Work Text:
Michael’s office is tucked away in a forgotten corner of the main building in the engineering pod, at the southwest side of campus.
Calling it his office might be a bit of a misnomer— it’s the office where he holds office hours, in rotation with two other doctoral students also teaching undergrad classes. He almost never does his own work here; he’s got a dedicated lab for the year where most of his own research is set up, and any computer work can be done in more comfort with more space to spread out at home. But holding office hours is part of teaching, and so he holes up in the underventilated closet with a charming view of the warehouse across the road, and makes himself available to his students. Mostly, though, he uses the time to get caught up on grading, before heading out to his lab or heading home for the weekend.
Heading home, or heading out— that’s a relatively new development. A little over a month he’s been dating Alex; four weekends of Alex pulling Michael’s attention away from work, from his thesis and his grading and his musty little office on the weekends, and the odd week night or two. It might be a problem, except Alex leaves him feeling remarkably clear headed, settled and with all his energy productively focused. It’s easier to think about work when he can also stop thinking about work, turns out.
Who’d have thought?
Michael twirls a pen absently between his fingers, staring vacantly at the door, his mind drifting back three days to meeting up with Alex at the store where they’d first met. They’d gone with the express purpose of picking out some cuffs together, and then, well, the plan had been to take them back to Alex’s place and test them together too. But they’d run into some folks Alex knew through Maria, and had spent an hour sitting in the store talking about accessible interior design, Alex’s hand tucked warmly around Michael’s knee the entire time. The feeling of being seen had stuck with Michael for days after, soothing and sharpening in turns that ache inside of him that desperately wants to be kept.
Just a few more hours, then he’s free— dinner at a nice farm-to-table place, Alex’s smile and his hand in Michael’s from across the table, and then back to Alex’s place so Alex can buckle him into those sturdy soft-lined cuffs...
Michael’s phone buzzes on the desk, snapping him out of his decidedly not-safe-for-work daydream. He reaches for it a little guiltily, but a reflexive smile jumps to his face when he sees Alex’s name on his lockscreen, thumbing the phone open immediately.
[Alex: hey, i think i’m gonna need to take a raincheck on tonight. i’m sorry to bail on a date but it’s been a long day and i’m not going to be in the headspace to play tonight]
Worry chases the immediate drop of disappointment in his stomach. Of course Alex knows his own mind, knows best when he can and can’t play— but something in that isn’t sitting quite right. They don’t need to play to have a date, don’t even need to fuck to have a date, except they kind of have, every time. Even Tuesday, when it had been too late to test the cuffs properly, Alex had guided him through a luxurious blow job that left Michael feeling something like actual reverence, down on his knees in front of Alex’s couch.
But they didn’t need to play, to see each other... right?
Michael swallows, thumbs hovering over the keypad on his phone, trying to figure out how the fuck to communicate any of that over text. He doesn’t want to make Alex feel bad, but if something’s wrong, then Michael wants to help. Even if all he can do is be something for Alex to lean on, he wants to do that.
Giving up, he taps the call button instead, figuring Alex can just ignore the call if he doesn’t want to talk.
“Hello?” Alex sounds... terse, but not annoyed, and Michael leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles of his office. The old remnants of water damage in one corner stain the white in a rusty oblong circle.
“Hey, yourself. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says, and for a moment Michael thinks Alex is just going to shut him down, until he lets out an audible huff. “Got in an argument, and then dragged over the coals by someone I work with for a project that isn’t even mine, and my leg is bothering me. I'm just not in the right frame of mind for a scene tonight. Or to be out in public, quite frankly. I am sorry, I know you were looking forward to this. I was looking forward to it.”
“It’s really okay, I know how this works. We can just keep looking forward to it,” Michael says easily, rocking his heel to tip the legs of his chair backwards. “Listen, though, uh– of course I get it if you just want to go home and crash with a pizza. But, if you’re up for it, maybe you could come over to my place, let me cook you dinner instead?”
“Michael—” Alex starts, sounding resigned, and... it’s pushing a little. Michael doesn’t like to push, not really, but he can still hear the fragile ache of longing in Alex’s voice when he’d said I feel like I might want it too much.
“You said you didn’t want to do casual,” Michael points out, as even keel as he can manage, rocking himself on the back two legs of his chair. “That means we can hang out and have dinner and watch TV without it being about sex, right? You didn’t want to just be my Dom, and so that means sometimes I get to just be your boyfriend.”
