bakerstreet | ( nursed back to health shipping meme. )

( nursed back to health shipping meme. )

Nursed Back to Health
shipping meme

Comment with your character, preferences, preferred role, and any information you'd like to include.
Your character has either been injured/sick and had to be taken in (possibly against their will) or has been the one to help somebody like the former. Through the mending process, the two characters in a thread have fallen in love - or at least grown closer and more affectionate.
Reply to others.
Thread.

[ He watches him as he goes, quiet for a while as he tries to decide what to say. It's not as if he'd ever thought Finch intruded on much to begin with. If he did, Egil wouldn't have a problem saying so or just outright ignoring him like he's wont to do with other people sometimes, but this is a lot different than those handful of times they'd first met. He's starting to care, and that complicates a lot of everything he doesn't want to think about, frowning the more he sees of Finch's body and just what had happened to him. It'd be better not to ask, he thinks, but he can't help it, reaching out as if he's going to touch the side of his cheek where the bruising is starting to settle. ]

It's not if I've told you to. [ He isn't good at taking care of other people. Egil isn't good at taking care of himself a lot of the time either, but it seems Finch might be even worse than he is, refraining from actually inspecting his face with his fingertips and taking his hand instead. Ice should help with the bruises, but... he doesn't know what to do about the burns. That's a unique injury all on its own, and he sighs about it as he tugs him down the hall to the bathroom with the intention of, at the very least, cleaning up his lip and getting him into cleaner clothes.

He tries not to think about the things that other people (obviously) want to do to him as he does, too careful about the way his thumb gently grazes the unscathed part of his mouth. ] What happened this time? [ Questions like that only invite trouble, but Egil clearly isn't much for self-preservation as it is. He only feels sad about it. ]

[ copper eyes blink once as egil's hand nears his face, catlike and still wary, like a stray that's still learning to interact with humans. it's honestly not that inaccurate; finch can probably count the number of people he trusts with more than his name and body (which doesn't count for much in his estimation) on one hand and have fingers left over. egil and vic are probably the only two he allows to see him like this, and even that's rare.

he twitches instead as a hand finds his own, nearly jerking back on instinct before he can force himself to relax. he allows himself to be drawn to the bathroom docilely enough, though, shifting to pull himself up tiredly on the edge of the countertop, socked feet dangling. ]

Still feels weird if you're not here. [ he's still vic's stray, as that goes, willing to invade his space at any time of the day, with or without the other man. with egil, he's still feeling things out-- and honestly, it scares him a little that he's gone and gotten himself even this attached to him.

the thumb brushes his mouth, and he can't help himself, automatically parting his lips around it. his tongue laves the pad, and with the taste of the other man in his mouth, his familiar scent all around him, he finally allows his shoulders to relax. he nips egil's thumb almost fondly as he allows it to slip from between his lips again, but the question only earns a shrug and an evasive glance. ] Choices weren't great tonight. [ during the act, he can't help but want it, no matter how sick and depraved it is. it's only afterward that he feels the shame, especially sitting under these lights with egil asking with that look and that tone. ] It's not-- [ he chews the inside of his cheek, feeling his shoulders drawing up again, the tension returning. ] I gotta' eat.

[ That's also something else he should get better at: reading people. Spending so much time on his own allows for a certain number of things, but it doesn't give him enough to go on when he really needs to comfort someone. He can feign interest, and he can certainly give as good as he gets most of the time. Yet, these sorts of interactions are scratching away at the wall he'd put up around himself a long time ago, breath catching unconsciously at the wetness over his thumb and trying to gather his thoughts so he doesn't get too distracted by it. Maybe that's supposed to be the point. It probably is, and he's just too weak to it to do much about it, letting his hand slip away to gently rest on Finch's shoulders. He's jumpy, and Egil can't decide if he should continue to help him or give him some space to sort it out.

Given how he feels, he wouldn't want to be alone after something like that, but... he could also never let himself end up like that. Probably. ]

I know. [ He says it because he doesn't know what else to say. Egil knows but not really. Specifics are difficult for him to swallow, and as much as he'd like to know better, there are complications that come with that. They're already too close, and it sets him on edge in a way he can't quite deal with most of the time. Still, he too stubborn to really back down from it, even if it might end in misery later, and he presses just a little closer, trying to urge him to relax in some way that doesn't mean either of them thinking about what's happened. ] You could have-- [ No. He doesn't want to say that. So, Egil tries to cover it with a soft smile, almost gentle as he touches the back of his neck and lets his fingers stroke at his hair. ]

Is there anything you want me to do? You can stay here if you need to. I never mind, and I'll be with you. I'm sure it won't feel weird then, right?

