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“...Born too late to have a chance to win your love....”
Booster buries his face in the pillow, groaning softly, hoping against hope that he can stop himself from waking up any more, that he can just drift back off to sweet, unknowing sleep again. Reverse the morning.
He feels like hell. Like hung over times ten, every nerve ending in him aching, pulsating. His head hurts, his back hurts, his arms, his legs, his fingers. He already misses the moment two minutes ago when he was too deeply asleep to be aware.
“....Oh why, oh why, was it my fate... To be born too late...”
He frowns with closed eyes, even the slight movement of the muscles in his forehead making his scalp ache. What the fuck did he do last night? Must have been some bender, he can't even recall.
In the song, the combination of plaintive hammond organ and wailing saxophone hurts his ears, and Booster knows whatever he did, he didn’t deserve to wake up like this. He reaches blindly for his nightstand to turn off the radio, but the moment the palm of his hand touches the wood the dull ache gives way to searing white lightning bolts of pain travelling up his arm, into his spine like a sustained explosion. He lets out a choked cry and jolts up to a seated position, cradling a bandaged hand that feels like it's going to burst with pain.
He rocks gently, breath whistling through his teeth as he waits for the shooting pain to dim. He remembers now. Not an alcohol-fueled evening of misbehavior after all, but the exciting new experience of getting stabbed through the hand. Bleeding on a dungeon floor, getting stitches at the hospital, and then back... Here...
“...I long to hold you and kiss you, but I know it never can be....”
He blinks, realizing his nightstand is looking very bare. No radio.
The music continues from somewhere outside his bedroom, and he slowly manages to get to his feet, his body feeling uncommonly heavy and light at the same time, like a helium balloon tied to a steel chain. He stumbles out into the hall, following the sound. Every muscle is sore and aching, but in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts the cool air feels soothing against his skin.
He reaches the kitchen, spotting the radio playing on the counter next to his toaster. And then he sees...
“....Because your heart just couldn’t wait, why was I born too late....”
Ted.
Ted’s familiar broad back, wearing that gray T-shirt Booster stole from him years ago. He whistles off-tune, spatula in hand, frying something on the stove. Bare feet on the floor, and wearing his Blue Beetle tights and shorts, a strange mishmash of costumed heroism and lazy domesticity.
There’s a gap in Booster’s memory. There has to be. He frowns, remembering an earnest conversation in Ted’s car on the way here, and then he can conjure up flashes of himself stumbling exhausted against his bedroom wall as Ted helps him peel off his blood-encrusted costume, but...
Something else must have happened. Something very big and wonderful, because Ted’s still here, in Booster’s shirt, making food like it... Like it's the natural thing to do.
“I should have figured you had it set to an oldies channel.” Ted flashes Booster a smile over his shoulder, gesturing towards the radio with a spatula. “Wouldn't kill you to follow the top 40, you know. Stay a little bit current.”
“You’re --” Booster’s voice is so hoarse it feels like there’s something rattling around in his throat when he speaks. He clears his throat. “You’re cooking?”
“Just some scrambled eggs,” Ted shrugs, working the pan. “I wanted to do an omelet, but, uh, I didn't find too many fresh ingredients in here.”
Booster’s gaze moves involuntarily to the pile of empty takeout boxes at the end of the counter, feeling a keen sense of embarrassment at Ted seeing how he's been living these last months. Home-cooked meals haven't exactly been a top priority.
“Scrambled eggs sounds good,” Booster offers weakly, looking about the kitchen, out of his depth, finally dropping down on one of the chairs in the breakfast nook.
“You know, I read somewhere when I was a kid --” Ted begins brightly. “That, uh, Wildcat swears to eggs after, you know, really bad fights.” He stirs the pan, smirking down at it. “Something about... protein giving you a kick start after blood loss."
"That so?" Booster offers lamely, unable to take his eyes off Ted.
"I've been meaning to research it, see if it's true, but, uh --” Ted clears his throat. "Never got around to it."
“Doesn't sound like you,” Booster murmurs, still trying to figure out what exactly led to a morning like this.
“I know, so unscientific,” Ted groans, an endearing look of guilt on his face as he glances back at Booster. “But you know how I am about Wildcat. He’s my hero, man. Don't know what I'd do if I discovered he was talking bull.”
Booster chuckles softly. “Hey, it sounds like it should be true. I trust him.”
The hiss of the frying pan accompanying the music from the radio makes it sound like distant continuous applause for every track. “....Why was I born too late? Too late...”
“Ted?” Booster asks, then clears his throat.
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on?” Some kind of dream. After months of fighting you don’t wake up to sit in your kitchen in your underwear while your ex happily cooks you breakfast. Or maybe one of them is high. Booster supposes he's the most likely subject, considering he was in hospital last night, but he doesn't feel high.
Ted doesn’t turn to look at him. “Whaddya mean?”
“This. Us.” Booster looks at the way Ted’s shoulders tense slightly under the cotton T-shirt. “I think I might have... I don’t know, blacked out or something last night, because this...” He exhales. “I can’t quite figure out what’s going on here.”
Without looking up, Ted frowns, then makes a face, before grinning wildly, all down at the pan. “I don’t know!” It sounds almost like a whine. Ted lets out a strained chuckle. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to act. I really -- I don't. I woke up and I panicked, okay? I panicked and I started making us scrambled eggs.”
“Okay,” Booster blinks, surprised. “That’s fair.”
Ted casts another glance over his shoulder at Booster, and there's something nervous in his eyes. “You, uh -- You do remember the car ride here, right?”
“Sure,” Booster mutters. “I think. Most of it.”
