Stupid For You

by commander_woodsingers_last_nerve (hyper_fix)

Summary:

Two times Elliot could have kissed Luke (and one time Luke could have kissed Elliot) and it wouldn’t have changed canon because they are both so dense.

Notes:

This fandom doesn’t have enough fic, it’s criminal. So I’m being the change, I guess?

This fic really relies on the idea that you’ve just read these various scenes recently 😂. I give very little context for the setup, but I do give the direct quotes from the book where I think this fic could fit in.

Chapter 1: Luke, Age Sixteen

Sarah Rees Brennan, In Other Lands:

“I don’t want you to be sorry for me!” said Luke.

“What do you want then?” Elliot demanded.

Luke’s hands were in fists at his sides, his breathing harsh as the crackling of wood consumed by fire.

Elliot could hardly make out Luke’s face in the low light of the dying torch, but it seemed like Luke wanted something. Elliot took a step forward and hesitated before taking another.

If Luke were in his right mind, he would have silently thanked his instructors for the years of combat training that had built up the calluses on his palms. Without them, his fingernails would have cut right through his skin he was clenching his fists so tight.

What did he want?

He wanted to be in the kind of magical land that Elliot blathered on about in their first year as cadets; the kind of land that had spells so that he could magic himself back to this morning, and then he’d run away instead of embarrassing himself in the stupid play.

Maybe he’d go back earlier than that: to last week, before he was forced to admit that even if they weren’t friends, Elliot’s stupid costume—the costume he was still wearing— made him look quite good.

Better yet, he’d go back a few months, before he gave in and agreed to play this stupid part. He really, really didn’t want to do it, but said “yes” almost immediately because Elliot wanted him to.

He’d settle for traveling back a few moments ago, to before he realized that the reason Elliot had been so nice recently was because he liked Myra, and not—well. Not because he’d changed his mind and thought Luke was worth being nice to.

He wasn’t sure what he was most embarrassed about, getting kissed for the first time in front of everyone he knew (in front of Elliot) or realizing that he was wrong and Elliot still didn’t like him. The latter, probably. The humiliation sank in his stomach like he swallowed a stone.

Elliot was right; Luke was stupid.

Luke couldn’t even answer his question. He didn’t know what he wanted, and he was too angry to think it through.

Here, in the safety of the camp, in the low light in this familiar hallway, his heart was beating faster and breath pulling harsher than it had on any battlefield.

He wasn’t just angry. He was afraid. It wasn’t a familiar feeling. Something about this argument with Elliot was scaring him. If he understood what, then maybe he’d be able to answer Elliot, to tell him what he wanted.

It had taken him too long to respond, though, and he heard the hesitant steps of Elliot coming closer.

That was somehow scarier, but he couldn’t move away. Elliot was scary, but moving away seemed just awful.

Luke closed his eyes, his muscles so tense he was vibrating, so tense he felt a stab of pain in each shoulder. He’d walked away unscathed from countless fights, but one argument with Elliot and he would need to see the medic.

Elliot was close enough now that Luke could smell his dried sweat, the metallic bite of his body paint, and the tang of the tincture he poured onto his hair this morning to try and get it to cooperate. 

“Luke?” Elliot asked gently.

Luke felt Elliot’s hand wrap around one of his fists. He heard Elliot take in a quick breath. “Be careful, loser. You’re hurting yourself.”

Elliot pried his fist flat and ran his fingers over Luke’s palm.

Luke had always figured Elliot held the power to destroy him. He knew now that it was true because Elliot’s soft touch ruptured him like an earthquake. 

His body shuddered as all of the tension he’d been holding left him at once. The ground was suddenly uneven, and Luke was sure he would lose his balance, so he grabbed blindly for something to steady him, but the only thing there was Elliot.

Elliot gasped and Luke finally opened his eyes.

His hand was on Elliot’s waist, warm and bare. Flecks of paint were falling from beneath his fingers, where his grip was indenting Elliot’s skin. One of Elliot’s hands still covered his own, the other pressed against Luke’s chest. Luke was sure Elliot could feel his heart pounding, like it was trying to crack through his ribs and jump into the cradle of Elliot’s palm.

