Work Text:
Race stepped out of the bathroom only to find Spot seated at the kitchen table, hands threaded together in front of him, jaw set. The movie they’d been watching is frozen on the TV, snacks still spread across the kitchen table.
“Uh-oh.” Race chuckled to hide his panic. “Something got serious quickly.”
Spot pursed his lips. “Can I talk to you about something?” He asked gruffly, and pushed out the chair across from him with his foot.
Race snorted. “I feel like I’m at the principal’s office.”
“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.” Spot said, throwing his hands up.
Race cringed. “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it.”
“Mother of Jesus.” Spot sighed, and put his head in both of his hands, thumbs rubbing his temples like he had a headache—which, knowing Race, he probably did.
“What’s wrong?” Race asked, taking a step forward. His heart was tight in his chest.
Spot held up Race’s phone, a text notification on the screen, and Race’s heart actually stopped beating. “What the hell is this?”
Race stared at him. His jaw tightened. “You went through my phone?”
Spot blinked. “It just showed—“
“That is not okay.” Race snarled, raking a hand through his hair. “What the hell are you even so pissy about. A text?”
“From Blues. Your ex, Antonio. Saying I miss you with a heart and a tongue emoji.” Spot snarls, dropping the phone on the table with a harsh sound.
Race stared coldly at him. “If you actually think that I’m cheating on you with my ex, you are quite possibly the dumbest man to ever walk.” He stomps forward to snatch the phone off the table, opening it with a fierce swipe of his thumb. He finds the text from Blues, scrolling up in the chat, and snarls, “The last time I texted him was three years ago to tell him I was in a relationship and he needed to stop hitting me up.”
He tosses the phone until it thumps against Spot’s chest, not too hard to actually hurt. Spot catches it, face still storming, and looks down at the chat. As if Race had been lying.
“Why haven’t you texted him to tell him you’re married?” Spot huffed, rolling his eyes and setting the phone down on the table.
Race stared at him, eyes wide in rage. “Maybe because you looked through my texts and made ridiculous assumptions before I even had the chance to see it. ”
Spot sighed. “Fine. Sorry. Everything’s good.”
“No.” Race let out a harsh laugh. “No, nuh-uh, everything’s not good.” He sat down harshly. “Let’s talk about how you thought it was okay to go through my phone.” Race offered coldly.
Spot rolled his eyes. “I didn’t go through your phone, I didn’t break into it I just saw the text on the screen.”
“Yeah, and then you decided that I was cheating on you.” Race said, standing up. “Why the fuck would you think that?”
“Okay, first of all, I never accused you of cheating.”
“Like it wasn’t implied?”
Spot sighed. “I was worried. Wouldn’t you be, if you saw a text from my ex on my phone?”
“Of course I might be worried, but my mind wouldn’t immediately think that you’re definitely cheating and then take your phone while you’re in the bathroom!” Race stood and stalked around the kitchen, raking a hand through his hair.
Spot sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I apologize for looking at your phone.”
“And for assuming I was cheating?”
“Oh, come on!” Spot exploded, standing up. His face was red in the way it only became when he was angry. “You would have done the same!”
“No, I wouldn’t have! I would’ve been worried but I wouldn’t have accused you of cheating!” Race screamed.
“I never accused you of that!”
Race felt a painful, sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He collapsed into the chair, putting his head in his hand, praying to keep the tears at bay. He hated crying when he was frustrated. “Marriage doesn’t suit us, does it?” He let out a weak laugh.
“Hey.” Spot said, in that same strong voice. “Don’t say that. We’re arguing, and I’m pissed at you, but we still love each other.”
Race took a shaky breath. “Okay.” Another inhale. “Okay.” Spot sat down. “When did you stop trusting me?”
And he was up again. “I do trust you!”
“Then why didn’t you just—“
Spot started for the door, grabbing his keys, and shook his head. “I need to go out.”
“Hey!” Race yelled, storming forward with tears in his eyes. “You swore you wouldn’t leave!”
Spot went still like a granite figure, looking over his shoulder, just slightly. And then he turned, his hand falling off the doorknob, leaning against the door.
“We have to stay.” Race’s voice cracked. “We have to talk about this. To sit and talk. This—“ he held up his hand as tears poured down his face, showing the two bands around his left ring finger. “—makes sure of that. Okay?”
Spot blinked. “Okay.”
They talk for a long time about very few things. It keeps coming back to trust; Spot trusting Race, Race trusting Spot, the two of them trusting each other. Race is a firm believer in never going to bed angry, and Spot isn’t very good at saying no to him. It’s 1:53 in the morning when Race leans back on the couch and sighs. A box of Dominos is half-empty on the coffee table.
Race leans his head on Spot’s shoulder. Things are still a bit tense, tired and unresolved, but Race can’t go long without touching Spot.
“I trust you. I do.” Spot murmurs, pressing his cheek to Race’s hair.
“I trust you too.” Race whispers. His eyelids droop. “I would never cheat on you.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” Spot brushes a hand through Race’s hair, kisses his temple. And then Race has slid into that space between awake and sleep, aware but unable to do anything, leaning against his husband, one of their hands twined between them.
Spot kisses his temple. “I love you.”
Race tries to say ‘I love you’ back, but he’s pretty sure it comes out as some garbled mix of random consonants. Spot laughs gently, pulling him close until Race is lying across his lap, and Race lets himself sleep.
He has Spot. Spot, who has his faults, who yells when he’s upset and never learned how to fully trust people and who Race loves. More than he’s ever loved anything else.
And Spot has him.