[ the hitch of breath is small, but finch can smell the interest, sharp and clear; he always knows how to push and when, what to do, what to say. it's in his blood to know, just like every other predator. he's pretty sure he could have egil up against the door begging for him in under sixty seconds, and the thought briefly sends hunger roaring up inside him again, clawing at his insides. it's a familiar feeling, though--he's always hungry--and he pushes it down with the ease of long practice. he's fine for tonight; has to be, given the state he's in right now.

even so, he reaches out with long fingers, curling them in the other man's shirt and drawing him in even closer, hooking a thigh over his hip to trap him there. he leans up the short distance now between them, pushing his face into egil's pulse and breathing deeply. ]

Just-- lemme' sit like this a minute. I like the way you smell. [ he feels weirdly off-balance and uncomfortably vulnerable admitting that. he squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the instinct to run away from this weird.. whatever they have. after a moment, he adds, muffled: ] You still got some of my clothes here? I could use a shower. [ then a slightly awkward beat. ] I could get my mouth on you after if you want. I brushed my teeth.

[ It should be easy to push him away and tell him no - because most of the time, he doesn't have an issue with that - but Egil lets him pull, lets him wind around him from where he sits on the sink, and there's another breath at the heat of him so close, pushed up against the exposed part of his throat. He can pretend all he wants that he knows better, that it'd be so simple to pull himself away and tuck all those feelings away into a corner with the rest of them. There's just something too sweet about the contact that he craves, and he dislikes how telling that desire is when he flushes at the prospect of Finch using his mouth. He's good at it, and Egil dislikes that too. ]

I can find something for you, I'm sure. [ Talk about that, think about that. His hands are dirty betrayers though, smoothing down Finch's back and pulling him even closer. It's a careful embrace, nothing meant to imply anything more than the care he's tried so hard to resist. ] Take what you need, but you don't have to do that. [ He's still in control of that, as much as he reacts to even the slightest touch, and he means it. All he wants to do, surprisingly, is help. And after a few seconds, Egil leans into him even more. It's not fair that he constantly feels like everything is just going to fall apart if he doesn't make an effort to do something. He swallows, gently turning enough to brush a kiss against the side of his head. ] I'm sorry.

[ Worse than begging, he hates apologizing, but there it is just as easily as when Finch makes him say please. ]

[ the smell of him changes, human chemicals for desire, skin warming. remembering a dozen--two dozen? more?--times he's felt finch against him, doubtless, remembering his heat and the murmur of his voice in his ear, his hands on his flesh. egil knows he's a monster and lets him into his bed anyway, and that's goddamn terrifying.

he shifts into the hands against his back, despite the ache of broken flesh beneath the fabric of his shirt. it hurts, but he often hurts, and the gesture is-- comforting, he thinks. like stroking a cat (for all that he's named for a bird), and his spine curves into the touch. ]

You oughta' get something outta' this. [ he doesn't know how to show he's grateful otherwise. his body and his skills are all he has to offer, and he knows that egil enjoys both.

the apology makes him stiffen, though, still feeling the contact of the other man's mouth as he leans back again to glance away, a flush in his face and something like panic edging its way into his expression. ] You ain't-- There's nothing for you to apologize for. I shouldn't fuckin'-- I-- [ god, he should get the fuck out of here. he should cut contact right now, just disappear. it'd be better for both of them if egil never saw him again. he knows it, and yet instead his fingers tighten in the fabric of the other man's shirt, white-knuckled and trembling faintly. he stares down at them in horrified amazement. ] You didn't sign up for my bullshit.

[ It's no worse than the monsters Egil fears, and what's more than that, Finch makes him feel more than they ever would. He's more himself when they're together, more of what he ought to be but refuses to give anyone else. And that's the thought that comes when he goes rigid in his arms, certain that he's said the wrong thing - he always does, it never fails - and wondering if there is ever going to be a right one. It should matter, and he wants it to, wants it so much that it feels like it's tearing his heart out. Egil is uncomfortable with the feeling, but Finch has him trapped so nicely, wrapped intricately around his finger in a way he continues to hate himself for. ]

What I get is knowing someone else isn't going to try fucking you to death. [ He's not calm about it, not when the initial worry comes rushing back and makes him dizzy, but it's not Finch he's angry with. It's people. They're cruel and careless and give no thought to anyone but themselves most of the time. His teeth dig into his bottom lip. ] I like you in one piece. Right here. [ Egil bites down on with me and sighs, voice soft. ] I haven't really thought about it like that either. I don't-- I can't.

