Work Text:
Beside him, Fit groaned as he sat up from the bench. Phil watched the man roll his shoulders, a slight twitch tipping him off to what was happening beyond whatever Fit let show on his face. Phil checked the quests, calculating the time required to finish them under his breath. Chayanne and Ramon were play fighting in the ring while Richarlyson watched with his father, Cellbit. Richas had nearly beat out Ramon, but Ramon was still hungering for a fight. So Chayanne dove in.
Phil’s gaze drifted to Cellbit, then back to Fit. Fit raised a fist to cheer on Ramon, but Phil kept seeing that little twitch, that little twinge of weariness to Fit’s movements. He nodded to himself, then walked over to Cellbit.
“Hey man, can I ask a favor?” Phil asked and stuck a thumb back to Ramon and Chayanne. “Can you watch Ramon and Chayanne? I have to go take care of some business with Fit today and, uh, it’s not really egg-friendly.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Cellbit replied, pushing off the wall he leaned against. Phil filled him in on what they got done so far, telling him he could finish the egg quests if he wanted to, but it wasn’t all that necessary. Satisfied that his and Fit’s kids would be safe, he headed back over to Fit to tell him the news.
“Uh, you sure about that? I don’t really think that–” Fit started, but Phil knew his friend well enough to know exactly how to dissuade any further protest. He rested his hand on Fit’s shoulder and squeezed meaningfully. He tried not to grin as Fit’s protest faltered in his mouth. He breathed in slowly, then nodded once. Phil let him go talk to Ramon before they left for Fit’s base.
“Alright mate,” Phil said as he pulled open the drawers, looking through Fit’s belongings for–there! He turned to look at Fit over his shoulder, smiling at the sight. Fit waited patiently, naked as the day he was born. His knees were on the ground, his hands on his hips as he sat back on his heels, already working on grounding himself, on breathing in and out slowly.
Phil pulled out the item he’d been looking for, the leather familiar in his hands. He stepped around to Fit’s front and squatted down in front of him. He took a moment to stare at his friend's face, to steel himself for the next part of this. He knew what he had to do, but he always made sure to check. He always gave Fit an out, even though they both knew he needed this. Fit opened his eyes and stared back. Satisfied with that, Phil said, “You know the drill.”
Fit nodded firmly once. “Hard, make it hurt. Only my back. Nowhere else.”
Phil hummed in acknowledgement, then held out the toy he chose. It was a flogger with heavy black leather strips. He had other toys he could use, but this was the one Fit usually chose. “This one?” he asked, just in case. He knew the answer already, but he always needed to check.
“Yes.” Fit lifted his head up from the toy to meet Phil’s gaze again. There was a certainty in his expression, a hardwired need burning him up inside that only Phil could tame. His voice was hoarse when he said, “You know the drill.”
“If you say ‘Stop’, I stop. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Alright. Let’s start.” Phil pushed to his feet and walked around to Fit’s back. This was easy enough to do, with Fit at least. They’d been doing this for years, and found it to help them both. For Fit, the pain took him out of his head. Phil had been to 2b2t’s server before. He remembered the hellscape it was and that was only a few years ago. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to live there, to survive there. However, he knew this helped, at least.
Phil gripped the flogger in his hand, eyeing the expanse of Fit’s back. He saw the muscles twitching in anticipation, the lines of stress and tension building up the longer they waited between sessions. Fit didn’t like much pretense, nor did he like much build up. It was better to dive right in. He nodded to himself, then tapped the butt of it on Fit’s spine. It was the only warning he’d get.
FWAP!
The leather slapped against Fit’s back, the blow landing with a heavy noise, only matched by the bitten off grunt that slipped out of Fit’s mouth. He jerked forward, then returned to first position. Phil checked him over, then started a steady round of swings. Every third one, he hit harder, keeping up the pace until Fit stopped biting back his noises. When he heard the first real sound of pain, he slowed, opting for trailing the strips of the flogger down his back. Phil leaned forward to get his hand on Fit’s back, eying the red stripes gradually appearing across his skin. The skin was warm to his touch, and he rubbed his hand over Fit’s back, letting him catch his breath.