“You’re my boyfriend all the time,” Alex says, and there’s so much affection in his voice that Michael feels some part of him that was braced for the impact of rejection unclenching a little. “We could still get a pizza, though, you don’t have to cook for me.”
“I like cooking, actually,” Michael says, already running through a mental tally of the things he’s got on hand that he can turn into a meal. “I don’t do it as much as I probably should, given how often I end up staying at the lab through dinner, but I do enjoy it.”
“Plus cooking for one person sucks,” Alex says bluntly, and Michael laughs.
“I mean, yeah, you’re not wrong, but Isobel or Dallas would happily fix that problem for me. Neither of them loves cooking either. It really is more of a timing thing.”
“And you have time tonight?” Alex sounds hesitant, but he’s giving more ground than Michael honestly expected.
“It’s date night,” Michael points out, because sure, this isn’t what they planned, but who knows. It might even be better. “Only thing I’ve got in the books is you.”
Alex exhales, and Michael can picture it, the slow measured way he breathes out through his mouth when he’s trying to get a hold of his feelings. “Okay,” he says softly, and Michael catches on a wave of pleasant excitement. “Your building has an elevator, right?”
“Yep,” Michael says easily, dropping forward so all four of the legs of his chair are on the ground. “I’ll park my truck on the street so you can have my parking space. It’s the same number as the apartment, I’ll text it to you.”
“Okay,” Alex says softly, and then— “Thanks. It’s good to hear your voice.”
Michael’s stomach swoops. If he had pigtails he’d twirl them. “See you soon.”
_____
Alex arrives close to half-past six.
Michael’s pulling a side of marinated skirt steak out of the one good pan he has (solid cast iron, bought rusted-cheap and restored with a lot of care and googling) when the buzzer goes off, and he hops over to hit the entry button, flipping the lock on his front door on his way back to the stove. He can hear the soft knock over the sizzle of onions and peppers sliding into the hot pan, calling a distracted “It’s open!” over his shoulder.
“Hey,” Alex greets, letting the door click shut behind him. “Smells good in here.”
Michael throws a grin at him over his shoulder, taking him in at a quick glance. He’s using a crutch— Michael’s never seen him use it when he’s wearing his prosthetic, but he did mention his leg was bothering him, so it’s no big surprise. Alex always looks good, and today is no exception; the rusty yellow shirt he’s wearing has absolutely no business looking that good on anyone. But it brings out the lighter tones in his hair, compliments his skin, and Michael bites his lip without thinking about it, watching the way his dark wash jeans hug his thighs as he sets a laptop bag down by the door. Alex’s eyebrows go up, clearly catching Michael checking him out, and Michael grins, shameless, turning back to his pan.
“You’re just in time. Veggies will be done soon and we can serve right from the pan.”
“Sounds good,” Alex says, stepping away from the door and into the main body of the apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”
It seems automatic, the ingrained impulse to be polite when you’re a guest in someone else’s space. Nice, sweet even, but emphasizing the newness of it— Michael’s not used to having people at his place who don’t already know how to make themselves at home. “Get drinks out, maybe? I’ve got beer and, uh— a pitcher of filtered water. There might be some of Izzy’s fancy Italian lemon soda if you want that, I’ll just replace it.”
Alex fishes two beers wordlessly out of the fridge, depositing them on the counter and reaching into his own pocket for a bottle opener on his key chain, popping both lids. “It really does smell amazing,” he says as he passes one of the bottles over, hovering on the edge of Michael’s personal space. There's a bit of hesitance to it, like he's not sure if he's going to get in the way if he gets too close, a rigidity to his body that can't be helping him if his leg hurts. Michael turns towards him, taking the beers from him and putting it back down on the counter, leaving his hands free to cup Alex’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. Alex returns it one-armed, right arm still braced on his crutch.
“Hi,” Michael says softly into the skin of his neck, and when Alex relaxes a little, Michael leans back enough to move in for a sweet greeting kiss. Part of him wants to open up for it, little zings of pleasure shooting through from the soft heat of Alex’s mouth, irregardless of concepts like bad days and food on the stove. But he can behave himself, tipping his forehead against Alex’s for a brief nuzzle of affection and then pulling back. “Feel free to go snoop around while I finish this up, it should only be a few more minutes.”
Alex snorts, pulling back to glance around the main space of the apartment. “It’s nice.”
“It’s small,” Michael laughs, looking back into the room, trying to see it all with fresh eyes.
