And, anyway, most of her kinky friends were over in Albuquerque and Santa Fe).
And to Alex's everlasting gratitude, that first munch had been a revelation for Michael.
In that quiet group of adults of a wide variety of genders and interests, Michael had found his people. People who got nerdy with him about building bed frames and tying good knots; other people who understood what it was like to wait all day to do something kind for a loved one, to know what ‘acts of service’ really could mean. It was something Alex had watched Michael and Heath bond over, the first time they’d seen each other at a play party. After circling the room for an hour, Michael had finally cracked a joke about Heath ‘finally being let out of the convent,’ and things had eased up. He and Alex had done a few public scenes in the past 6 months, keeping their clothes on, and they’d both enjoyed it. But what kept Michael and Alex driving across the state for the meet-ups and parties was the community. Marcy and Maven in Las Cruces and the trials of starting a new restaurant in the Fall; Darby and Susan and their willingness to explain new forms of restraint; Bert and Kate and their baked goods and mead; Kyle and Jenna and their clean boundaries between daily life and scening; and of course, Dallas and Heath and the secret connection to Michael’s past and future that they could both bring.
The trees were getting thicker as they rolled into the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the spaces between them broad and carefully maintained by controlled burns. The air was smelling cooler, the increased elevation bringing them relief from the heat of the valley floors.
Alex checked his phone; only half an hour more to go.
Alex felt a nudge at his thigh, Michael’s fingers inching their way under it again. Something about the pressure, the contact, the way they could do it while driving without anyone seeing had made this form of touch one of the most consistent of their relationship. As much as his thumb gracing across Michael’s lips, or Michael’s palm clasped against the base of his neck, they were the leitmotifs of their time together, a way to always bring them back into tune, into their best selves with one another.
“Remind me the order of events,” Michael asked, and Alex knew he could probably recite them from memory at this point, but he dutifully pulled up the itinerary on his phone. Deep black background with bold white text, it was as stylish as a corset and twice as tight.
At the top of the invitation was a golden collar, with the words: ‘The Great New Mexico Kink-Off,” written in a stylized script.
Alex read aloud: “‘Plan to arrive at least an hour before sunset, which should be 8:05pm on the first day of the series. You can park beside the barn with the blue door; each of the 5 smaller cabins is about a 10 minute walk away from the center of the Ranch, as marked on the map on page 2. These cabins are yours for the summer, so feel free to rearrange the furniture, leave anything you’d like, and treat it as your private space. Obviously, raccoons don’t know about privacy, so don’t leave anything they’ll consider eating, or you’ll be finding strawberry-lube colored raccoon shit everywhere. Once you all are settled in, come back to the big cabin, where Maven and Marcy (AKA M&M) will be staffing the grill. As part of the sign-up process, you and your group agreed to handle food for one of the weekends. As a reminder, that schedule is on page 3.’”
“When’s ours?”
“We signed up for week 5, which should give us enough time to figure out what everyone likes to eat, and avoid getting stuck with Labor Day or Fourth of July or something.”
“Very sneaky, I like it.”
Alex felt his face flush, and kept reading: “‘Itinerary. As we’ve discussed, the themes of each weekend will be announced at the end of the prior weekend. The first weekend’s theme is ‘Something sweet.’ Each weekend will have the same rhythm. Friday is for arrivals, then dinner, time for socializing, and the first challenge: the Signature Scene. Saturday’s are split in half: the mornings are a couples workshop, building skills you’ll use in the later challenges. The second half starts with the technical challenge, then dinner, and finally the showstopper. Sunday morning is casual time. If you would like to leave Sunday afternoon, that is fine, but remember, the cabins are yours for the summer, so if you would like to rest and then leave first thing Monday, that is perfectly good too.’”
Alex paused, letting the rush of the county road flow around them. “I know we need to get back on the road on Sunday, but I figure I can drive, if you’re still blissed out the next morning?”
Michael gave him a soft smile, just barely curling his fingertips against the weight of Alex’s thigh, just enough to let him know he heard.