[ That's admitting too much, something he isn't sure he even knows how to confess, and he slips his hands around his waist, down Finch's arms to rest them over the ones gripping at his shirt. ] Does it make a difference if I have or not? You came here. [ So what does that say? ]

[ this is way scarier than any of the awful shit he's lived through. it's even scarier than the first time he realized he'd fight tooth and nail to keep vic around. he has a rule that he doesn't fuck friends-- he hates sex, it's always been a negative, necessary experience for him, or a currency to use when necessary. of course he wouldn't want to experience something like that with someone he actually cares about.

so what does it say about him that he's bedded egil so many times and he's still.. attached to him like this? he doesn't want to examine the thought any closer. what he wants is to leave this apartment, not let himself risk getting hurt--really hurt--in a way he hasn't allowed himself to be hurt in a really long time. he can't make himself move, though, copper glance lifting once more at the anger in the other man's voice. why? even vic simply accepts finch's injuries as a simple fact of life for him; he cleans him up, scolds him about finding less violent partners, and things continue on as always. this is so, so different.

the panic is still there, just beneath the facade of his control. he sucks in a breath, shoves it down the same way he shoves down all the things he doesn't want to feel. what egil is saying, what he means-- he's not sure he can process it right now, not when they're pressed so close and intimate like this. instead, he glances down at the hands curled over his own. ] I don't-- I don't know. I shouldn't have. I don't know why I did. [ that's a lie and he knows egil must know it, too. he.. wanted to see him.

he slowly uncurls his fingers, drawing them back. he can't, he can't do this right now. so instead, he pulls egil's hands to the hem of his own shirt. ] --Help me get undressed. I can still feel that shitheel's hands on me and I'm sick of it.

[ Maybe it's better that they don't talk about it. Egil prefers to run when it begins to be too much, and this is gone so far beyond that to a point he isn't sure he'll ever be able to come back from. It's terrifying in its own right too. Caring isn't something he's ever wanted to do since Lárus, and even then, it's nothing he'd wanted in his life. No one cares about him, so why should he care about them? It's a vicious circle, one that he thinks he's going to repeat with Finch if he isn't careful, and yet, he's craving it more than he's ever wanted in such a long time. He can't read the other's thoughts, and something about the potential of it scares him in the same way it has Finch pulling from the conversation, numbed for a moment as he follows the direction his hands are tugged in. He asks for help, and that's what Egil had wanted to give him when he'd first seen him on his doorstep.

He thinks it might have been what he'd wanted to do when they'd first met, beneath all the desire and want. Yet, that's something he shouldn't think of right now. He's tired of it, and he nods once, a jerky sort of response as he purposely avoids looking at his face. ]

Okay. [ Something softer, and he begins to peel his shirt up, unable to keep the emotion out of his face as more skin is revealed and to what extent Finch had really allowed himself to be hurt. Egil wants to murder whoever did this to him, and there's not an ounce of irony in that thought. ] Easy. Here-- [ He helps slip his arm free of one side and chokes down a disapproving sound once he can push the bunched up material over his head and tug it free. Egil drops it on the floor and doesn't even think twice about it. ] Can you get the rest? I'm going to start the water.

[ And if he can't, he'll just undress him the rest of the way. Besides, all Egil really has to do is lean over into the shower and turn it on, but that means drawing away from him even more than he already is. Absently, he finds himself distracted touching at some of the discoloration near his ribs, careful and slow. ] ...does it hurt a lot? [ Of course it has to, but he needs to think about something else beyond how much he wishes he could give Finch what he might need because Egil knows he would never hurt him like this. Ever. ]

[ he's never given a shit what any of his hookups think the next morning, or at any given time during their encounters. he's there to get them off and that's it, that's all he needs from them. but egil's glance falls away from him and he feels like an asshole. it doesn't even make sense; it's not like finch can really offer him anything, after all. he can't make any promises, he can't even be faithful; trying would kill egil or starve finch into becoming an animal.