Ted frowns at him again over his shoulder.
"I remember our talk," Booster quickly reassures him. "And I remember arriving here, but --" He frowns down at his hand. Blurry flashes of Ted helping him peel off his costume, Booster falling down exhausted. Almost its own moment of intimacy, except it probably played out more like a slapstick comedy. “Ted.” Booster stares at him, frowning. “Last night. We didn’t...?”
Ted turns to look at him. “What?”
Booster casts a glance down at himself, investigating. He woke up with underwear on. His own underwear, even. Although... He doesn't wear underwear in costume, just a cup. So last night, Ted... dressed him? After what? He looks back up. “You and me, did we --”
“Oh,” Ted exclaims softly, realizing. “Oh God, no. We definitely didn’t.” He chuckles nervously, a little flush coming to his cheeks. “I mean -- fuck, Booster. You were barely conscious. I put you to bed and I slept on the couch.”
“Oh man,” Booster makes a face. “I wouldn’t wish that couch on my worst enemy.” Too many nights falling asleep in front of the TV, his back in agony in the morning. “You could have slept next to me, you know. My bed’s practically the size of the universe anyway.”
Ted sets his jaw, looking down at the pan. “Didn’t want to intrude.”
It sends a little ache through Booster’s already sore body. Was Ted tempted, last night? He hopes he was tempted. Booster would be, if their places were switched. Not even doing anything about it, not even touching, just... The chance to lie next to him, watch his measured breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Booster frowns at the floor. I like him too much. I must like him so much more than he likes me.
Ted glances back at him. “You’re supposed to pop your pills before you eat, you know. You should take them now.”
Booster follows Ted’s gesture in a daze, to the other side of the table, a small plastic bag. He reaches over and peeks inside, sees the yellow plastic of several pill bottles. He picks one up, studying it against the light.
“They’re not going to make me all loopy like I was after I dislocated my elbow, are they?” He frowns at the label. “I’m feeling woozy enough today as it is.”
“No, I triple checked with the doctor,” Ted tells him matter-of-factly. “Different painkillers this time. And you're on an antibiotics course, too.”
Booster grasps a bottle in his good hand and tries to gingerly twist the lid off with his bandaged one. White hot pain blooms from his palm, traveling up his forearm like electricity, and a choked groan escapes him as he bends over, panting. Every sinew in his hand feels like barbed wire, excruciatingly tight.
“Booster, for God’s sake,” Ted exclaims softly, like a gently frustrated parent, and Booster squirms more from the condescension than the pain. He watches, vaguely embarrassed, as Ted opens every pill container in turn, setting them down on the table in front of him, and then goes searching through the cupboards.
“Over the sink,” Booster mutters, and watches Ted find a glass and fill it from the tap. He accepts the glass with a sullen nod. Is this why he stayed? Out of pity? Because I'm unable to do anything himself?
Even sitting here in his underwear while Ted’s dressed. Like a child, being cooked for, being told to take his medicine. He tries to remind himself they went through something similar that time Booster dislocated his elbow. Ted helped him then, too, helped him with a lot of things, but... It wasn’t like this. It didn’t feel like this.
“The hand's bad today, huh?” Ted asks as he returns to the stove. Even the conversation feels condescending.
“It feels more or less like someone stabbed a knife through it,” Booster mutters, a little strained.
“Take your pills, they’ll help.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna!” Booster snaps back at him, not quite understanding why he feels so bristly. He reads every label in turn before he gathers the respective pills in his hand, making sure he’s got the dosages right. One of these, two of those, one of -- “Christ,” he mutters, holding up a pale blue one. “This one’s the size of my thumb.”
Ted turns to look, a flash of real surprise in his eyes. “Wow.”
“I don’t have much of a gag reflex, but man.” Booster turns it over between his thumb and index finger. “This one’ll put it to the test.”
A soft giggle escapes Ted, and Booster looks up just in time to catch the smirk and gentle embarrassment on Ted’s face before he turns back to cupboards, setting plates on the counter. Booster can't fight off a weird smile. Overbearing or not, Ted can be so cute.
Booster swallows the first and second handful of tablets as Ted sets the table, then forces down the final huge one with a grimace and a cough. He takes another few gulps of water to wash it all down, and as he does so his stomach growls and rumbles, and he realizes he’s happy about food being ready after all. If he'd been alone his breakfast would probably have consisted of whatever dry biscuits he could find in the cupboard.
"...Every step reminds me of just how we used to be..."
He watches as Ted turns his back to him again, portioning out the scrambled eggs on two plates, and without meaning to, Booster's gaze moves down to Ted’s legs, his ass in his dark blue tights. God, it's still such a sight. The way the black bands on the shorts accentuates his strong thighs. Did he realize that, years ago when he picked that costume? That tantalizing detail, Booster's adored it from day one. This time, this morning, for the first time in -- in an eternity, he gets to sit and appreciate those black bands in real life, not in pictures, not on TV.
Ted turns and catches him with a quizzical look, making Booster look away and clear his throat.
“You could have borrowed some pants too, you know,” Booster offers, gesturing at Ted’s T-shirt. “I’m sure I've got some sweatpants or something if you want to be more comfortable.”
Ted’s smile is a little strained as places the plates on the table. “Wouldn’t fit me,” he mutters, sitting down opposite Booster. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve, uh, put on a bit of weight.”
Booster frowns, hearing the shame in Ted’s voice. If he knew what point they’re at, after all this time, maybe he’d know exactly what to say. He wants to say something. “You’re looking pretty damn good to me,” he admits, offering Ted a low-lidded smile.