“There’s only a bit left." He read it, eyes scanning ahead and appreciating the bullet points:
As you know from the orientation meetings, you know everyone there. You’ve played with or shared kink spaces with each person who will be in the room. These relationships are what provide us the freedom to explore, safety to experiment, and try things that will (and won’t) work. Many participants have relationships with each other outside of this space as well, but we’ve all agreed to keep the nature of these weekends private from anyone who doesn’t participate in them. In addition, and as a reminder, here are the themes we all agreed during the orientation to not engage in while in shared spaces:
- Master/enslaved person scenes
- Alien abductions or dissections
- Any substance that takes more than mild soap to get off the floor
And while not banned, we’ve agreed to give a warning before engaging in a scene that involves the following themes in any shared space:
- Daddy kink
- Anything that involves shouting
- Impact play
That heads-up warning gives everyone the chance to head outside and away from it and keep the weekend fun and enjoyable for everyone.
As a caveat to the above, our relationships and our needs may change throughout these 10 weeks. If you need to add or remove something from the list above, start with a conversation with M&M, who can help figure out how to roll it out to the group.
As a final note: we are so, so grateful that you’re choosing to spend your summer weekends with us in this way. It is tough to prioritize learning about our brains and bodies, our needs, and our partners’ brains and bodies and needs. We’re intensely grateful to be in a shared, respectful community who are interested in doing this work with us.
All our love,
M&M
“I’m really glad Dallas suggested the alien autopsy ban,” Michael said, glancing over at Alex.
Alex nodded: “And I think he appreciated when you were the one to call out the Master/enslaved person dynamic as one to stay away from.”
“Yeah, we’d talked about it a bit at the weekly pod squad dinner at Max’s; well, not the dinner itself, more like while we were washing up.” Michael made a face. “Max and Liz were all cuddled up on the couch and Isobel and Anatsa were out by the fire-pit, so we got a few minutes to strategize.”
It lifted something in Alex’s heart, to hear how much more connected Michael was to the group as a whole than he had been when Alex had first come back to Roswell. That was in no small part because of Dallas and Heath; turned out, they had some under-utilized social secretary skills. Plus, Heath was willing to either buy take-out every week, like clockwork, which took an entire level of planning and preventable stress out of the equation.
“Were you the one who suggested the ‘no Daddy kink without announcing it ahead of time’ thing, or was that Heath?” Michael asked slyly.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Heath meets Director Ramos one time and it’s all 'Daddy Ramos' this and 'Daddy Ramos' that. I don’t actually have a problem with other people exploring that dynamic, but I think Heath thinks I do? And it’s not on folks’ usual menu anyway, so it seemed like a harmless bit of confusion.”
Michael shook his head. “I think him bringing it up first thing gave the others space to make their requests as well, so we’ll see how it goes.”
Alex ducked his head and flipped to the back of the pdf packet. “Oh, neat –- I'd missed this before. Looks like there’s a river on the edge of the property, and they’ve diverted a section of it to run through the camp, dividing it into 5 pie slices, with the main house in the middle.” He smiled a little. “I saw that in Doha – it’s a traditional Middle Eastern way of keeping spaces cool in the summer, running water through them. It helps lower the temperature through evaporation –-”
“And the burbling brooks work as a natural white noise machine. I remember when Maven explained it.” Michael finished with a smile. “I think you were falling asleep at that part." He glanced over at Alex's phone. "The pictures were really nice.”
Alex nodded: “Yeah, that had been a long day, a full working day and then a play party." Alex was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep in Michael's lap as the powerpoint had gone over the 10 minute mark. Alex pinched the screen to zoom in. "So, for the challenges, we'll be in the main house."
"Yep, the entire downstairs of the main house is circular, set-up a bit like a theater in the round with the judging table in the middle –- thick, dark curtains on those floor-to-ceiling windows, spotlights for each scening area, all of it. The kitchen and bathrooms are off to one side, and M&M's private space is upstairs. That space must be 50 feet across from the photos.”