Elliot’s eyes were wide and searching, his mouth open slightly in confusion. Then Elliot pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth and for the briefest moment, his eyes flicked down to—

A wounded sound, like the pleading call of a dying bird, fell from Luke’s throat. He leaned closer, his cheek brushing Elliot’s and Elliot didn’t pull away.

He ran his nose along the high ridge of Elliot’s cheekbones, gently nuzzling Elliot’s nose with his own, and he felt Elliot’s breath stutter from his lungs.

Luke turned his head and parted his lips and Elliot’s own lips were right there, just an inch away. The pain in his shoulders was agony, and so was the swooping in his gut, and the spinning in his head.

But he knew now—what he wanted.

“Elliot,” Luke whispered.

And Elliot kissed him.

He barely had to turn his head to lock their lips together. 

Luke closed his eyes and there was a heat rushing through his gut; this, this was his first kiss. He slid his hand up to cup the back of Elliot’s head, his thumb brushing along his cheek, his other arm pulling Elliot tighter against him. 

Elliot’s mouth dropped open beneath his and Elliot let out a low groan. He wrapped himself around Luke’s neck, deepening the kiss, falling onto him. It felt so right, holding all of Elliot’s weight in his arms.

Then, Elliot stiffened for a moment, pulled away, and said, panting and irritated, “Not fair. How are you—”

Luke took one look at Elliot’s dark eyes and swollen pink lips, before swallowing his complaints with another kiss.

He didn’t know what it was—fighter’s instinct or some sixth-Elliot-sense—but Luke knew the moment was too precious to allow either of them to ruin it with words. They’d been using words to hurt each other for three years, and now they were doing something, and the doing finally felt right. 

He was on steady ground, for the first time since Serene was gone, since he punched Adam in the nose, since he was thirteen and was met with disapproval for the first time in his life.

Since then, most of his energy had gone to measuring his actions against Elliot’s wants and wishes and finding himself coming up short. But finally, finally, he felt like maybe he was meeting them.

If either of them spoke, surely he would be whacked off balance again.

Elliot wrenched away. “Wait, Myra—” he said. 

It was the worst kind of blow, one from a swing he should have known was coming.

Just because Luke admitted to himself that he wanted Elliot didn’t mean that Elliot wanted him back. He had just finished telling Luke he had feelings for Myra. More than that—Elliot didn’t even like boys. He was just being nice, like Luke had asked him to.

Elliot was right again. Luke was stupid.

Luke had the awful experience of imagining Elliot slip through his fingers, followed by Elliot doing just that, stepping away and leaving cold air between them. He managed to hold onto Elliot’s wrists before he could get far, believing that if he just held on, maybe the moment could be salvaged.

Elliot looked shaken and unsure. He was still panting a bit when he began to say, “She’s waiting for me on the balcony—”

Luke wasn’t proud of it, but he let out a squawk of indignation. “No,” he demanded. “You’ve kissed me tonight, you can’t go and kiss Myra, too. It’s not allowed.”

Elliot crossed his arms, which he did with difficulty because Luke wasn’t letting them go.

“That’s not a real rule, loser.”

Luke hung his head, too exposed to pretend this wouldn’t crush him.

“Yes, it is! You promised to not be mean.”

Elliot sighed and put one hand up to Luke’s cheek. Luke, to his eternal shame, leaned eagerly into it.

“I’m not going to go kiss Myra,” said Elliot gently. “But I’m also not going to leave her out there in the cold. That’s mean.”

Unfortunately, Luke could see his logic, what with the wolf out there and everything.

Fortunately, Luke was pretty athletic and coordinated, and since Elliot didn’t try to shake him off, he managed to hang on, following one step behind Elliot as he walked down the hall.

“Are you going to give me my arm back?” Elliot snapped, once they got to the door, but the flush still hadn’t left his face and he wasn’t pulling away.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Elliot opened his mouth to say something, then closed it abruptly and turned to face the door. The tips of his ears and the back of his neck turned pink.

It wasn’t that Luke didn’t trust Elliot. Luke believed him that he wouldn’t go off and kiss someone else; Elliot always kept his word.