God. More of Ted. How could he ever dislike there being more of Ted? More of his soft curves with strong muscles underneath, like a gorgeous intimate secret only revealed when you touch him, when you pull him tight. Fuller, rounder, softer, filling out his costume (and those black bands, those wonderful black bands) like no other man on earth ever could.
No. Calm down.
Slow. They’re gonna take this slow.
You’re not supposed to want him like this. Later, maybe. Maybe if they reach that point again. When he figures out if Ted could want him back. But they made a deal they were gonna talk things through first. Everything after needs to wait.
Ted smiles, a little tight-lipped, then looks down, squirting ketchup on his scrambled eggs, and starts eating.
"...And I can't help recalling how it felt to kiss and hold you tight..."
“Anyway, I guess we’re just...” Booster shrugs, drizzling salt over his portion. “Picking up each other’s slack. Law of averages.”
Ted smirks, not looking up. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve lost about double what you’ve put on,” Booster mutters, glancing up at him. “Getting to be a real string bean.”
Ted's gaze snaps to his face and he chuckles in disbelief. “That’s not true. Look at you!” he gestures at Booster’s body. “With that physique? You could enter bodybuilding competitions.”
Booster squirms, not buying it. For perhaps the first time in adulthood he feels... embarrassed at his lack of clothes. At how he can’t hide his body. “You know Dusk Cologne hired me for another swimwear shoot? And when the art director saw me getting ready --" Booster gestures weakly. "He suddenly had ‘a vision’ and insisted on shooting me in a three-piece suit instead.” His mouth feels dry. It’s obvious to everyone he’s past his peak. And now he wants to offer Ted the sad leftovers.
“Fuck him,” Ted tells him emphatically, meeting Booster’s gaze. “Do you think anyone would look twice at him if he showed up in a speedo? Or a three-piece suit for that matter?” He reaches across the table and squeezes Booster’s forearm, and Booster feels a sudden warm surge in his body at the sensation. “He was just trying to get into your head, Boos. You've told me about those creative types, you know. He doesn’t know shit. You’re beautiful.”
At those words the hand on Booster’s arm freezes and trembles for a moment, and when Booster exhales, smiling, Ted sits back, clearing his throat, a subtle flush of color rising from his neck.
Booster watches as Ted takes another mouthful of scrambled eggs and chews, staring down at his plate.
Beautiful.
He thinks I’m beautiful.
They continue eating without speaking for a while, Dionne Warwick crooning from the radio, and Booster allows himself subtle glances at Ted’s face, the way his curls bounce slightly when he moves his head, the bead of water that hangs below his cupid bow after he takes a sip from his glass.
And he aches. Not like he did when he woke, not from his injury. He just -- He can barely hold it together, sitting so close to Ted again, knowing what they said last night, the possibilities. The fresh start.
They both sit back when they're done eating, here in Booster’s untidy kitchen, between boxes of takeout, old plastic bags, things Booster has told himself for months he would throw out, but which he never got around to because it's not like he entertains guests here anyway.
Well, he's got a guest over now.
“I, um,” Booster mutters, looking down at himself, at the speckles of brown dried blood still on his forearm, the stain of dirt on his legs. “I think I want to take a shower.” He looks up at Ted. “Could you stick around a little while?” Please.
“Sure,” Ted murmurs, smiling.
Booster can't help but grin in response. "Thanks, I'll -- I'll be quick." He gets up and stumbles towards the hall when Ted calls his name softly.
“Wait.” Ted walks up to him, and for a wild moment Booster imagines Ted is gonna kiss him, or embrace him, or offer to join him in the shower. But Ted pulls a small plastic bag from the Korean takeaway place off the counter and gingerly places it over Booster’s bandaged hand, trying it snugly around his wrist.
Booster’s heart is beating so loud he wonders if Ted can hear it. He ought to be close enough. Hell, the people across the street are probably close enough to hear it, thumping like a bass drum.
“Don’t wanna get your bandage wet.”
“Okay,” Booster mutters stupidly, looking at the way Ted’s eyelashes frame his brown eyes.
Not yet.
We said to take things slow.
Showering is a bit of an ordeal with his plastic-covered hand held out of the stream, but at least this time Booster can appreciate that his dominant hand made it out okay. He never knew exactly how right-handed he was before he suffered that dislocation. Struggling to brush his teeth, comb his hair... Jerk off.
Lucky he doesn’t have to ask Ted for assistance on the getting-off front this time. He can handle it himself easily even with his left hand out of commission, and just from the way he feels around Ted, he knows he’s gonna have to handle it frequently until they figure out what they’re meant to be together. Would have been inhuman to have to run to Ted every single time. "Sorry, bud, but your hair caught the light in that perfect way again and I feel like I'm going to explode." "Whoops, caught myself thinking about your lips a little too long. Lend a hand please?"
He chuckles, closing his eyes as he lets the water hit his face.
He's... happy. He's nervous and relieved and embarrassed and kinda happy. They're gonna talk. They're gonna figure things out, as well as they can, and -- Ted said he would like to try again. If they're careful, if they're patient, they could make everything... Wonderful. Even more wonderful than it was.
Something tenses in him. He thinks back, before the external stuff happened -- before the money, the Conglomerate. When they were just together. Fair enough. Things weren’t perfect. A lot uncertainty, a fair share of quietly hurt feelings. Anxieties.
None of them knew what they were then. How do they build on something they never even managed to define?
You’re really just gonna go back to tenderly fucking and carrying around all that doubt, about what you are to him and what he is to you and how long you can carry on like this?
Booster turns off the shower. No.