“Was there something about," Alex frowned, scrolling to see if it was in the pdf, "selecting chairs?”
Alex could hear the soft smile in Michael's voice. “Yeah. M&M did a run to Goodwill and got a bunch of different kinds of chairs: tall stools and wingback chairs, ottomans and folding chairs, school desks and benches. First thing we do when we arrive is pick the ones we'll be using for the summer and get them set-up in our own area, our own little stage.”
Alex nodded, voice quiet: “If they have a wingback chair, and it’s comfortable, do you want to sit in my lap?”
He caught the flush on Michael’s face before he turned back to the road. His shoulders made a muted shimmy, and Alex was glad he’d ginned up the courage to ask.
Michael bit his lip: “Like the one at Kate's place? Yeah, I mean, if it’s comfortable –-”
Alex nodded. “My thighs might need a break, but –-”
“I could kneel?” Michael asked in a rush. He backtracked immediately, “I don’t know if that would be too –-”
“If they have a rug, some pillows, something to make it comfortable, I –- I think that would be really nice. You sitting on my lap, or next to me. Close." His voice was low, and getting lower. "Close enough I could have my fingers working through your hair while the other scenes are going.”
“I’m going to be more than halfway down before we even get started, with that kind of set-up,” Michael said, half-jokingly.
Alex tried to arrange his words in the right order: “I think that’s part of the point, if we let it be? The chance to stretch the dynamic, outside of a scene, to explore what it feels like, to dip in and out of it in a safe setting.”
Michael tilted his head: “I don’t think it’s going to be like 24/7,”
“No,” Alex said, “No, but I think it’s a space where – like, if Heath wants to serve Dallas breakfast from one plate, no one’s going to bat an eye. Just, like, touching on the dynamics in different places, not just the bedroom.”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, that tracks.”
--
The main house was past a gate with a chain of padlocks wrapped around it, each attendee having a key to their own lock. From there, Michael drove them up long and curving gravel drive, sweeping through widely-spaced pine forests and edged in sage. Alex could see the wind ruffle the sage’s branches, and wondered if Michael’s hair would smell of it for the week to come, after sleeping in these rich and roiling smells.
The house was large, in the cabin style, all artfully exposed logs on top of high quality and weather-proofed floor-to-ceiling windows encircling the ground floor. As Michael pulled around the side of the barn to park, Alex caught a glimpse of four horses, and something in him settled. He’d liked horses. They picked up emotions and scents, were always more aware of danger than any non-traumatized human.
They would let them know if there was something to worry about.
Alex tried to put those anxious thoughts out of his mind.
He was with two aliens, plus a group of kinky people who were more than comfortable with a wide range of weapons.
And, realistically, there was no one hunting them.
For once in his life, there was no enemy. Just safety and friends and the quiet chance to grow in the mixed shade of these wavering pines.
Michael’s hand brushed his thigh and Alex reached down, gripping his palm tight for a moment.
“Ready?” He asked.
Michael nodded. They broke their grasp to open their doors, but Michael reached for him again when they met at the tailgate, and Alex held onto him tight. Together, they headed towards the main house.
The front door was unlocked, with a sign telling them to Come on in, we’re getting Dallas and Heath settled in, be back around 3:30pm done in Maven’s architect block handwriting. She’d designed the cabin, designed the entire grounds, and it showed in the details throughout the downstairs. Just like Michael had remembered, there were theater-quality curtains pulled to the side of each sweeping window, with a round, hand-carved judging table in the middle of the open space. Around the edges of the room were a few clusters of chairs already set-up in pairs, with more empty spaces to fill. Each couple would have one slice of the room that was theirs for scenes, unless they needed one of the more heavily decorated rooms upstairs.
“This is nice,” Michael said, voice low and appreciative.
“Yeah,” Alex said. He took a breath. “I see a green wingback, want to help me grab it?”
“Yeah, and there’s a few pillows I like too.”