all the same, maybe for the first time in his life, he kind of.. wishes he had the option. and that's why this is so dangerous, isn't it? giving finch a taste of something he can never have-- teasing egil with what-ifs, making him doubt and wonder. .. god, they're both idiots, aren't they? ]

Yeah, [ he mumbles to the first question, and tries not to think about what he must look like. he hadn't even considered the impact it might have on someone who.. well, someone who isn't vic and still seems to care that he's still alive. he hesitates at his jeans, then takes a breath and pushes them down his legs, kicking them off. his socks follow, leaving him nude. the bite-marks are starting to heal already, and he knows in a few hours, only the worst of his injuries will remain. by tomorrow, it'll be as if no one else ever touched him, and he wants that so badly he can nearly taste it. he hates putting that look on egil's face.

he hesitates, then, gently flattening the other man's palm against his ribs, glance lifting. he finds his smile somewhere, then, leaning up to peck the corner of his mouth surprisingly chastely. ] Nah, it's nothin'. [ he's had worse, and it's not like it's bad like this all the time. and more importantly, he wants to erase the worry on egil's expression. ] Things are a lot better than they used to be, y'know? And I've got Vic and-- [ jesus fuck, his whole face feels hot. when was the last time anyone made him blush like this? has he ever? ] Uh. I mean.. I've got.. you. So. Fuck. [ he glances away again, flustered and freaking out a little. ] I've got.. reasons not to be more reckless than I gotta'.

Edited (wording!!) 2016-12-30 22:29 (UTC)

[ Putting it all into words is something he's never going to do. He doesn't think he can, and he's certain there would be disaster in trying to sort out exactly where his relationship with Finch begins and where it might eventually end. There's already too much feeling, and it's a bitter taste in the back of his throat each time his thoughts drift in that direction. Egil wouldn't ever ask something of him that he couldn't give or be; it's not fair to put all that expectation and hope on someone when he's never cared to give it himself. Believing something to be good means it's probably too much to be real, and it won't last. Egil will run, or Finch will leave him. They won't make it together no matter how much he might wish they could try. Still, it's the moments like this that have his heart beating a little faster, staring at the way Finch kisses him quick and sweet and then immediately blushes.

Has he ever seen that before? He can't remember. But that's not as important as what he's saying, and it's impossible to hide what he feels when he says it too, his lips parting a little in disbelief before he catches himself. ]

You've got me. [ A quiet repeat, confirmation of that fact, and Egil leaves his hand gently pressed to his skin as he leans forward to rest their foreheads together. If he pretends this is okay, it must mean it is in some way. He just has to think about Finch and nothing else. That's the only real truth he needs right now. ] I think... Sometimes I wish there was more I could do for you, but this is all I can give you right now. [ And he doesn't miss a beat, easing himself away from him to turn on the shower and draw the curtain open. He's doing his best to fight down the tears that are just on the cusp of burning his eyes, and where he'd willingly looked at Finch before, he's back to staring at the floor. His discarded clothes, the stains on them — ] I'll find some clothes for you. If you want help, just yell for me.

[ Because he needs an escape, he needs to flee from this before it consumes him and he asks things neither of them can give. It's at the tip of his tongue, the faint color in his face as he tries to slip past him out into the hallway. If he gets away, at least he can cry alone and collect himself before anything else happens, and he's desperate for it. Being strong is saving face, and as if trying to seal that bit of promise, Egil kisses him gently on the cheek. ]

[ fuck. this whole thing is so out of control. finch never should have come here, never should have let egil see him like this. and yet.. he feels weirdly safe here, and he knows egil by now. knows him well enough, at least, to know that he means finch nothing but good. knows he's honestly too good for finch, and the incubus shouldn't drag him down the way he's been doing since they met.

the desire in the air's dissipated, leaving something that tastes like sadness, like hurt. he doesn't know how to fix it, either, only he hates to see it, hates to taste it in the air. his chest feels too tight, frightened, full of some emotion he's not sure he can name. he.. kind of just wants to hold egil, feel him alive and content against him, the way he is after finch has worn him into happy exhaustion.

he catches the other man's wrist before he can leave, then reaches up with both hands to cup his face. ]

.. I-- [ his lips part, then press thin as he struggles to find both breath and courage. at last, a little shakily: ] It's okay, y'know? I'm-- I never thought I'd even-- I mean.. shit, I suck at this, but if I was a normal guy, I'd.. [ his fingers sift gently into egil's hair, a lover's caress, then slide away again. ] I'd like.. to be better for you. I like pleasing you. I've never met anyone I wanted t' come back to like this. [ he takes a breath as if to say something more, then simply shakes his head. ] That's-- [ he makes a lame gesture toward the shower, turning toward it. ] I'll be out in a few minutes, I guess.