It is small. He doesn’t even have a kitchen proper— an L-shaped block of counter and appliances is tucked in one corner, running partway down the side of the main open space, fridge and stove and sink all squished in amongst the cabinets. There’s a table on the other side of the front door, but it doubles as a desk; he’d made some cursory attempts to tidy up when he got home, but that mostly involved closing and stacking the notebooks and textbooks into neat piles. They could eat there, but he doesn’t usually.
Past the kitchen space is a waist-high bookshelf with a TV sitting on top, both cast-offs from the house Isobel had shared with Noah— only accepted because he knew she had no desire to keep them. The pullout couch across the coffee table from the TV was the first real piece of furniture Michael ever bought— he was sleeping on an air mattress and using boxes for tables, but he’d wanted a place for Isobel to sleep, something good. Something better than sleeping on the ground.
There’s a thrill in watching Alex walk through the space, looking around at all the details, all the bits of Michael that have collected in this place in the last six years— the longest he’s ever lived anywhere in his life. Watching from the corner of his eye he can see Alex glancing at the bookshelves, taking in the mix of science fiction and real science with a small smile on his face. His fingers brush gently against the fretboard of Michael’s guitar, and Michael shivers, making himself drag his attention back to his cooking.
“Firefly?” Alex asks, voice loud enough to be heard across the open space, and Michael glances over to see him tapping the framed poster next to the window, a schematic blueprint of the Serenity.
Michael nods, grinning. “Space cowboys,” he drawls, nodding to his own black Stetson, hung proudly on a hook by the door next to a star map full of pins. “Kinda my thing.”
“Good show, though Buffy was always my Whedon 'verse of choice.”
“Never seen it,” Michael says absently, focused on cutting the steak into strips, and Alex gasps, an exaggerated sound that pulls Michael’s attention back to him.
“Never?”
“Hey, I didn’t have reliable access to a TV until a couple years ago. Now I’m mostly just catching up on stuff people tell me I just have to see.”
“Bet that gets you a real mix of quality.”
“Oh it for sure does. All of Star Trek? Big win. The Walking Dead? I literally can not believe how into that show some people are.”
“Yeah, I was overseas for the start of the particular cultural moment, never really got into it,” Alex says, finishing his slow stroll around the open space, pausing long enough to stick his head into the doorway of the bathroom curiously. That’s basically a complete tour of the apartment, save Michael’s bedroom through the last door, and well— Michael can show him that later, maybe.
“The upside to my apartment being the size of a nickel is that even without grab bars, you can probably manage the bathroom just grabbing ahold of the sink. I have hauled my drunk ass up with it several times in the last six years, and it hasn't pulled off the wall yet,” Michael calls over, scraping the steak pieces back into the pan so they can get back to hot.
“Good to know,” Alex says, amused, as he makes his way back to the kitchen, seeming to sense the approach of mealtime. “Well, Buffy’s the show I personally have a lot of nostalgia-based fondness for, so if you’re collecting recommendations, that’s my contribution.”
He’s immediately curious what about the show made Alex love it— was it the show itself, or the people he watched it with? Generally, Michael’s found the best way of experiencing something people love is to watch it with them, and that gives him an idea. “You know,” Michael says casually as he reaches up to pull some plates out of a cupboard, “Introducing your boyfriend to a beloved series seems like a solid way to end a shitty day.”
Alex makes a thoughtful sound, taking the plates from Michael with his free hand. “Well, might not be if you hate it. But it is streamable, if you’ve got a way for me to sling to the TV from my phone.”
“I’ve got a Chromecast,” Michael confirms, nodding his chin towards the TV. “Why don’t you get it set up, bring the plates over? I’ve got this.”
If Alex notices he’s being given a way to be helpful while getting off his feet, he at least doesn’t bristle at it. Michael brings the plate of warmed tortillas and a hot pad over to the coffee table, going back for the skillet, and a final trip for pico and sour cream and both their beers. The whole thing takes less time than it takes for Alex to get the show cued up, and Michael drops down onto the couch next to him.
“I can’t believe you just whipped this up on the fly,” Alex says, gesturing to the food spread out in front of them with a little shake of his head.
“Nah, I had most of it on hand. I just swung by the market for the steak on my way home.”
“I’m pretty sure all that’s in my fridge right now is take-out boxes,” Alex says ruefully. He reaches out to give Michael’s knee a squeeze, steady and grounding as Alex’s touch always is, and Michael bumps their shoulders together with a grin.