It helped him too, Phil realized a while back. He knew how to survive in a world that wanted you dead. He knew how to keep himself alive, healthy, and sane. And sometimes, he knew, you had to let your grip loosen on some of that control to truly keep yourself sane. It was cathartic, he explained to Fit once. He didn’t like to cause pain; he wasn’t a sadist by nature. He wasn’t a masochist either, but it was freeing, in a way. Freeing to let yourself go, to let yourself slip into the taboo, into the things you trained yourself never to do. Never hurt a body that didn’t deserve it, and Fit was the least of all to deserve it in his mind.
But the way Fit gasped, the way he writhed, the way he jerked forward with short cries of pain unlocked something in the back of his brain and he couldn’t help himself but to let go. Phil quickened his pace this time, the blows not nearly as hard as before, but constant, consistent, a steady beating heart of leather thudding upon flesh. His arm ached and he switched to the other without missing a beat, and kept. going.
Fit’s arms shook and his body slumped halfway to the ground. Phil stilled his arm, the flogger falling against his own skin with the aborted movement. The two men breathed in slowly, Fit’s own shaking with the effort. Phil came back to himself and pressed his hand back to the reddening flesh. It took longer for Fit to recover this time, but that was expected. He barely said a word during their sessions, and Phil stayed mostly quiet too. They didn’t need to speak to each other; they knew each other well enough by now that they didn’t really need to check in.
Phil still took the time to check over him. He wasn’t breaking skin yet, and he wanted to avoid that as much as he could. He noted the places that were more beaten than the others, pressing down on his skin to see how Fit reacted. If his breath hitched, if he flinched away from the touch, Phil made a note of it. Their sessions didn’t always take a long time to finish, at least not this part. One more round and Fit would be done.
This time, though, when Fit pushed back up into position, his breathing was still shaking, his arms trembling with some sort of suppressed plea. Curious, Phil let his talons trail over Fit’s back, over the raised and reddened skin. Fit’s gasp caught in his throat and his fists clenched against the floor.
“You know the drill,” Phil reminded at his back and Fit tensed. His fists clenched tighter, then he let go.
“Please,” he said, almost too soft to hear. It sounded like barbs dragged across the ground: catching and tangling and tearing through anything that struggled against them.
Phil hummed questioningly. His talon caught on a welt and he dragged it slowly over, relishing in the way Fit trembled beneath him. The next time he spoke, it came out like a punch to the gut.
“Please! Phil, I need–!”
“Yeah,” Phil interjected, his grin boring into Fit’s back. He curled his fingers around the flogger as he leaned in close to Fit’s ear. “Yeah, you do.”
Fit’s inhale shuddered, his back tensing as he readied for the next part. Phil crooned at him, unable to keep quiet at the sight. His gaze trailed down the length of Fit’s throat, where his skin flushed under Phil’s attention until it was almost as red as his back. He raised back the flogger and started the final part of their session.
All Phil could hear now was the thudding of the flogger against Fit’s back. He swung hard, focusing on absolutely covering Fit’s back in welts. The man below him cried out with every other hit, his breath sharp and loud in the otherwise quiet room, only the force of Phil’s strikes his company. He didn’t let up. He didn’t slow. He didn’t give Fit a break he didn’t need. He swung steady and hard, his eyes sharper than a blade, watching for the signs Fit would give him for when he was done.
All Fit had to do was give up. All Fit had to do was give in. All he had to do was to drop under Phil’s blows. It was the stubbornness to live, to keep going no matter the cost that kept Fit up on shaking arms. They knew the drill by now. They knew what the other needed, and they knew all they had to do was to let. go.
With a sharp gasp, Fit dropped.