No, this time we'll talk it through. We'll figure it out.
He dries himself off, forgetting himself only only once, standing a few minutes taking deep breaths until the shooting pain in his bandaged hand goes away. He offers himself a nervous smile in the mirror.
Alive. Both of them alive, willing to try again. That’s gotta count for something.
He skips straight to the bedroom, towel around his waist, and pulls on a loose-fitting sweater and a pair of pants. As he strides towards the kitchen, energized, the phone rings, and he makes a stop in the living room to answer, dropping down on the couch. It’s Claire.
“You’re doing okay?" she asks him earnestly. "You looked pretty out of it when I saw you at the hospital last night."
“Um, yeah. Doing a lot better.” He can’t even recall seeing her last night. Out of it is just the beginning.
“The media is going crazy, you know.” He can hear the smirk in her voice, something almost pleased. “If you don’t make an appearance soon I’m pretty sure they’re writing you off as deceased.”
He cradles the phone against his shoulder and massages the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “Can’t you just... make a statement or something? I'm beat, Claire. I could use a few days to recover.”
“We’ve talked to the press, but without a picture they’re already suspecting we’re trying to hide your condition.” She sighs. “I’m not talking a press conference or anything, Booster. Just an appearance in public. Anywhere. You can go to a restaurant, or a Broadway show, just smile to the photographer and then you’re done.”
He lets out a drawn-out sigh. “Fine, I guess I can go eat somewhere.”
“Good boy.” She pauses to think. “There’s a new Italian place on Madison, I’ll book you a table for tonight, set up a photographer. Just you, or are you bringing someone?”
He glances over to the kitchen, seeing Ted by the sink, washing up, then flinching when the jet hits the frying pan and sprays water everywhere. Ted turns off the tap and sheepishly reaches for a towel to wipe the floor, unaware that he's being watched. Booster smiles.
Imagine if they could go out together tonight. A fancy dinner. A movie.
A date.
But he knows what a silly thought that is, knowing there will be photographers. Not just Claire's, but paparazzi too. Journalists less inclined to follow whatever narrative her team is trying to create.
It’s Booster's turn to be the one who thinks ahead. Who takes precautions.
“Just me,” he murmurs. “Or, um -- ask Cynthia if she wants to come. My treat.”
“My treat, Booster,” Claire counters brightly. “Honestly.”
“So, um,” Booster squints out the window, the sun already getting lower in the sky. “How’s the media spinning this whole thing? Kahndaq and the team and the Justice League?” And me at the center of it all, mucking it up.
“Just the general gist of it so far, until we or someone else make a statement.” There’s a pause. “How would you want us to tell it? With the...” She hesitates, familiar with Booster’s reservations. “The... League? Friends, competition, bitter enemies, what?”
He looks over at Ted again, who's resumed the washing up now he's hidden the evidence of the water mishap earlier. “I guess we’re -- we’re good.” Booster lets out a chuckle despite himself. “We’re good. We’re... grateful for the Justice League, Claire.” He wants to laugh. He doesn't know why, but he feels like he's moments away from laughing. “I guess I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the Justice League.”
In more ways than one.
There's a pause. "If you say so." He can hear distant beeping on her end.
"I -- Wait. How are the others?" Booster suddenly realizes he hasn't asked -- not Ted, not Claire. God, what kind of team leader is he? "Are they alright?"
"They're fine, Booster. Everyone made it out okay, they're getting a few days off too." She exhales. "Everyone's been debriefed except you. I had to go a few rounds with the higher-ups to convince them not to hound you for your report."
Booster regards his bandaged hand. "I owe you one, Claire."
"You're not off the hook, Booster," Claire tells him, a little pointedly. "I've only delayed it, you understand? The analysts are chomping at the bit to figure out what went wrong. You need to be prepared to give a full report very soon."
"Of course."
"Like what happened to your earpiece."
Booster makes a face. Of course. He was waiting for this. "I'm clumsy," he mutters. "I break things."
Claire's voice sounds so exhausted. "I seem to recall your signal cut off immediately after you said some very colorful things to Johnson in PR."
At least the loud crunch that earpiece made when he stomped it was very satisfying. Booster exhales through his nose. "So I'll apologize to Johnson."
"This isn't about that, Booster. You know it isn't." She waits for him to speak, then sighs when he doesn't. "You cut off communications right before you went into a very volatile political situation, Booster. And considering how quickly things went south after that, well --"
Booster frowns at the floor, pulling his leg up, hugging his knee close. Some leader. Some hero.
"I just need you to play nice with everyone, Booster. Very nice. Especially now when they're looking for someone to blame."
"Okay."
"You understand."
"Okay."
They say their goodbyes, Claire promising to call back when she has table reservations, and Booster sits still for a moment after putting down the receiver. He wants to curl up, make himself impossibly small and insignificant and invisible. He wants to be a mote of dust, impossible to pick out among the other motes of dust.
The radio is still softly crooning. “...I want a Sunday kind of love, a love to last past Saturday night...”
Booster blinks, remembering that for once he's not alone in this big apartment. With a grunt he gets off the couch and makes his way back to the kitchen.
“Sorry, it’s been ringing for a while,” Ted tells him without turning to look at him, scrubbing their plates under running water. “Didn’t feel like I could answer.”
“No, it -- it was just work.” Booster looks at him, at the soft curve of his shoulders, the pale strong neck peeking under his curls. His hair’s getting longer. “Claire wants me to be seen out and about tonight, just so people won’t think I died.”
“The press likes keeping tabs on you now,” Ted smiles, rinsing off a plate. “Meanwhile, I think I could disappear for a few years before they started asking questions.”