They moved to the center of the room, Michael lifting the plush, green velvet chair over his shoulder and Alex gathering the pillows Michael pointed out with one hand. They went to the piece of paper marked “Michael and Alex”, stuck to the wall with painters' tape, Michael setting the chair down with care. As Alex was fussing with its orientation, Michael knelt, arranging the pillows to his liking. Alex's stomach flipped when he glanced down, saw Michael's hands on the soft cushion. The air conditioning turned on with a rush, filling the space with soft, white noise.
Under the burr of the fan, Michael murmured: “Are you still feeling good about our signature scene for tonight?”
“You making me a cup of tea? I think it will go fine.”
He watched a complex expression move across Michael’s face.
“I – I’m not sure if I’m going to be in subspace, what with all the other people there.” He swallowed. "I know we know them, it's just a different space, and the drive and --"
Alex reached down, pressing his fingers to Michael’s cheek and tilting his head up until he met his eyes.
“It is totally fine if it’s just a bit of silly fun. And it’s fine if you go under too. I’ll be here, everyone here knows and respects us both, and if something goes wrong, we’ll just go home.”
Something settled in Michael’s expression, but then another worry rose onto its surface. Alex lowered himself onto the seat, tugging Michael until he was leaning against his right knee, body warm and close. Michael was futzing with the fringe on one of the red, embroidered pillows when he said. “I was surprised, that you wanted to use that one.”
Alex frowned. “Do you not want to?”
“No –- it’s not that. It’s just –- it's not very dramatic. Like, as Signature Scenes go." Michael tried to crack a smile, but there was something fragile about it. "I don't think we're going to win tonight's round with that one."
Something twisted in Alex's chest, and he tried to get the words out around it. "It was the first thing I thought of, when I heard the theme. 'Something sweet.' It reminded me -- it reminded me of that time, when everyone was over at our house. Heath brought Dallas a coffee, and your eyes -- you just followed him, and it looked. It looked so hungry, not that you wanted him --"
"Morally grey nerd is my type,"
"Brat," Alex said, softly nudging him with his knee. He took a breath. "You know what I mean. Like it was something you wanted to do. And when everyone was gone, and I asked --"
"You asked if I wanted to bring you something to drink. That, that it would make you happy if I did."
Alex nodded. It had been late and he'd been exhausted, but Michael had looked like a starving man, and he had decaf.
"And you brought it to me, perfectly made, in my favorite mug, and you knelt and handed it to me and it was just -- it was sweet, Michael. Sweet in the best way."
"Then I sucked you off and you hauled me into your lap and we didn't get to bed until 3."
"Well, we're not doing that in the scene tonight."
"Agreed. No fluid exchanges on the first night, yep, got the memo."
Alex snorted. Then he took a breath. Michael remembering that night the way he had helped, helped him feel like they were on the same page. "And -- I know I'm competitive, but there's -- there's no point where I'm going to push us. To do something 'dramatic,' or whatever, to try to win. And, I guess, I can see how this scene feels like I'm try not to be vulnerable, but, to me, that was a really personal moment. When I saw you wanted something and was able to give it to you. There's been damned few times I could know I was doing that --"
"It meant a lot to me too, Alex. A guarantee that what I was about to do would make you happy? That's fucking catnip to me." He rubbed his temple against Alex's knee, and Alex wondered idly if Oasians could purr. "And to the vulnerability thing, I’m not treating this as some kind of training program, to get you to three little words, Alex,” he said, voice quiet. “I know what you feel without hearing you say them.”
“But I want to say them, I just –-” Alex paused, swallowed. “Thank you for saying that, I’ll try to remember. But I do want to practice being in a place I can be vulnerable. Just, maybe, not on the first night.”
"That sounds fair, and we can do tea every fucking night for 10 weeks if that's what you want, Alex."
"You'd have to tell me your tea order for Switch week."
Michael snorted.
Alex kept going. "And, to be clear, I want to – I want to show you off, just as much as you like to be shown off. I know the golden collar is mostly just a joke -–” something flashed in Michael’s eyes. “But is that something you would like, the idea of it?”