They start eating in companionable silence while the show kicks off. It’s pretty much what Michael expects: spooky 90s horror meets teen high school drama. He can feel Alex watching him within minutes of the show starting, and Michael rolls his eyes, nudging Alex’s good ankle with his foot.
“I’m not gonna form an opinion before the credits,” he teases, sotto voice, and Alex shakes his head, caught out. On screen, a kid wipes out on a skateboard, and Michael says, “I’m pretty sure Max had that haircut in middle school.”
“I’m pretty sure I had that haircut in middle school,” Alex admits, taking a bite before continuing. “I also definitely wiped out on a skateboard in front of the entire school— Maria probably has pictures.”
That’s a tantalizing new bit of information. Michael knows Maria mostly as Alex’s kink friend, another Dom who’s more plugged into their local scene than Alex is. He hadn’t realized they go back that far. He wants to ask more, but Alex’s attention is already pulled back to the screen, and Michael lets it absorb him too, getting pulled into the meal and the show. There will be other times to ask about the past; for now he’s content to share this moment in the present.
He settles back into the couch when he’s done eating, and eventually Alex does too, sitting back a little stiffly. There’s a discomfort in the way he is holding himself that Michael’s not sure what to make of. Alex isn’t the most physically demonstrative person Michael’s ever met, but they touch each other often enough, holding hands even out in public, more overtly possessive touches in private spaces. Alex has never been shy about hooking his hand over Michael’s thigh or lacing their fingers together. Now, his hands are twisting in his own lap, fidgeting with his nail beds in a restless sort of way, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Michael’s used to taking his cues from Alex, but the internal conflict Alex is wrestling with is so evident that Michael just makes the decision for himself, reaching out for Alex’s hand.
Alex lets him take it. The rigidity in his frame persists for a moment after Michael picks up his hand, then it’s like a dam breaks somewhere inside him. He softens with a sigh, sinking against Michael’s side, head coming to rest on Michael’s shoulder. Michael shifts to meet him instinctually, turning his body so they can curl together and still see the TV, Alex’s arm sliding across his stomach, his own wrapping around Alex’s shoulders.
“This okay?” Alex asks softly, like he’s— imposing or something, like he’s not allowed to want to be held. Michael’s not sure if that’s a Dom thing, or if this hesitance lives somewhere else in Alex’s psyche, but he knows it’s taking effort for Alex to let himself have it. Something like pride settles over him, and he feels Alex’s trust settling over him like a blanket. If Michael’s made himself vulnerable to Alex when they play, this is the reverse: Alex holding out something precious that he’s trusting Michael not to break.
“It’s so okay,” Michael murmurs back, squeezing Alex’s shoulder. “It’s really nice. You need anything?”
Alex just hums a wordless negative, adjusting his position in a way that seems to serve only to rub his face against Michael’s shoulder. Michael hides a smile against Alex’s hair, trying to drag his attention back to the action playing out on the TV. It’s important to Alex, and Michael wants to pay attention to it just for that, but it’s hard to focus on much besides the pressure of Alex’s body against his, warm and heavy as he unwinds. Alex feels nice in his arms, and holding him, giving him whatever he needs, is drawing up a feeling of warm contentment in Michael’s chest. He sinks back into the couch, relaxed and open, rubbing his thumb against the texture of Alex’s shirt, feeling the give of muscle underneath.
Alex offers the occasional bits of insight or opinion as they continue to watch, and Michael takes his cue from that, letting himself react verbally as the action unfolds on the screen. It’s fun— the show is pretty ridiculous, but Alex’s enthusiasm is infectious. They watch through the first three episodes as the sun sets outside Michael’s building. It’s longer than Michael typically manages to sit still without something to occupy him, but it’s easier to feel settled than it would be otherwise, with Alex leaning against him.
“I should probably head out,” Alex says, into the quiet of the credit music as the next episode begins to cue itself up. He doesn’t move, though, still a warm heavy weight against Michael’s side and chest. His hair is silky, soft against Michael’s face when he presses a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. The scent of his shampoo has long since faded, leaving behind the scent that lingers in his sheets, on his clothes, that intimate Alex smell.
“Do you want to leave?” Michael asks cautiously, because he’s pushed hard enough today, but Alex still isn’t moving, and Michael’s certainly not going to kick him out. Alex shakes his head wordlessly, and Michael can guess that Alex is listing all the reasons to himself that supersede what he wants. “Have your other crutch in your car?”
“Yeah,” Alex says, hesitantly. “But that’s all, I came right here from work.”