“Depends on what kind of questions,” Booster smirks. “The police would knock down my door pretty quickly, I bet. I’d be the prime suspect.”
Ted laughs softly and continues washing up.
“...I want a lover that’s on the square...”
Booster swallows. “You really think I'm team leader of a marketing stunt?”
Ted’s hands pause, but he doesn't look up. “No,” he mutters at last. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”
“We didn't handle things too well in Kahndaq,” Booster murmurs, leaning against the table. "Not even a few guards."
“And Black Adam,” Ted interjects, scrubbing the frying pan vigorously. “That was a -- an international diplomacy kind of mess, Booster. Toe to toe with Black Adam. You guys kept each other alive, you stalled for time, got a message out against all odds.” He looks back at Booster. “You’re gonna consider that a failure?”
Booster exhales, regarding his bandaged hand. At least it throbs a little less now. The pills must have started doing their magic.
“Every mission can’t be a resounding success, Boos,” Ted tells him softly, returning to the sink. “The League has taken its fair share of blows too, a lot worse than this.”
“I know,” Booster mutters, unconvinced. “But everything we do, I do, is so -- They expect perfection every time, with pictures, with everybody bright-eyed and clean and safe in the interviews after. Shareholders and the public and --” He sighs, pulling his good hand through his damp hair. “Everything has to be perfect. And this wasn’t perfect.”
Ted clucks his tongue. “So you proved you weren’t just make-believe mascots. You’re a real team, Booster,” he tells him emphatically, frowning as he works.
Booster swallows, trying to think of what more to say. Then he realizes he doesn't want to talk about this. Not with Ted. He doesn't want to waste time complaining about The Conglomerate or the sponsors or the press when Ted is standing there, right there in front of him, so real and soft and warm. Ted who slept on the horrible couch and cooked them breakfast and is doing the dishes without Booster ever asking him to.
“...Oh, I’m hoping to discover a certain kind of lover who will show me the way....”
Ted who could be anywhere else in the world right now, but who's standing barefoot in Booster's messy kitchen. Right here.
He wants to stop himself, he tries to stop himself, but his body feels drawn to him, overwhelmingly drawn to him, like a natural phenomenon, like the world's strongest magnet. Booster sees himself steps up behind Ted, right up close to him, his broad warm back, and wind his good arm around him, across his chest. Booster exhales and hugs him close, bowing his head to feel the warmth of Ted's neck against his chin. He can sense Ted jump, how his shoulders tense, his hands frozen holding the brush against the pan, but at least Ted doesn’t pull away, doesn’t push him off.
They stand there, Booster hugging himself against Ted’s back, the only sound the running of water from the tap and the radio on the counter, the violins' warm gliding notes filling the stillness of the kitchen.
“...Someone to enfold, keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold...”
Booster presses his face into Ted’s soft curls and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice on the brink of breaking. “Is this okay? Is this weird?”
He loves it so much, the curve of Ted’s back, the smell of him, the warmth of him. The undeniable physical presence of him in his arms. He shouldn’t love those things like this, but he does.
“It’s fine,” Ted whispers back, the exhale so soft, but still Booster can feel it against his chest, holding him close like this. So warm and still and safe.
Booster tries speaking, but the breath catches in his throat, and he realizes how close he is to crying. Jesus. He’s just hugging him, pathetically hugging him, and he’s almost about to cry.
Next it’s Booster who jumps, feeling warm fingers trail along his arm, the one across Ted’s chest. Fingers dripping with water from the sink, but still the skin is so warm. He feels Ted gently squeeze his forearm, a thumb trailing soft circles against his skin.
He could die like this. Die just like this and it would be fine.
“...I want a Sunday, Sunday, I want a Sunday kind of love...”
Ted stirs in his grasp, and it almost hurts, because now he has to let go. He’s meant to let go. Even if he would trade this apartment, trade his costume, trade all his equipment for five more minutes of holding him like this. But he lets go, letting his arm drop to his side.
Ted quietly turns off the running tap and wipes his hands on the towel. Then he turns to face him, brown eyes meeting Booster’s gaze. Questioning, soft, hesitant.
They agreed to take it slow, Booster reminds himself. You’ve had your taste for now. More than enough. More than you deserve.
When Ted raises his hand to cup Booster’s face he feels dizzy, dizzier than he ever was yesterday, so dizzy now Ted’s soft fingertips work their way into the hair at his temple, dizzy when Ted's gaze drops to his lips, and when Ted angles his head and kisses him, Booster’s hole body tenses and trembles to keep him upright.
“Sorry,” Ted breathes, pulling back, frowning at Booster’s lips. “I. I didn’t mean --”
That’s all Ted has time to say before Booster kisses him back, urgently, desperately, because the feeling of being kissed and then not being kissed was physically painful, hurt more than his hand hurts. He wants to cry, he wants to hug him tight, he wants to talk, but most of all he wants to kiss him. Just like this. Again and again and again.
No. Too much.
Dial it back, Booster.
Slow.
They’re supposed to take it slow. They’re supposed to talk things out.
He pulls back, just a little bit, just to catch his breath, just to feel Ted’s rapid breath warming his face. And he realizes he’s full-body pressing Ted against the counter. Booster chuckles, embarrassed, and gives him a few more inches of space.
“I’m sorry,” Booster murmurs, grinning, on the verge of tears. “Jesus. I'm sorry.” He glides his fingers into Ted’s beautiful soft curls, cradling his head, and laughs, almost in disbelief. “I just -- I've missed you, Ted. I -- I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Boos,” Ted murmurs, leaning in and pressing his lips against his. So soft. So incredibly, impossibly soft Booster wants to explode from it.