It was all the someone else’s that he didn’t trust! Everyone was always going around trying to kiss Elliot. It was ridiculous. So Luke would stay close to him tonight, to help him keep his promise.

Elliot opened the door and performed his Elliot magic, smoothing things over with a slick apology after ushering Myra inside from the cold.

Myra took one look at Luke’s hand on Elliot’s waist and his chin hooked over Elliot’s shoulder, and she looked so distraught that Luke felt like a genius not letting Elliot talk to her alone. He also felt extremely magnanimous (a word he could define, but could not say) in his victory, so he offered that they should walk Myra back to her cabin.

She declined, gave Luke a watery smile, shot Elliot a heated look and disappeared toward the bonfires that had been burning since dinner.

“Something tells me I’ve lost my chance there,” said Elliot, blithely.

“I think it’s late and you should go back to your cabin,” said Luke. “I’ll walk you, in case the wolf is still around.”

“For the last time, there aren’t any wolves!”

But Elliot let himself be towed along. It was an odd reversal; Luke was usually the one trailing behind, trying to keep up.

It made Luke feel powerful in a different way than when he held a sword in his hand. Elliot—who was always zipping through the Borderlands like a hornet ready to sting anything that met his displeasure—was following him peacefully.

The power might have gone to his head, because he started plotting outrageously; if they made it through the camp—if they got to Elliot’s cabin before meeting anyone else tonight—maybe Luke could figure out how to fit the puzzle pieces together; he’d make the right combination of movements and say the right combination of words to get Elliot to kiss him again.

Luke weaved them swiftly through the bonfires, doing his best to ignore the few stragglers that were still loitering. He thought he saw Myra a few fires away, with some other boy’s arm around her shoulder. Luke was even more pleased with himself for shielding Elliot earlier. If her heart was so quickly swayed to be with someone else, then she wasn’t worth Elliot’s time anyway!

They were so close—almost out of the bonfire clearing and onto the path through the woods that led to Elliot’s cabin, when Elliot stopped.

He was staring out at the last bonfire to a defeated looking figure sitting alone on a bench. He could only see the back of her head, but Luke immediately knew who it was—he often tried to be out of Adara’s line of sight and behind her was usually best.

Any sense of power Luke felt shattered like a poorly crafted trigon ball.

“Elliot,” Luke said. “No.”

“I did something mean to her tonight—” started Elliot.

“She did something mean to me!” interrupted Luke, but Elliot just continued.

“—and I need to apologize for it. When you do something unkind to someone you need to make amends.”

Luke wanted to say, “And when does this policy start including me?” But what came out instead was, “You promised not to kiss anyone else tonight!”

“We’re not going to kiss!” Elliot said. “She doesn’t even like me.”

“Didn’t stop me from kissing you,” Luke grumbled under his breath.

“Look, she shouldn’t have kissed you but I shouldn’t have kissed her either, it wasn’t right.”  Elliot gestured for Luke to join him. “Come on, maybe she’ll understand and want to say sorry to you, too.”

“Nuh uh,” said Luke. “Not going near her. Who knows when she’ll strike again.”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “Fine, loser, I’ll just be a minute.”

Luke knew that this would end in disaster, but he gave Elliot his arm back anyway. Every step Elliot took from him felt disturbingly final.

Luke crossed his arms and glared at the silhouette that Elliot and Adara made against the dying fire, their heads bowed close and their voices too soft to carry.

Though he was mentally prepared for it, it still gutted him when Adara did exactly what Luke thought she would: she leaned in and kissed Elliot. To his credit, Elliot immediately stood up and backed away. He looked around wildly toward Luke, not quite sure where Luke was watching from the dark underbrush.

But in that moment Luke remembered in his heart what he’d been so firmly telling himself since he was fourteen and realized that he spent an awful amount of time following around a boy he claimed to dislike: it was useless.

Maybe Luke could kiss Elliot. But that didn’t mean he could have Elliot to himself. And Luke didn’t want Elliot like that—like he was begging for scraps, like Luke was Cavall circling Elliot in the periphery while Culaine got all his affection. Luke did enough of that already.

Luke spun on his heel, and trampled straight back to his cabin.