Michael ducked his head lower, pressing his cheek to Alex’s thigh, and Alex dragged his fingertips through Michael’s hair, soothing whatever worry was running through him. He watched the other man nod slightly, and gave a soft sigh.
“If it’s something you’d like, even if we don’t win, we can do that. Make one of our own. Just for us.”
Michael rolled his head up, meeting his eyes, and there was a soft heat there, a warmth that Alex just wanted to dive into, to live inside of. He wanted to know the why of it, why something like a collar would give Michael that look fo contentment while, if they’d turned the question around, Alex would have run screaming.
Maybe he could find the words to ask.
Michael rolled up to his knees, leaning his elbows lightly against Alex’s thighs, and looking up at him. “Now we’ve set-up your throne, my king,” and he bowed his head in mock subservience, making Alex burst out with a chuckle, “Want to go and get our room set-up?”
Alex nodded, bracing his palms on the armrests and pushing himself to standing, admiring the fluid way Michael stood with him, moving back so the space between their bodies remained close, but they didn’t stumble into each other. Michael reached out, slipping his fingers between Alex’s and holding tight.
“I think this is going to be a good weekend,” Michael said, voice low and warm.
Alex nodded, hoping he could surf on top of his fears and make it through to the other side.
–-
They found their cabin on the map, the ranch still mostly empty, though they heard a big truck backfire as it came up the drive. Alex tugged Michael and then dropped his hand as they ducked behind some trees, not quite ready to be seen. Michael adjusted their duffle over his shoulder, but didn't say anything. Alex listened closely for the truck, but it seemed to park without any other issues. Their cabin was one story, with the same exposed wood as the main house, handrails throughout, and solid anchors in the wood for any restraints they might have considered bringing. Michael’s first act upon entering the cabin was to walk over to one of the steel hooks and give it a solid tug –- then to turn to Alex with an impressed look and an open grin. Alex tried to smile back.
It felt too real, in that moment.
Michael didn't notice, flopping himself back on the bed, arms spread, kicking off his boots, and Alex just wanted to crawl over and cover him, sink down onto the warm, soft body and rest for a minute. Just to catch his breath. Just for a minute.
Instead, he started looking for the best place for their duffle, setting it on the desk, pulling out his laptop and getting it plugged in, fumbling with the cord. The whole installation was on solar power, but they tried to run it lightly at night to go easy on the batteries. The main house had a backup generator, but as Maven had said in one of the early presentations, most of what they probably wanted to use the cabins for could be done in the dark.
He unzipped the bag, and zipped it back up again. He picked the bag up, the desk's wood rough on his knuckles, and tried to pull out the chair to put the duffle on it. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, but it was the mirror in the bathroom.
His eyes looked too, too wide.
He heard Michael sit-up, heard the worry in his voice.
“Alex?”
Alex gulped down a breath, hands starting to tingle. He kept his eyes looking down at his bag. He swallowed again. He heard Michael get up, bare feet soft on the carpeted floor.
“Can I touch you?”
Alex jerked a nod.
Michael came in slow, body still soft around him.
“What if I,” Alex choked out, hating the weakness in his voice, “what if I do something wrong.”
He felt Michael take a deep breath, his chest pushing against Alex’s back. “Can you tell me what the monster looks like? In your head, right now?”
Alex swallowed, trying to think about it.
He came up with, “what if, what we’ve been doing all this time, it was wrong. It was fucked up. It was hurting you, or hurting me, or –-” he sucked in a breath. “What if this thing, this soft, perfect thing between us, gets messed up because we tried to make it better. Because we couldn’t be happy with what we had. What if they see something and we're wrong.”
Michael buried his face in Alex’s shoulder and Alex felt his body sag with the relief of the closeness of it, their bodies always more fluent than any other shared language they’d tried. He felt him take a deep breath against his back, and then begin to speak, low and clear, breath soft against his skin.