Phil stopped, the leather thudding quietly around his raised arm. He lowered it, then set it aside. He dropped down into a squat to assess his friend’s body. His back was littered with welts, red flesh that burned under his hand, and Fit panted below him. Phil rubbed the back of Fit’s neck, smiling down at him. “There we go,” he said, breaking the quiet that hung in the air. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Below him, Fit laughed weakly, his back rising and falling with the sound.
“How do you feel?” Phil asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“How do you think,” Fit replied, a breathy laugh in his voice. He groaned as he slumped against the floor, pressing into Phil’s hand. “How’s it look?” he asked quietly.
Phil surveyed his back again, giving a low whistle at what he saw. “You’re gonna be feeling that for a week or two. Hm,” he clicked his tongue, then ran his nails over a particularly nasty spot. Fit shuddered under him, his gasp more of a moan than anything. Phil waited for him to relax again. “Maybe longer,” he finished. “Anything feel fucked up?”
“Nah,” Fit replied with a shake of his head. “All good here.”
“Good to hear. You need a minute?”
“... yeah, yeah I think I do.” Fit pressed his forehead into the mat on the floor, breathing slowly. He was quiet for a while, so Phil pushed up onto his feet, leaving him on the floor to go clean up. As he did so, Fit’s voice trailed after him. “What about you, Phil?”
“Maybe two,” he replied after a glance down at his hands. His fingers were twitching, the leftover adrenaline still kicking around in his brain. He’d be out for the count in a few minutes; there was a timer already running in his head for how long he had to clean up and get them set up next to each other. Fit would take longer than a minute, no matter what he said. Phil ran him hard, always. Fit liked it. Fit needed it.
Phil closed his hand and picked up the flogger with his other hand. He let himself go through the motions of cleaning up, of gathering their first aid supplies, and grabbing both of them some snacks. He paused at the pantry, his eyes catching on a photo hanging up on the wall. It was of Fit and Ramon, and also him, Chayanne, and Tallulah in the background. It was nice; Phil still remembered the day of that picture. One of the frighteningly few days of general peace on the island. No codes, no nightmares, nothing but friends and good times.
It made the twitch in his hands settle enough that he could trust himself to not spill any glasses, and he returned to Fit. He knelt down, set the water on the floor in range of Fit’s hands, and cracked open the first aid kit. There were a couple more things in there that didn’t make up their regular kit. A lot of it was specialized equipment from the island. They weren’t things they had on 2b2t, or in their own worlds.
Phil looked over at Fit, who had sat up since he last left him. Instead of resting on his knees, he was sitting cross-legged, bent over so Phil didn’t have to stretch far to reach his back. From this angle, the welts looked worse. They were an angry red and Fit’s back was warm to his touch. He let his eyes roam over the skin, scanning for any actual injuries he caused.
Phil wasn’t a sadist. He wasn’t there to cause actual damage to his friend, just… help him refocus when he got too lost in his head.
Phil wetted his hand, then grabbed a blaze rod from the kit. Now this was equipment he knew how to use. Sometimes, all they had was a single blaze rod available. Not enough to make both a brewer and a potion, but they knew how to make due with what they had. He slid his hand up the warm rod, coating his skin with blaze powder. When he was satisfied with the amount, he ran his hand over Fit’s skin. The man shuddered below him with a groan; Phil smiled as he let his mind drift.
It reminded him of old times, of taking care of each other in a single moment of peace. It wasn’t always him taking care of Fit like this; he had enough scars on his back that still remembered the feeling of Fit’s hands pressing blaze powder into them. Phil relaxed by degrees, safe in the knowledge that he could focus on taking care of his friend. Fit’s attention was on their surroundings. He could feel the awareness radiating from the man as Phil felt his own mind slow. One of them always aware of what the other would miss. One of them always awake while the other slept, always ready to jump into action to save the other so they could have just one single moment of rest.