Elliot didn’t need his help getting safely to bed, after all. The only wolves at camp tonight were the ones that could break Luke’s heart.

Notes:

And then, let’s be real, Elliot probably convinces himself that Luke couldn’t possibly want him like that, it was only that Elliot was familiar and the kiss was just because Luke was upset that his first kiss was with someone he didn’t want at all who wasn’t even the right gender! Kissing Elliot was just to make up for that! He silently forgives Luke for playing with his heart and proceeds to pretend like it never happened and Luke wants to die even more…

Chapter 2: Luke Sunborn, Age Seventeen

Summary:

The boys have shared a kiss, but are still unbelievably block-headed. With this added tension crackling between them, how might the morning after Luke gets his wings have gone?

Sarah Rees Brennan, Wings in the Morning:

It was so weird, having new limbs: like having a new arm or a leg but entirely different, weighed with feathers, sensation muffled by them — and yet there was feeling there, too. He could feel the jointed fold of his wings, feel them pressing against all sides of the tent and feel...

It took seventeen long years, but Luke finally learned the certain Sunborn joie de vivre had indeed been living inside of him all this time. It was that, for Luke, the lust-for-life was pretty much just lust-for-Elliot.

He kept this realization from himself as best he could. During the day, and to the world (aka, to Elliot and Serene), Luke Sunborn had a hapless, harmless crush on Dale Wavechaser and still blushed furiously if someone so much as alluded to the scandalous acts of kissing or holding hands.

It made things easier. Yes, he knew now that he was attracted to Elliot, but what did that matter? Elliot didn’t even like boys. Thinking about wanting more from him was useless.

But before Luke fell asleep he allowed himself ten minutes to remember what it felt like to have Elliot in his arms. From the moment he woke up in the morning, he looked forward to these last ten minutes of his day.

It was part of why he was so angry that Elliot’s misguided scheming led them to sharing a tent. Night was supposed to be his private time, where he got to indulge in the fantasy of being with Elliot. It was extremely difficult (and invasive) to do that when the real Elliot was just an arm's length away.

And don’t get Luke started on the lies Elliot told to try and get out of sharing the tent with Luke. How dare he use Luke’s own sexuality against him! Plus, he lied so blatantly, so cleanly, to the commander! 

It was dismissive, and rude, and totally, incredibly not fair— to dangle the possibility in front of Luke’s face with a teasing smile. That horrible teasing smile, that Luke had fallen asleep picturing, all the while knowing that if he rolled over, and leaned forward, he could kiss it off of Elliot’s stupid face.

It took eons to fall asleep, and whatever sleep he managed to get was not restful. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he woke up to find yet another horrible thing happening to him.

The new wings on his back weighed him down, the extra mass pressing his front deeper into his sleeping mat. His left wing was draped over Elliot, who was finally stirring. The other wing filled the space at the top of the tent, the water-proofed cloth dragging along his—feathers, oh gosh.

Then he felt Elliot’s fingers slide through the soft down at the joint of his wings and it was like Luke was one of those stupid trinkets that Elliot brought with him over the border. Luke felt himself spark and catch fire.

If he hadn’t kissed Elliot before, if he hadn’t felt those same fingers run gently down his skin, he might not have understood what was happening. But Luke had indulged his imagination too many times to pretend. 

His wings expanded reflexively, stretching the bounds of the tent. He lifted himself with his arms, turned to Elliot, and opened his mouth to tell him to stop touching, but he got as far as saying Elliot’s name, before Luke took in his wide eyes and sleepy, pleased expression. 

Luke recalled the last time they were this close—right before they kissed—how dark Elliot’s eyes were and how he bit his lip. Luke realized how stupid he was again. Elliot was many things—mean, prickly, swotty—but he wasn’t a liar.

Luke lowered himself back down, but this time over Elliot, and when he did—Elliot reached for him.

The blankets Elliot complained about the night before as being ‘too threadbare and scratchy to possibly allow anyone to sleep in comfort,’ had been pushed off at some point in the night, probably when Luke’s wings manifested themselves to provide Elliot with warmth. It was so obvious to Luke now—of course his body would mold itself to Elliot’s desires, his mind had already been doing that for years.