[ It's a wave that's rolling through him, surreal and transparent and impossible to climb over, and Egil knows he's fallen into it without warning, drowning in the touch of Finch's hands and the hum of his words. He feels close to bursting with all that they can't promise each other, and he hates how easily it tears him down, the way he speaks and the effort in each word as if he really does care. He'd meant to be taking care of Finch, not the other way around. He wants— he doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know what he's doing, what they're doing or why they're doing it. This is going to ruin him, and Egil is going to let it because it's nothing he's ever had before and everything he'd willingly give his life for. It's a dangerous desire, heart stuck in his throat after he's left there in the wake of Finch's words, and he should follow by example, turn around and leave him to the shower that's running and filling the room with steam.

He should let it go. He needs to breathe.

Egil stumbles after Finch before he even realizes his legs have moved, unsteady and uncertain as he slides his arms around his waist to carefully press his face against his shoulder. It's not easy to hide the tears like this, biting into his bottom lip to muffle whatever sound he might have made otherwise, and now, he knows how concerned he is for him, how much he worries and wonders if the very thing that makes Finch him will kill him some day and leave Egil to pick up the pieces. He doesn't know what it is, and he doesn't care. His breath is hot between them when he breathes, suffocating on his own air, but he doesn't move. ]

I'm sorry. [ The second time in the same hour that he's apologized, and Egil is really pressing his own limits with all of this. ] I can't help you, and that's not fair. None of this is fair... [ A quiet hitch, softer and far too haphazard to feel real. ] You don't-- you don't have to be better for me. I just want you to be okay. I want you to come back. [ And it's stupid that he's still crying, fingers squeezing into his own arms the tighter he holds onto him. ] I want you to be here, idiot.

[ he's kind of expecting egil to leave, for the two of them to be awkward and uncomfortable around one another for a few hours, for finch to sleep on the couch and go down on him the next morning and then-- then everything just goes back to normal. he's not expecting the arms around him or the face in his bare shoulder or the soft, frightening sounds of hitched, teary breaths. he feels dampness against his skin, knows egil is crying, and panic surges up in him again. he's so lost, he has no fucking clue what to do.

he hesitates, stiff and uncertain for a moment, two, before he allows his muscles to relax again, leaning back into the other man. his hand lifts, fingers sifting into the fall of hair across a familiar brow; the other curves over a freckled forearm at his waist, fingers stroking the back of egil's hand. ] Oi, [ he protests, far more gently than is his usual wont, tipping his temple against the other man's. ] Haven't I kept coming back? There ain't, y'know, anybody else in the world I've come back to like I have you. Scares the shit outta' me.

[ he shifts, turning in egil's arms, his hands sliding up to the pale, tear-stained face again. thumbs swipe at the moisture there, and he slots his mouth briefly, carefully over his, pressure that's barely there before withdrawing again. he brushes a second kiss to one damp cheek, then an eyelid. ]

I.. it's just.. never been safe for me to.. [ he trails off, not sure how to finish that. it's not really something he's ever thought he'd have to explain. ] I was ten when I.. matured, I guess. I've been too fucked up since then to.. care.

[ He doesn't know if that's supposed to make him feel better or not. Egil knows what Finch means when he says it, the tenderness of his touch and the weight of his lips a bright spot in the blur of emotion melting him down, but there's a lot he still hasn't figured out. He can't even seem to think straight when they're like this, letting him do as he wants and pliant in ways he isn't even after sex, and all of it's catching up to him like a chokehold on his heart, bits of it crumbling even as he responds in kind and leans into him. He's warm, so very real and too present for Egil to ever consider giving up. Whatever that means. Whatever all of this is supposed to mean.

His lips press thin, a shuddered breath escaping as he keeps his eyes closed after the weight of Finch's mouth leaves him. ]

Sometimes I think you won't, and it... I'm scared too, Finch. [ He hates how small his voice is, how small he feels, and it's ridiculous to be so open when there's no guarantee it'll be fine tomorrow or the day after or weeks from now. Egil draws back so he can try to wipe at his face, exposed and vulnerable and uncomfortable with the idea of giving the other more than he already has. He wants to go back to before he'd found him on his doorstep, to before Finch had found whoever had done this to him, to before everything. Hiding in that memory isn't going to get him anywhere, but he wishes it would. ] I don't know what to do. It's like-- all of this is too much but not enough at the same time.