One kiss becomes several, both of them smiling, giggling. Booster winds his arms around him, but when he presses his palms to Ted's back his hand feels like it's been lit on fire, and flinches with a choked groan.
Ted immediately pulls out of the kiss, gently grasping Booster’s bandaged hand by the wrist. “Careful,” he smiles with low-lidded eyes, his breathing heavy, and the expression on his face so delicious it’s close to driving Booster mad. “Let’s not tear any stitches, okay?”
“I don’t care if I tear ‘em,” Booster grins, enjoying how warm Ted's fingertips are loosely holding his wrist. “It’d be worth it.”
Ted gives him a look. “I worked very hard to save this hand, you know.” He gives Booster another soft kiss. “I don’t wanna be the reason it gets fucked up again.”
“I know. I’ll be good,” Booster murmurs against Ted’s lips, enjoying how Ted stands up tall to kiss him again, up on his tippy toes.
It’s too good. He doesn’t need anything more than this. He doesn’t need anything but this. Soft, sweet kisses like this. At least until Ted parts his lips, tongue teasing Booster's upper lip, because that's when everything chaste and sweet and innocent in Booster tumbles away, and his body burns. He presses his hand against Ted's back, pushing him against himself, and meets Ted's eager tongue with his own.
Jesus. It’s this. Everything’s this. Who needs to fucking talk about anything?
Ted’s still holding him by the wrist, but his other hand is curving around Booster’s neck, pulling him in, fingers deliciously tensed against his skin. Their bodies feel hotter now, almost liquid, moving, wanting to melt against each other. Booster’s good hand follows the curve of Ted’s back, his delicious, sweet, wonderful back, and when he reaches the edge of the T-shirt Booster lets his fingers slide back up under it, feeling Ted’s skin against his palm. Ted’s breath hitches in his throat, pressing his body harder against Booster’s, rolling his hips gently against him, and oh. Oh, he’s so perfect. Everything is so perfect.
This is no time to talk.
Booster glances towards the living room, but getting there would possibly mean the end of this, or even a pause in it, and that’s no good. They could -- here. If they want more they can do it here. On the counter, on the kitchen table, on the floor for all Booster cares.
But something tenses inside Booster's chest.
Is -- Is everything alright now? Is it enough to cry and kiss and fuck, does that solve everything that tripped them up before?
Or is this happening just because they’re horny and tired and desperate? Because they’re lonely? And what will they be when they're done? What if it's just this one time, a frantic, desperate few minutes, and then... What?
Ted’s tongue curls in his mouth, making him groan, making him roll his hips in turn, and Ted drags heavy, irresistible fingertips down his back.
Jesus Christ.
Who cares? Who cares what comes after? It’s worth it. Just five minutes of this, of Ted, of his body, that’s all he needs. That’s the only thing he’s ever needed in his entire life. Nothing but this. Nothing else.
Booster moves his hand to Ted’s chest, over his T-shirt, and just the shape of him makes him want to explode. He trails his fingers down, praising fate once again for keeping his dominant hand safe, and he wants to push his fingers down Ted’s blue tights, want to grasp him, want to jerk him off, want to feel every inch of him somehow.
But what comes after? What will happen to them after?
“Ted,” he murmurs, out of breath, and Ted hums in reply as he kisses Booster once again. “Ted,” he grins. Fuck. “Can we --” Jesus, Booster, what are you doing? “We were gonna -- We meant to talk first, didn’t we?”
Ted’s breath is so hot against his skin. The rise and fall of his chest is so wonderful under his palm. “You -- You wanna talk now?”
“Lots of things I wanna do now,” Booster chuckles breathlessly, screaming at himself for doing this. “But um, we -- we had a deal.”
Ted tilts his head back, eyes closed, taking a few deep breaths with parted lips, like he's trying to cool down. “You’re right. You’re right.” He offers Booster a flushed smile. “One hell of a negotiation tactic though,” he giggles. “Not many things you couldn’t talk me into right now.”
“I didn’t know these were negotiations.” Booster makes a face, immediately on the defensive. Makes it sound like he's only after ensnaring Ted, tricking him.
Ted takes a deep breath. “No, I’m sorry. That was just a dumb joke.”
“This was your suggestion, you know,” Booster reminds him. “You wanted to set rules, you wanted to take it slow.”
"Yeah, fine," Ted replies, looking past him, and Booster doesn’t appreciate the frustrated tinge in his voice. “Sorry, I thought maybe you wanted that too. Right until now, anyway. You make it sound like --”
“I do want it too,” Booster steps back, pulling his hair out of his eyes. “It’s a good plan. It’s a good plan if we actually follow through.”
Ted makes a face. “Okay. Good. We're in agreement. Why are we fighting?”
"I don't know!" Booster groans miserably. He meets Ted's equally confused gaze, and there's a beat before they both start giggling.
They're so incredibly bad at this.
Ted lifts a hand to comb Booster's hair back. His brown eyes look so soft, his fingers move so gently, Booster has to fight himself not to kiss him again. “So how do we... Do this?”
How do we have this conversation?
“I --” Booster frowns. “Okay, let’s -- Guess we should just keep... a few paces apart for now. With things how they are.” He glances down at himself, at his erection warping the crotch of his pants. He can't remember the last time he was this hard.
“Probably, yeah. The right choice.” Ted hides his face in his hands, his laughter muffled against his palms. The heavy outline in his tights proving he's just as worked up as Booster. “Oh my God,” he breathes.