Elliot’s shirt was rucked up, and Luke’s was in tatters, so when Luke pressed down onto Elliot he could feel Elliot’s smooth skin pressing back against him.

Luke revelled in having Elliot so close, in the slide of skin over skin, in the feel of Elliot’s nails grazing through his feathers.

Elliot looked soft in the morning light, not awake enough yet to whittle himself into a cutting edge. His hair was tangled with feathers, like he was wearing a laurel of golden pearls. Luke was deeply satisfied to learn that his feathers were good for something—anyone who so much as glanced at Elliot would see that he’d been wrapped up in Luke.

Elliot smiled at him sweetly, and it was that sweetness that tipped the morning from something improbable to something impossible. Tucked in the small, warm pocket cushioned by Luke’s wings, Elliot pulled Luke down to him and closed his mouth over Luke’s—again and finally.

Luke put his imagination to good use and started on all of the things he wished he had done the first time around. 

He tangled his fingers into Elliot’s mess of hair, slid his hand along Elliot’s body, and hitched one of Elliot’s legs over his hip. Luke dipped his head, trailing kisses from Elliot’s lips to the underside of his jaw, and all the while Elliot gripped him closer, tighter.

“Luke. Luke,” Elliot panted out, straining his body up to meet Luke’s own.

It was all so hazy and warm and unexpected—like a dream. As if it were nothing for Luke to wake up with wings and turn around and Elliot would be there and he could kiss him and Elliot would kiss him back and pant his name into Luke’s mouth and want Luke like Luke wanted him.

Luke smiled against Elliot’s throat. Since it was a dream, he let his weight fall heavier onto Elliot, let his wings arc over them to fill the space at the point of the tent, and let the cradle of his hips drop to fill the space between Elliot’s thighs.

His skin was thrumming; his lungs burned. When Luke caught Elliot in a kiss again, and Elliot’s tongue swept lightly along Luke’s bottom lip, and Elliot’s hips rolled up to meet his, it became extremely apparent that this wasn’t a dream—Luke was so startled that his hips jumped back and his wings flared out and the tent collapsed on top of them.

Elliot laughed his mean, sharp laugh, and could not rein himself back in, dissolving into cackles as they fought through the heavy material. He was brittle and pointed again, like a bramble or a rose bush—something beautiful that Luke would prick himself on.

The panic Luke felt when he first woke up came rushing back ten-fold. It was not helped by Luke’s struggle to fold his wings closed or put on a shirt like a normal person. It was certainly not helped by Elliot’s joke about “morning wing” that flooded Luke with shame.

But what really chased Luke out of that destroyed tent and into a deep, lonely corner of the woods—where he sat by himself and pulled every damned feather from his own hair—was Luke’s swift, humiliating revelation that Elliot had kissed plenty of people and Luke had only ever kissed Elliot.

The kiss that was so life-altering Luke forgot for a moment he was a freak with wings was a run-of-the-mill occurrence for Elliot—something he could joke about, dismiss, and forget as soon as it happened.

Elliot could be attracted to him—could want to kiss him, could even enjoy it—but it didn’t mean Elliot would give him anything more.

Luke didn’t even like Elliot that way, anyway. He couldn’t like someone who was mean to him, who he didn’t have anything in common with, who detested everything Luke stood for. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t and he didn’t.

He was on his seventeenth turnabout of his new mantra (he couldn’t and he wouldn’t and he didn’t) when he heard the shout: “Troll force in the woods!”

And for a while, he didn’t need to think much of anything at all.

Chapter 3: Elliot, Aged Sixteen

Summary:

Months before the school play, a year before Luke gets his wings, Elliot needs to take care of Luke after he gets a concussion.

Notes:

Takes place a few months before chapter one. As before, please take the time to read the quote from the book to orient yourself 💚

Sarah Rees Brennan, In Other Lands:

The day was drawing down to evening, but there was only a single candle guttering in a little bronze cup, lending the tent a flickering glow so as not to hurt Luke further. Luke was lying on a white pillow, looking dazed and helpless: his eyes unfocused and half open, trying and failing to prop himself up on one elbow. It was horrible to realize that Elliot had almost bought into the myth of the untouchable Luke Sunborn, found himself thinking about Luke the way everyone else did.

