Work Text:
4 AM.
Cold night.
3 days since taking this stupid case and Paranoid is already seeking company from a glass of liquor rather than his own partner. Not that Skeptic can blame him. At least it can keep him warm at night.
Hero is still attempting to pry the fussy creature from the bar by himself when Skeptic walks in. The bartender turns towards him, but Skeptic ignores him, continuing towards Paranoid's other side. He nods and Hero wordlessly goes off to clean the tables.
It's a struggle, but after a minute of arguing he manages to get Nerves on his feet. One arm securely over his shoulder and a wing tucked over him for extra support. He pays for the drinks (from his own wallet), tips his hat to the bartender, and begins the long trek home.
Paranoid sulks the entire time. Drags his feet, hides his face. Not a single word. Skeptic knows him, inside and out. He knows what this means. And he knows how to handle it.
Opening the door to their apartment, taking off his hat, coat, he makes sure to keep his partner close. Afterwards, he takes both hands in his and leads him to their shared bedroom. Paranoid is too out of it to protest, stumbling a little at the threshold. When Skeptic sits him down and kneels at his feet, he finally speaks up.
"What. Are you doing."
Skeptic's feathers fluff up at his voice. Rough and shaky. Small. Nervous, maybe. He runs a thumb over his bony ankle and simply responds, "Helping you undress."
Paranoid grumbles, but doesn't stop him. Shoes carefully untied, socks folded one by one. He hesitates at the pants, but Paranoid just rolls his eyes and takes over. Skeptic stands to undress himself, but a hand darts out to clamp around his wrist before he can even kick off his shoes.
Shit.
He forgot how fragile Nerves is right now. He's aware he's not the most affectionate lover, yet he can't help but feel a touch hurt. He has to know he wouldn't leave him like this, right?
Skeptic slowly pries his wrist free, keeping his partner's hand in a gentle grip. He waits until he knows Paranoid is watching, truly watching, before pressing it to his cheek. He tilts his head to press a kiss to his palm. Moving to the inside of his wrist, maintaining eye contact, he presses another kiss there. The fingers in Skeptic's grasp twitch in time with the slight hitch in the other's breath.
"Skeptic.." his voice is still quiet. Gentle. Meant only for him. What words he would've spoken next die in his throat as Skeptic leans in and connects their lips. Brief and sweet, in a way they rarely are with each other. He intends to pull back, give his lover space, but Paranoid wraps his arms around his neck.
Together, they fall into the sheets. Paranoid kisses him like a man starved. Heavy. Deep. Talons clutching at his shirt, arms, anywhere he can reach. Skeptic responds, albeit not as frantically, holding him securely around the waist. He pets the downy feathers there and Paranoid sighs.
The horizontal position they're now in seems to be setting in as they slow down. Nerves' eyes are drooping and his iron grip on Skeptic's sleeves is loosening. He shifts around so they're more comfortable, less tangled. He presses a warm kiss to Paranoid's neck, earning another sigh.
"Sleep." he rumbles.
Paranoid hums.
-
Paranoid wakes to the sound of the front door closing and a pounding headache. Both are terribly familiar.
He knows he should be used to this by now. Skeptic never stays. No matter how much he begs, pleads, or cries. Paranoid always wakes up alone. Usually he sleeps alone too. It hurts, but it's routine.
Paranoid sits up, wings wrapped around him in a pitiful attempt at a hug. Memories of last night, and other nights just like it, cling to his mind. Their first night. Gentle and sweet, when Skeptic still deigned to love him when he was sober. He remembers how they used to whisper I love yous every night before bed. How he used to look at him, like he was the moon or a sunset. Like he was something beautiful.
But that was then.
Paranoid moves to get up, before noticing the nightstand. A glass of water, some pills, and a note. For the headache it reads. Blunt and to the point. Whatever. He accepts the proffered pills and stands.
Dreams are for sleep, after all.