The state of them. Can’t even hug while doing the dishes without getting ready to tear each other’s clothes off. “And fingers off until we’re in agreement,” Booster adds. “Until we’re...” He makes a face, trying to remember what words Ted used last night. “Comfortable.”
They opt for the living room, opposite ends of the couch, a temporary No Man's Land neither of them will attempt to cross for the time being. Booster’s pulls his legs up, hugging his knees, while Ted hides his condition behind a pillow.
They glance at each other, suddenly shy, and sit in silence for a moment.
“Okay, I’ll start, I guess,” Booster murmurs. “Like, um -- what do you want us to be?”
"Oh." Ted clears his throat, looking down at his hands. "Not gonna ease into this, are we?"
"It's the main question, isn't it?" Booster glances at him. "What we want to be together?"
Ted exhales slowly through his nose. “What are we supposed to be together?”
“That’s for us to to decide.” Booster chuckles self-consciously. "So this is us, deciding."
Ted rubs his forehead. “Okay, uh --” He turns, looking at him. “Booster, I -- I don’t even know the... terminology in these kinds of things.”
“I know,” Booster murmurs kindly, looking into his eyes. “But it’s just the same as if we had been straight, you know.”
Ted makes a noise and sends Booster a pained expression. “Do you have to say that?”
“What?” Booster looks at him, genuinely confused. “Say what? Wait, straight?" He giggles thinly. “What we were about to do in the kitchen ten minutes ago, you thought that was very straight of us?”
Ted clears his throat. “I just mean what we are or aren’t personally, that’s -- That's a different subject.” He takes an uneven breath. "I don't want to get into that now. We don't need to figure that out today."
“You mean what you are,” Booster tells him softly. “I know what I am, Ted.”
Ted hesitantly meets his gaze. “And what are you?”
In love with you. Though I’ve tried very hard not to be. “I believe the, um, period-appropriate word is bisexual,” Booster chuckles. He grows more serious when he sees Ted’s face. “They're just neutral words, Ted. Factual, even. I thought a scientist like you would be all about putting things into neat little categories.”
“Booster.” Ted looks away, his posture heavy with doubt. “Let’s just drop that part for now, okay? It’s beside the point, anyway.”
“Is it?”
“We're discussing us as a --" Ted clears his throat. "Relationship. Not us individually."
Booster can see how much Ted's struggling. There are so many things they've never really discussed together. And won't today either, apparently. "Okay. Part one, question one again, then. What are we, together?"
Ted sighs deeply, offering a strained smile when their gazes meet. "Like, I -- I just think --” Ted begins, then stops. “No one can know anything about this, so whatever we call... us, it’s solely for our own benefit, isn’t it? Does it really, uh, matter what we call it?”
“Okay, forget finding the perfect word for it, then,” Booster sighs. Already they're going in circles. “Like, what kind of terms do you want this to have? What rules do we agree on?”
“Like what kind of rules?”
“I mean --” Booster has to take a breath, pushing down the frustration. He never said this would be easy, though he was hoping he wouldn't have to be in charge of this whole conversation. “Do you want us to be exclusive?”
Ted doesn’t meet his gaze. “Define exclusive.”
Booster startles at the speed of Ted's reply. Is Ted already looking for loopholes in this? “I don’t know, that depends, doesn’t it? It can mean no fucking other people, or, or -- only fucking in specific ways. Or no kissing other people, no flirting, no --” He pauses, trying to think of more examples. “Or combinations, I guess. What would you like?”
“That would be funny, wouldn’t it?” Ted smirks. “Just the weirdest combination, like yes to kissing but no flirting.” He titters. “You can walk up to strangers and smooch the hell out of them, but you better not have interacted with them first in any friendly kind of way.”
Booster sighs. “That’s the kind of thing you want?”
“Of course not!” Ted snaps back. “It was a joke, Booster.” He rubs his forehead anxiously. “God.”
“Ted,” Booster enunciates slowly, something tightening in his stomach. “Can you please just tell me... What you’d like from me... so we can have this fucking conversation already.” Somehow he hopes if he speaks slowly enough it won’t turn into a fight. “Because I still don’t know what you actually want.”
From this. From me.
Ted looks at him, almost offended, and opens his mouth to speak. Only a choked little vowel comes out, prompting him to rub his palm against his mouth in thought and look away.
“Please,” Booster murmurs again.
“Fine, Booster --” Ted looks at him, chuckling awkwardly for a moment, then he clears his throat, looking serious. “I, uh, personally, would like to have you... for myself. Not share you.” He bows his head, pulling both hands through his curls. “But I know that might not be very.... reasonable or, or, fair, so I wanna hear what, uh, what kind of arrangement you’d be up for.”
Booster can’t help but smile warmly at Ted’s flushed face, his anxiously moving hands. He’s adorable. “Why wouldn’t that be reasonable?”
“Because of --” Ted frowns, gesturing quickly at Booster. “You.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, the world is your oyster, Booster. You said it yourself, you know what you -- you are, you know what you want. I have no business telling you what you can or can't do.”
“Ted.”
“Like what kind of asshole would I be if I told you you had to stick solely to, to --” He makes a defeated gesture at his own body, hidden behind the pillow. “This?”
“Ted,” Booster says again, softly, grinning. That hands-off agreement weighing extremely heavy on him right now. “I don’t want to share you either.”
Ted snorts. “Well, that’s -- that’s practically a given no matter what."
“I really -- “ Booster titters, hugging his knees. “Where do you get these ideas about me? You been reading those gossip mags?”