“Elliot?” Luke asked thickly.

“Shhh,” said Elliot, because it seemed like the right thing to say. He wasn’t sure it was: nobody had ever been there when he was sick. He hadn’t been taught what to do.

He poured Luke a glass of water and carried it carefully over to him, helping him sit up and putting the glass to his lips.

Luke drank the water obediently, then laid his head against Elliot’s shoulder with a little sigh. “Don’t be mean to me, okay?” he whispered.

“No,” Elliot promised. “I won’t be mean.”

Before the red-headed medic pushed Elliot into the room she’d said, “I’ve given the boy something for the pain, so he’s a little loopy.” Which was a good warning and Elliot was glad to have a heads up. Unfortunately, she followed it up with, “but don’t let him fall asleep until I come back. Otherwise, he might die.”

“What?!” Elliot had said, but by the time he’d whirled around she’d slammed the door in his face.

So when Elliot could feel Luke drift off on his shoulder, he panicked and poked Luke in the side.

“Ouch,” Luke grumbled, shifting indignantly under the covers. “You just said you wouldn’t be mean.”

“You can’t fall asleep, loser,” Elliot said as quietly as he could manage.

Luke swung his head back and glared at him through unfocused eyes. Elliot thought he looked like a drunk puppy.

“What’s so funny?” Luke asked.

Elliot ignored him, trying his best to keep the smile off his face. Luke deserved to have a nursemaid who didn’t laugh at him in his distress.

“Wouldn’t you rather Dale come in and offer you sweet, sweet comfort?” Elliot asked.

“Stop talking nonsense.” Luke reached out to hold the sleeve of Elliot’s tunic. “Come sit down. Hurts to look up at you.”

Elliot gently lowered himself to the bed, sitting to face Luke. Luke didn’t move over, so Elliot was forced to half sit on Luke’s legs, but Luke didn’t seem to mind.

“Where were you this summer? Mum said you’d show up but you never came.”

Elliot cringed. The last thing he wanted was for Rachel Sunborn to be disappointed in him.

“You talked to your mum about me?”

Luke nodded once, gingerly. “And Louise,” he said with a yawn. Then his voice turned bratty. “She’s the worst. Kept saying it was unnatural for me to pine so much for just one person.”

“Especially when you don’t have to pine at all,” said Elliot. “Dale would definitely visit you if you just asked him.”

Luke looked at Elliot suspiciously. “Are you sure you don’t have a crush on Dale? You keep bringing him up.”

“Definitely not, don’t worry,” said Elliot, and Luke’s face relaxed again.

“Anyway,” continued Luke. “Then she said she was going to spend the summer wooing my boyfriend. Can you believe her?”

It seemed more and more like maybe Luke’s head injury actually had affected his brain. But since Elliot wasn’t a doctor he decided that the best course of action would be to just go along with it.

“I can definitely believe her. I wouldn’t have trusted Louise anywhere near my boyfriend if she’d said something like that,” mused Elliot. Luke wasn’t really listening to him though, since complaining about Louise was a favorite topic of his and he was on a roll.

“I told her it isn’t like that—but then she said ‘Why’s your face all red then?’ And I said, ‘Because it's the middle of summer and I was drilling staves.’ And then she said, ‘So you won’t mind if I join you both in the library?’ Ugh!” Then he sighed, forlornly. “But really, Elliot—do you think Louise is pretty?”

“Pretty? Try ‘hot like burning,’” said Elliot. Luke harrumphed and Elliot laughed under his breath. He’d never seen Luke be jealous of his sister before and this frustrated-puppy-bit was really too fun for him to remember that he was supposed to be being nice. “Also, her scar is super bad-ass,” Elliot added.

“I could get a scar if I wanted! I just haven’t ‘cause I don’t get hit,” said Luke with an uncharacteristic air of superiority.

Elliot was delighted by this petulant, snobby Luke he’d never met before.

“Yea, that’s right,” said Elliot. “The Great Sunborn Champion never loses.”