“You good there, Phil?” Fit’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts like a knife through flesh.
Phil straightened, his hand jerking away from the other man’s back as his talons curled on reflex. His head was already turning, looking, searching for the danger, his attention snapping away from Fit’s vulnerability to–
“Phil.” Fit’s hands cupped his face, turning him away from the door and back to him. “Phil, look at me.”
Phil stared at him, through him, past him until slowly… slowly… slowly, he focused on Fit’s face in front of him. He focused on Fit’s thumb, rough and burned from too many accidents during lava casting, rubbing circles on his cheek. He focused on Fit’s intense gaze, the steady way he held him until Phil came back from the precipice. Finally, after feeling like years had passed between them again, he shook his head to clear away the drifting thoughts.
“Man,” Phil groaned and covered Fit’s hands with his own as he leaned into them. “Didn’t think I was that tired already, fuck me.”
“Haha, there you go,” Fit laughed. “Back with me again?”
“Yeah, fuck.” Phil closed his eyes, and felt Fit relax again so their foreheads could touch. Now back to the present, Phil realized his arm ached. All the way up to his shoulder. He was gonna be feeling that in the morning. And probably the next couple of days too. “Fuck.”
Fit laughed again next to him. His hands moved away, one holding onto his shoulder so he wouldn’t fall flat on his face. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, alright? I can see you’re tired, so how about you drink some water and I’ll go get the mat set up. Alright? Phil?”
“Yeah, yeah, just… I’ll be here.” Phil waved him off, his eyes blinking open. Fit was still looking at him. When he saw Phil’s eyes open again, he nodded once, patted his shoulder, and pushed up to his feet. He watched Fit make his way over to a cabinet by the windows, twitching forward as if to go and help. Setting up the mat was usually his job, as Fit finished coming back to himself. It was weird to be still sitting down, the first aid kit in his lap, while he watched Fit do his job.
It didn’t take long before Fit returned to his side. Phil finished the water, swallowing one of the few precious painkillers in the kit for his arm, and took Fit’s hand when he offered it. Even bone-tired as he was, his feet still found their footing on the ground, and he walked with Fit over to the mat by the windows.
To their right, incense burned in its holder. It reminded Phil of burning ash, of raining TNT, of the searing heat from the beginnings of a lava cast. But then Fit was beside him and the taste of ash stuck in his mouth faded and he could smell the notes of lavender below. He relaxed against Fit’s solid body, his cheek resting against his shoulder, and he breathed slowly. Fit’s arm wrapped around his side, pulling him in close, and Phil finally let himself drop.
Etoiles stepped into Fit’s gym, tucking his scythe back into his inventory as he went. Phil and Cellbit were chatting while Richas, Chayanne, Ramon, and Tallulah chatted in the corner. Etoiles waved at Richas, but his attention was suddenly drawn to Fit. To Fit’s back, specifically, as the man pulled off his shirt with a low grown.
Fit’s back was absolutely covered in long stripes, the skin visibly raised even from the door. Etoiles made his way over, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before speaking. “‘Ey, Fit,” he said with a wave.
“Oh, hey Etoiles. What’s going on? Any codes sneaking around or something?” Fit asked, his face breaking out into a grin.
“No, no, they’re hiding today. Too scared to face me again.” He laughed, which Fit joined in with his own hearty laugh. Etoiles took the break in the joke to gesture at Fit’s back. “So, uh, what… what kind of trouble did you get into, Fit? Some kind of dungeon with mobs? But, I don’t think I’ve seen mobs leave, uh, uh, marks like those before.”
“Hm? Oh, oh, oh yeah. They were some real sick mobs. A new dungeon, you know?”
“A new dungeon?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s… it’s the Philza dungeon.”
A Philza dungeon, hm? Etoiles looked over his shoulder at Philza, who was definitely staring back at them. “Sounds like fun,” he replied. “You’ll have to show it to me sometime.”