“My clothes will fit you,” Michael says confidently. He’s a little broader in the shoulders than Alex, who’s stockier, but the difference is minimal. “If you wanna wash up, I can run down and grab your other crutch.”
“Are you sure?”
Michael nudges Alex with his shoulder until he sits up enough for Michael to meet his eyes. He looks tired, but still so gorgeous, dark eyes intense and mouth a twist of indecision. “Stay,” Michael says gently, reaching up to cup the side of Alex’s face, rubbing his thumb against the grain of Alex’s stubble until he relaxes a little. He can feel it against his hand when Alex nods, a little thing, and he puts all of the gratitude he feels into the kiss he presses against Alex’s lips, tender and sweet.
Trading Alex’s keys for a clean toothbrush and some sleep clothes, Michael braves the cold desert night air to retrieve Alex’s other crutch. Alex is sitting on Michael’s bed when he comes into the bedroom, wearing a t-shirt and PJ pants knotted up at the right knee, hair fluffy and a little wet around the edges like he splashed water on his face. He looks, all told, incredibly soft, staring into the middle distance, blinking only when Michael steps into the room.
“Ta-da,” he offers, holding out the crutch with a little flourish. Alex gives a little smile, nodding over to where the other crutch is resting within arms reach of the bed. Michael puts the one he’s holding with its mate, and stops long enough to kick the shoes off his feet directly into the closet, before crawling up onto the bed, settling in close enough to rest his head on Alex’s shoulder from behind. “You look good in my clothes.”
“And what makes this particular gray t-shirt look different than any other?” Alex asks, leaning his body back enough that Michael can take some of his weight, curled together at the foot of the bed.
“It’s the psychology of the matter,” Michael says dismissively, and Alex huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. The smile doesn’t last, though, face falling back into a pensive look. He’s clearly chewing over something, and Michael’s content to just let Alex lean on him until he’s ready to say his bit.
“I had a fight with my brother yesterday,” he says, at long last, voice quiet in the small room. “An argument, more than a fight, really. ‘Fight’ maybe has connotations that I don’t mean, we weren’t— it was just a phone call.”
“Hey, I’m not going to judge, I have definitely punched Max in the face,” Michael says dryly, and when Alex twists around to look at him, eyebrows up, he shrugs. “It was a while ago. We’re better at using our words now. More or less.”
Alex huffs a little, turning back around, and Michael wraps an arm around his waist, tucking himself in close up against Alex’s back. “My brothers and I don’t fight. We barely talk.”
“Was this Greg?”
“Yeah,” Alex sighs, drawing his left leg up to wrap his arm around it, giving Michael even more of his weight. “And he’s— Greg is a personification of the phrase ‘still waters run deep.’ He served exactly one enlistment period in the Navy and then got out, got his degree in elementary ed with his GI Bill benefits. Of all of us, he’s the calmest, the most level-headed.”
“I think of you as a pretty level-headed person,” Michael protests, because, well. Alex overthinks everything.
Alex hums thoughtfully. “I’m glad I come off that way. I try to be, but it doesn’t come naturally. I think your exposure to my bitchier side has been somewhat limited so far.”
“Oh my god, please let me meet Bitchy Alex, that sounds like an amazing way to spend brunch.” That earns him an honest-to-god giggle, Alex turning to press his face against the skin of Michael’s neck for a beat or two. Then he settles back, and starts to talk.
“I mentioned to Greg a few weeks ago that Kyle was helping me look into a more adaptable type of prosthetic. And Greg came back to me today with a bunch of research he did about the risks of pushing yourself too hard after an amputation, like I don’t know them. Like they haven’t been clearly and repeatedly communicated to me by every doctor I’ve talked to in the last year, like I’m not living with the realities of missing half my fucking leg every day.”
There’s a genuine edge of anger in Alex’s voice that Michael’s never heard before, but he’s still soft and relaxed in Michael’s arms, so Michael just keeps holding him. “Childhood bestie Dr. Kyle?” he asks, and Alex snorts.
“Yeah, that’s the one. He and I have had some baggage between us too, but he stepped up for me in a major way when I came back from Baghdad. He was telling me about this newer style of foot that sort of mixes the technology of a blade with the functionality of a more standard prosthetic. I’m not an idiot, I know I need to watch how hard I push myself, but it’d be nice to be able to go for a hike or a jog on the same foot that I walk around with. I didn’t even know that was an option until Kyle mentioned it.”
“Ah, and Greg got protective older-brother-y about it,” Michael fills in.