[ He sucks in a breath, bleeding out with honesty and ready to melt into the floor. ] Does that make any sense at all? [ Egil almost laughs, so delirious with the pressure of it, and he nearly shoves Finch away before he thinks better of it and grips his hand instead, wanting to curl in on himself. ] Do you... I feel so crazy, you know. But I can't tell myself to stop, or it's worse than really being that way. [ So please. What do they do? ]

Yeah, [ he murmurs, voice a little thick despite himself, throat constricting. he gets it, that it's far, far too much, and not nearly enough. he can't think about it too hard, though, what it'd be like to just.. be his lover. coming home to him every night, waking with him every morning, not having to come back to him with another person's teeth marking his skin.

they're both in too deep and there's nowhere to go. ]

I'm-- [ he's shaking, in pain and exhausted, but feeling wired with nerves and the familiar fight-or-flight instincts that tell him to run and not look back. he doesn't, of course; instead, he slots his fingers between egil's slowly, as if testing the very idea of holding his hand like this. ] I'm sorry. I knew.. so many times that I shoulda' stopped coming to you, that I shoulda' moved on. But I-- I like it here. When you're here. I like how you treat me.

[ this has been a safe place from the start, even when they'd been little more than acquaintances.

by now, steam fills the little bathroom, slicking finch's hair, leaving his bare skin damp. he hesitates, then reaches again, carefully pushing strands from egil's face, copper eyes lifting to meet his. ]

I'm gonna' fuck this up real bad, whatever it is. It's inevitable, 'cause I don't have the first fuckin' clue what to do or how. But I-- unless you ask me to, I don't wanna' give it up, either. [ god, his heart is hammering so hard in his chest it's a wonder egil can't hear it. he can't believe he's even entertaining the thought of making anything of his reluctant emotional attachment to this man. ] Can't we-- Fuck. [ his breathing hiccups uncertainly. ] Can't we figure it out? I mean.. can't we.. find some way to--

[ He's going to cry again.

This isn't what he'd wanted when he'd let him inside, when he'd touched the bruises and the cuts and the deeper wounds he has no business touching, but they're here now regardless of it. It's causing him to shake too, trying to anchor himself to Finch as best he can while holding himself together, and everything about this hurts. His head aches, his chest is too tight. His eyes are burning, and he can't even think beyond what Finch is saying - what he's suggesting? - and where it could lead them. This is bad, and he knows it is. They both do, but he's already peeled away the harder parts of himself to shove the softer pieces into Finch's hands. Whatever he does with it now is completely up to him, and he leans into the heat of his palm, breath a puff as he looks at him quietly. ]

I don't know what way that is. [ He's told Finch, before, just how screwed up the idea of more might be. Egil had thought he'd closed that part of his life off to survive the pain of his best friend's death, but the more times they've come together, even the simpler, sweeter moments-- it's like nothing he's ever known, and he's falling faster and harder over an edge he can't crawl his way back from. ] But it doesn't mean we can't... It doesn't mean I don't want to try to figure it out. With you. [ His fingers are squeezing into Finch's now, eyes glancing behind him to the shower for a moment and then back again like he's trying to think of something. Anything. Egil bites down on his tongue, tears into the soft flesh of his lip with his teeth as it all closes in around him. ]

I think I — [ He makes an effort to hold onto him, swallowing and wondering if he should just climb into the shower with him to erase the reminder that Finch isn't really his. ] I like when you're here too. [ There's always a strange emptiness when he isn't, a hole sucking the life from the world piece by piece. Egil whispers it under his breath. ] I like you.

[ how are they ever going to survive this? finch has built his entire life on survival-- they both have, in their ways, and now they're both flinging themselves into this.. this. it's stupid and reckless and scary as shit; even offering this much of himself is a new and overwhelming experience for him. you can't lose anyone, after all, if you never let them in in the first place. in all his life, only vic's peeled back any real measure of finch's defenses.

and here he is, dropping them willingly for someone who's probably as damaged in some ways as finch himself.

i like you, egil whispers, and it tears at something small and shattered and nearly forgotten inside him. god, fuck, he likes egil, too. he really fucking likes him, and he wants to scream and he wants to kiss him and he wants to goddamn cry, and he honestly can't remember the last time he did that. (maybe when he was a kid, waking up with the corpses of his foster parents in bed with him.) ]

Maybe-- [ does he sound as uncertain, as lost as he feels? ] Maybe I could.. I mean, if you wanted--if you didn't mind--maybe I could leave some of my shit here, just.. Maybe I could.. stay here more often. I-- [ he manages a slightly overwhelmed, frightened laugh. ] --God, I.. I like you, too. A lot.