“Exactly!” said Luke and he looked so dopey and so satisfied that Elliot had finally agreed with him about something that Elliot couldn’t help laughing again.

Luke turned red and leaned forward to bury his face into Elliot’s shoulder. “S’not fair. You’re always laughing at me.”

“Careful, loser.” Elliot cradled the curve of Luke’s head and helped settle him back down against the headboard.

“Ugh—Elliot,” Luke whined. “Come closer so I can lean on you. ‘M tired.”

Luke continued to act like the greedy child Elliot was sure he’d never actually been and grabbed Elliot’s arm. 

“Okay, okay,” Elliot said, managing to not laugh, but he couldn’t hide the smile in his voice. He’d normally refuse to give Luke anything he asked for on principle, but he was too amused and too promise-bound to argue.

When Elliot shifted to lay against the headboard, Luke squirmed deeper under the covers, burying his face further down, into the space between the pillow and Elliot’s side. 

“You can’t go to sleep yet, loser.”

“Ugh!” came Luke’s muffled voice. 

“Want to hear about my research on the different drowning patterns I’ve uncovered between the Greyling Lake mermaids and the mermaids of the sea?”

“No!” said Luke.

“Wonderful!” said Elliot, and he performed a lengthy lecture on the nuances of lake and sea mermaid murder-culture. Every time Luke’s eyes drifted closed, Elliot gave Luke a nudge and Luke responded peevishly. It was the most incalcitrant he’d ever seen Luke act and Elliot was thoroughly charmed.

It must have been about an hour later when the door creaked open again. At this point, both Elliot and Luke were flat on their backs—Luke snug under the covers, Elliot on top of them. Luke had driven a surprisingly hard bargain and, if he weren’t allowed to drift off to bed as he grew more horizontal, he had demanded constant access to Elliot’s shoulder in payment.

The cranky medic peeked her head into the room and shot Elliot a quick thumbs up, which Elliot took to mean “Luke is no longer in danger of dropping dead if he closes his eyes for too long.”

“Okay, Luke,” whispered Elliot. “You can go to sleep now.”

But Luke had already beaten him to the punch, out like a light tucked into Elliot’s neck.

Elliot was suddenly aware that they were alone and he was sharing a bed with someone the Border Daily described as having “the good looks of a young god.”

Luke’s lips brushed against Elliot’s jaw. His breath drew in and out against Elliot’s ear, slow and warm and ticklish. Elliot shivered.

Luke was his friend. His very hurt friend.

What a shameful time to be having such an inappropriate reaction.

Elliot did his best to shift off the bed without disrupting Luke’s sleep, but he was unsuccessful.

“Elliot?” Luke asked, as pitifully as he had when Elliot first walked into the room, only this time Elliot was close enough to see the blue of his eyes in the candlelight when he blinked them open.

“Shh,” Elliot said, fluffing the pillow around Luke’s head. “Rest now.”

“Oh,” said Luke. “This is one of the good dreams.” 

Luke’s hand escaped from under the covers to wrap around the nape of Elliot’s neck, his fingers catching in Elliot’s wild hair. Elliot shivered again.

Those must have been some excellent magical-world drugs, because Elliot could not see how laying in a hospital bed with blunt force trauma might have been the setting for a good dream otherwise.

“Yea,” said Elliot. “A good dream where you get a solid ten hours and feel better tomorrow.”

“Okay,” agreed Luke, still looking up at him through sleepy blue eyes. “Good night then.”

Luke used his hold on Elliot’s neck to smoothly pull him closer and pressed their lips together, firm and warm—like it was expected, like they had done it a thousand times before.

Then he rolled over and went to sleep.

Elliot was left holding his fingers up to his lips, shocked and disoriented, and wondering desperately just how he was ever going to forget that this kiss happened.

Notes:

Many, many thanks to eyesarmslove for the excitement, encouragement, advice, suggestions, screaming, phone calls, and the title!

And to synestheticwanderings, who pushes me to write better and go deeper, even in fic for which she is not part of the fandom.

If you want to scream more about IOL or have any fic ideas, find me on tumblr.

Would drown a sailor like a lake mermaid for comments or kudos 😂💚