Work Text:
It took a few months for Steve to realize it was a pattern, a Chris thing, but when he did it amused him to no end that Christian Kane liked to hold hands.
The first time it happened, Chris had reached out to pull Steve’s drunk ass out of a patio chair at a party. Their fingers intertwined as Chris pulled him up, but even after he’d regained his feet, Chris didn’t let go. He pulled Steve along next to him, their bracelets clinking against each other, back into the house and over to where their friends were hanging out. At the time, Steve thought nothing of it, didn’t even really notice.
Days later, Chris did it again. When he gave Steve a hand up, instead of clasping palms or pulling Steve up by his wrist the way a lot of guys do, Chris’s fingers laced up with Steve’s and carefully guided him to his feet. Once Steve was up, Chris didn’t let go. That time Steve noticed, but he was happily buzzed, and it felt nice, so he didn’t say anything, he just smiled and went with it.
As the days and weeks went by, Steve noticed more and more often that Chris was holding his hand. Always very casual, Chris acted like it wasn’t even happening, so Steve did the same. They spent a lot of time together, and looking back, Steve thinks he must have looked like a moth drawn to Chris’s bright flame, but as he got to know Chris, became good friends with him, the way they were together made sense. They just seemed to fit.
Steve understood that Kane was a very tactile person, always free with his affection for his friends. Hugs, pats on the back, slaps to the shoulder all flowed freely from Chris, usually accompanied by an easy smile and a hearty laugh that came deep from his gut. The more booze Chris had in him, the more touchy-feely he was, with everyone, but Steve had a feeling that he was enjoying it more than most. He couldn’t help but gravitate to Chris, he found the way the man ate up life addictive, and Steve always wanted more. Chris seemed to bring out the wilder side of Steve, and when he was around Steve, Chris’s hard edges seemed to soften a little.
One night after writing songs well into the wee hours of the morning, they were flopped on Steve’s couch, stoned on good pot and making music together. The t.v. was on, some old kung fu movie playing, and it was all good, the kind of comfortable that Steve didn’t find with most people. He remembers thinking at that moment that really, it’d been like that from the very start with Chris; easy the way Kane just slid into his life. Even when they were getting kicked out of a bar because Chris got in another fight, it was easy to laugh and stumble their way to the next bar, next party, next song, next epic adventure they could share. It was just as easy when Steve felt Chris’s strong, blunt fingers sliding between his, smooth and warm and slow, like it was natural. Chris didn’t say anything, didn’t even look away from the t.v., so Steve didn’t either, he just let it happen. He curled his fingers around Chris’s, and couldn’t help but smile when he felt Chris’s thumb stroking across his index finger. It was a gentle touch, which was such a dichotomy, so different from what Chris showed the rest of the world.
Something melted inside Steve at that moment. He had to bite his tongue not to say anything, not ask what this was and where it was going. He was pretty sure that if he said anything, it would stop, and Chris would back off and things would never be that easy between them again. So instead, he took a deep breath and slouched farther back into the cushions. He tried to be inconspicuous about moving closer to Chris, so their shoulders touched, but then Chris leaned his weight against Steve, so he knew it was okay. Chris’s thumb would skim back and forth over Steve’s hand every now and then, making goosebumps crawl up Steve’s arm. He was stoned, peaceful deep down inside in a way he didn’t think he’d experienced before. The flowery smell of the good weed mingled with Chris’s musky scent, filled Steve’s head with vague ideas of how much more this could all be, with time. They fell asleep like that, leaning against each other, holding hands, drifting off together.
It became the norm for them after a while, and even though sometimes he woke up with a crick in his neck, Steve never slept better than when Chris was next to him, warm body solid against his side, their fingers intertwined. Their hands a physical representation of what was happening with their lives.