[ he hesitates, then uncurls their fingers, reaching instead for the other man's shirt again. ]

--Take a shower with me? Maybe after I can.. make dinner for you or something, and we can just.. [ he trails off, then shrugs awkwardly. he just wants to be a normal goddamn person for egil, just for a little while. ]

Okay. [ He's not even thinking of the consequences or where they might end up after this, what might become of them if they let it get too out of control. But isn't it already? Hasn't he already lost himself to it? ] Okay. We can do that. [ Another little breath, quiet. ] I can do that.

[ Because he wants to, and Finch wants to. He just wants to be close to him, and there's not much effort in getting out of his shirt or the rest of his clothes either, tugging himself out of them so they don't waste any more of the water that's already found its way down the drain. It's easier to do than to think about all of the things he's just said, how many promises he finds himself wanting to make for the sake of whatever they could be, and Egil draws him into the shower without a word, letting the warmth soak into him before his fingers gently run over his skin. He starts at his shoulders, petting down along his chest and eyes sliding shut with the memory. There's still the heat of his tears, and he's just on the cusp of crying over it all over again at how much he likes liking him.

His thumb drags across his jaw, gently touching Finch's split lip the same way he'd done before the start of all this. ] You don't have to do anything for me as long as you're here. That's all I really want. [ And all he's wanted, giving himself to the moment and brushing a careful kiss to the corner of his mouth. ] But if that's what you want... [ He's certainly not going to argue the details, thinking of the sweetness of those hours after when he's wrapped around Finch and tucked safely into bed without a thought to this or the uncertain future that waits for them. ]

[ he lets himself be drawn into the shower, standing close and feeling familiar hands on him. the ever-present drive for sex, to sate his hunger, is nearly forgotten beneath the simple and unfamiliar intimacy of just being together. being together in a way that he doesn't allow of anyone else. god, this is going to hurt so badly when he screws it up.

eventually, slowly, he soaps his hands, sliding them up egil's back, around to his ribs, thumbs stroking the long line of them. it's more for the contact than anything, feeling him alive and warm and wanting this, wanting to be here with him. egil wants more than just finch's body, and that-- that doesn't happen. ]

I like, uh, cooking for Vic sometimes, [ he reassures him, water stinging healing cuts and cleaning away the last traces of another man. ] I can't really eat food anymore, but it's kind of.. relaxing, I guess, and it might-- [ it might be nice, doing something for egil that doesn't generally require a bed. ] .. I'm probably good for the next day or two. [ people like the guy he'd just come from offer up a fair amount of energy throughout, so.. maybe he can stay a while. here with egil. ]

[ Something more than just the idle caress of his hands might have not have been enough for someone else, but Egil only leans into him with the need for simple contact, knowing he's there and isn't going to run. He doesn't know if that's going to be worse when the newness of this wears off, when they're stuck at a crossroads because Finch has his own problems and Egil is too hardheaded to let anyone so close, but for now, it's far too easy to fall into the rhythm they set together, gentle as he draws some of the soap from Finch's hands onto his own to ghost them over his arms. He likes listening to him talk too, wishing (for once) that they were somewhere horizontal so he could simply press his ear to his chest and just... be. ]

I really don't know what's in there, but I'm sure you can make it work. [ Because it's not as if he spends too much time here if he can help it anyway. Those reasons are his own, shifting so he can rest his cheek against Finch's shoulder, hands balanced lightly on his hips. A pause, soaking in the contact, and Egil's voice is only loud enough so it's heard over the fall of the water. ] Are you going to stay until then? [ He can't press. He shouldn't push. What they're giving each other needs to be enough, or it's all going to fall apart as easily as it almost did. ] Do you want to?

[ A quiet invitation, if he wants. Egil can't draw a line around it, or he'll never want to let him go, and there's proof in the past that if he clings hard enough, the things he cares for suffocate with it. He doesn't want to do that to Finch. He won't let himself. ]

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( nursed back to health shipping meme. )

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