“I don’t need to be protected,” Alex snaps, and then sighs, pulling out of Michael’s arms to sit up, turning to look at him a little sheepishly. “And I really don’t need to take this out on you, I’m sorry. Probably doesn’t help that my leg actually is bothering me today.”
“I get it,” Michael says sincerely. He misses the weight of Alex against his chest already, but it’s nice to be able to see his face. “Max is the same way, always thinks he knows what’s best for me. Used to really piss me off.”
“How’d you learn to deal with it?”
Michael looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “I dunno. I used to think I lashed out at him because I was trying to push him away, but... I don’t know if that was really it. I think maybe I lashed out at him because he was one of the only people I couldn’t push away, and I didn’t have anywhere else to put my anger.”
Alex’s mouth pulls into a frown, his brows creasing. “I can definitely push Greg away. I’ve been pushing him away since I was ten years old.”
“You think he’ll let you, this time?”
“I— hope not,” Alex says, a tone of surprise in his voice like he’s discovering the answer as he says it. Then, like he needs to clarify it, “I’m pissed at him.” Michael hums in agreement, watching as Alex’s eyes roam over the bedroom like the answer he’s seeking is hidden amongst Michael’s artfully framed Star Trek posters. “I’m really pissed at him, and I still want to talk to him about it. I think he’ll still want to talk to me, even if I’m pissed at him.”
“After you’ve cooled down, maybe,” Michael teases gently, reaching out to pick up Alex’s hand, shaking it a little. “Use some ‘I feel’ statements, communicate.”
That gets him another laugh, Alex scrubbing his hands up over his face. “God, the way we grew up... No one ever modeled ‘healthy communication’ for us. Honestly, I am so glad I found kink when I did or I think I’d be a lot more fucked up than I already am.” There’s some derision in Alex’s voice that says a lot about how fucked up he thinks he already is, and Michael wonders about that. Alex doesn’t talk about his childhood at all. “The lessons I’ve learned in that space just kind of fly out the window, when it comes to my brother. It’s so easy to end up an angry teenager again.”
“I think that’s something of a universal experience with family,” Michael says gently, and gets a thoughtful hum in response.
“Do I get to meet your sister sometime?” Alex asks, and it’s clearly a change of subject, but there’s an edge of mischief in his eye, and he looks more at ease than he has since he got here. So Michael lets out a dramatic huff, flopping to sprawl backwards on the bed with his arms spread wide.
“She’s already chomping at the bit to make that happen, so yeah, seems likely.”
Alex moves to follow him, laying down on his side, head propped up on his arm so he can look down at Michael. “I’ll promise to be on my best behavior.”
“Believe me when I tell you, it’s not you I’m worried about,” Michael says emphatically, reaching up to touch the corner of Alex’s answering smile. More softly, seriously, he says, “Yeah, I want you to meet her. She’s...”
“Important to you,” Alex fills in, and Michael swallows thickly. Nods.
“She was all I had for a while,” Michael says, and it’s easy to still feel the ache of it, the fear of losing her, the fear that Max would never speak to him again if they did. Things are better now, but Michael’s not sure Max will ever really forgive him for leaving after high school, that he wasn’t around to see what Noah really was. Alex’s hand drops down to sift through Michael’s curls, familiar and gentle, and Michael smiles up at him. Softly, he says, “I’m glad you’re here. This was a good night.”
“Yeah,” Alex agrees, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “It really was. Thanks for pushing me a little.”
“Thanks for letting me,” Michael says, seriously, reaching up to brush his fingers against Alex’s cheek. Then flashes a shiteating grin, says, “What’s the appropriate aftercare for emotional vulnerability? Should we take a shower together?”
Alex rolls his eyes, flopping over onto his back. “God, are you a night shower person? How do you even wake up in the morning?”
“Reluctantly, and with a lot of coffee,” Michael laughs, rolling his head to the side to look at Alex. “Hey, I worked jobs that left me covered shit or engine grease for years, some habits are hard to break.”
“Go take your shower, weirdo,” Alex sighs, reaching over to poke Michael in the side. “At least we won’t have to compete for hot water in the morning.”
And yeah, there is that, a nice little complement of compatibility. It makes Michael’s stomach flutter, little butterflies of excitement as he crunches up, rolling over to kiss Alex soundly. Alex catches him when he goes to move away, pulling him back in for another kiss, and another, brief and fleeting. Then he goes, secure in the knowledge that Alex will be waiting for him when he gets back.