“We’re more important to me than any game we like to play. Full stop.” Michael took a breath. “But I also think we’re strong enough to try pushing a little, experimenting a little. We’re not on life support, we’re not desperate. I think we’re strong enough to be flexible. And if we’re wrong, whatever, we’ll apologize to Maven and Marcy and head home, take a walk, go work on a project together, cook dinner, and go to bed.” He took another hard breath, the hitch in his throat belying his practical tone. “And I know you’re worried about how it will look, but love, the people there know us. They are not going to judge us. I know I got worried earlier, but,” and there was a soft huff of air against the nape of his neck, “what is a good relationship but one where we can take turns being messy? You held my hand through all of my worrying on the ride up here, and now I figure I can do the same.”
Alex worked his jaw, voice low. “When I saw you on the bed, I wanted to climb on you,” he admitted. “I always want to be touching you. Always. I –- I know I don’t always take your hand, or hold onto you in public –-”
He felt Michael shake his head, curls just brushing across the nape of his neck. “I don’t have a checklist, Alex. I don’t have a list of ‘Good boyfriend behaviors’ that I’m waiting for you to think up and then cross off. I’m happy how we are. Really, genuinely, happy.”
Alex’s voice was really, really quiet. “It’s just hard for me to believe it.” He took a hard breath. “For tragic backstory reasons.”
Michael chuckled, and it warmed something impossible inside of Alex’s chest to be able to make him make that sound, even in the middle of this –- what, argument? Discussion? Debate? Worry session? He didn’t have words for what they were doing, revealing wounds in these tense, even tones, giving each other space and room to talk and decide how they wanted to proceed.
Alex swallowed. “But I’ll try. It’s one little tea scene, and if it’s no fun, we’ll do the workshop in the morning and head home.”
“We can head home now if –-”
But Alex was shaking his head. “Heath said he was bringing Crashdown. I want to get in on that.”
“Alright,” Michael said, voice even, and fingers gentle on Alex’s hips as he turned him around, probably figuring it was safe to talk face-to-face again. “So, I think we could both use a bit of quiet time to adjust to the space, and then head back in for dinner and the show.”
Alex nodded, body still feeling too, too tight. Michael slid his hands down Alex’s arms, gently taking his hands in his and drawing him back. “How about you show me that new level on Seterra you’re playing while we lounge around.”
“Sounds like a plan. And Michael?”
Michael’s head jerked up and he caught Alex’s eyes, a flare of worry moving through them.
“Thank you.” Alex said, leaning in and brushing a tight kiss against Michael's warm mouth. “I appreciate you talking me down.”
“Anytime, love,” Michael said. “I know you do the same for me.”
Alex pressed his face to Michael’s warm skin, and just tried to breathe.
--
Alex woke up after about a REM cycle on their cabin's soft bed, body aching a little with slowly-released tension. His hand was pressed over Michael’s staple scar. Every time Michael told the story about how he’d had Maria ‘Mark Watney’ him back together again in his bunker, Alex could barely think for the pain of it. Michael seemed to want to focus on the heroism he remembered, the way they’d won the day.
But Alex had been down there with Michael. When he’d gotten on his knees with a practiced ease, slipping a rag out of his back pocket and using his powers to pull baking powder off the shelf, and started to scrub the blood splatter off of his concrete floor.
It wasn’t an image Alex was likely to forget anytime soon.
He refused to obsess out loud around Michael, wouldn’t let his own fears make him uncomfortable or afraid, wouldn’t let his tendency to see the world through a mirror darkly interfere with Michael’s new sense of triumph.
While Michael was asleep, though. While he was was soft and easy in his arms, Alex could hold him here a little tighter. Could feel the places where he’d knit himself together again, where he was whole, in spite of Jones, in spite of Max, in spite of everything. Michael had come out of it whole.
Maybe it wasn’t the triumphal narrative Michael had made for himself. But we survived and they didn’t was enough of a win for Alex any day. He glanced over at the analog clock on the wall: 5:00. They had another hour until dinner. He could go back to sleep.
He adjusted his position, tucking his knees behind Michael's and wrapping his arm all the way around his chest, fingertips as light as he could put them on the lifelong scar on Michael's stomach.
He could do this. They could do this.
Michael believed it, and he could believe it too.