“Come on, it’s not just the gossip mags,” Ted mutters, glancing at him. “Your popularity is pretty... legendary, and I happen to know what kind of a, a, a drive you have, so let’s not pretend someone like me alone could keep you...” He chuckles awkwardly, avoiding Booster’s gaze. “You know. Satisfied.”
This is too wild. Booster turns on the couch, his legs folded under him, leaning towards Ted with low-lidded eyes. “I don’t know. I remember you being pretty good at that.”
Ted meets his gaze for a moment, and the uneven exhale he makes as he looks away gives Booster a tingling sensation down his back.
“Oh, please,” Ted snorts eventually. “I’ve been a neurotic, high-strung mess every time I -- I’ve gone to bed with you.” He whips a curl out of his eye, frowning.
“You kept improving, though," Booster grins. "With a bit of practice." And there's no end to the practice I'd offer you, Booster thinks, that heat in him not going away. If you'd let me.
Ted frowns at his hands, a beautiful flush in his cheeks.
"Okay so you’ve had some... issues,” Booster murmurs softly. He frowns, trying to choose the right words. “I know that. But you’ve really come a long way, too. You know? And I thought it was kinda...” He exhales with a smile, glancing away. “Fun helping you get there.”
Ted’s hunches over in his seat, and he fans his fingers out, pulling them through the hair above his temple. He swallows, staring at the floor. "But I don't think I -- It's not fair to you, having to wait for me to -- To get to your level. I don't even think it's realistic to think I ever will.” He glances up at Booster with a pained expression. “You see? If you think this --” He motions from Booster to himself. “This reunion has changed everything, or, or, this talk will make something in me different than it was before, that’s not --”
“I don’t,” Booster murmurs emphatically. He reaches out his good hand, knowing he's crossing their No Man's Land, his fingers finding Ted’s hand, and he squeezes. And he holds on.
Ted looks down at their hands, held together, mild surprise on his face. “I just don’t see how a, an arrangement like that could be fair to you. Not when...” He clears his throat weakly, smirking even as he frowns. “Not when it’s someone like me.”
God, God I’m going to kiss this man so hard when this talk is through.”Ted,” Booster murmurs softly, waiting for those brown eyes to look into his own again. “You’re such a colossal moron.”
Ted looks at him, shocked for a second, then tries to hold back a chuckle that instead sounds like it explodes through his nose.
Booster waits until he's quiet again. “I don’t want this so I can, I don’t know --” He smiles. “Wait for you to become a whole other person, or just as a holdover while I look for something better.” He readjusts his hand around Ted’s, trailing a thumb over the back of his hand. “You get that? I want you. Just you. I want you the way you are now.”
Ted looks at him, his eyes widening a fraction as he opens his mouth to speak, but only a uneven exhale comes out.
Booster waits, patiently, continuing to trail his thumb over the back of Ted’s hand, feeling a warm spark of satisfaction when he can see Ted’s shoulders untensing, little by little.
“Okay,” Ted whispers, looking down at their hands again. “You’ve, uh -- Yes. That’s settled, then.”
Booster hums with satisfaction, thinking that now, now, surely, he’s allowed to kiss him.
“And you?” Ted murmurs.
Booster freezes. “And me what?”
“You’ve been, uh, picking my brain about what I want from -- from this.” Ted chuckles awkwardly. “S’only fair you get your wishes heard as well.”
“I don’t know,” Booster murmurs, suddenly feeling a flush of heat inside him.
“No, come on,” Ted exclaims softly. “You hounded me until I gave an answer, you’re not gonna --”
“I didn’t hound you!” Booster objects, and it takes him a moment to register the mischievous grin on Ted’s face, a moment to realize this isn’t another fight. “Okay, um, shit,” he chuckles. Pausing for time. Considering if he should really say his wish out loud. If he'll be able to admit it. “I, um --" His voice wavers pathetically and he smirks. "I think I’d like -- more of this.” He holds up his hand, still holding Ted’s.
Ted glances from their hands back to Booster’s face, confusion evident in his eyes.
“Like, I -- I guess I don’t want just the friend stuff and the sexy stuff.” Booster chuckles nervously. He’s surprised to find he, too, has problems finding the words. “Like, I want lots of that too!” he continues abruptly after a short pause, gathering his thoughts. “Especially the sexy stuff.”
Ted has to look away for a moment.
“But maybe, like -- a third thing too?” Booster licks his lips, realizing he’s not making his point very well. “When we’re alone together. If you’re into it. Like maybe --” He sighs, squirming in his seat. Finally he frowns, looking into Ted’s eyes. “Fuck, what I mean is I -- despite what you might think I’m a big sucker for a bit of... I guess, romance, you know?” He giggles. “All that -- ooey gooey stuff.”
At that, Ted laughs, and this time it’s Booster who blushes deeply and looks away. God, he’s crossed a line. Just sucked all the casual, sexy fun out of this whole arrangement. Laid bare what a pathetic lonely idiot he is.
This isn’t that kind of relationship, Booster. You big moron, you sentimental idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he groans, pulling his hand out of Ted’s, hiding his face with his hand, giggling awkwardly. “I’m sorry, just forget I said anything.”
Next Booster feels an insistent tug on his wrist, and in surprise he relaxes his arm, feeling Ted’s fingers interlace with his own, letting Ted pull their interlocked hands to his face. When Ted closes his eyes and gently kisses Booster’s palm, soft warm lips against his skin, stubble prickly against his palm, Booster makes an unintended little squeak.
Ted slowly opens his eyes, meeting Booster’s, and at that moment they both look like they’re on the brink of bursting out laughing. Not because it’s funny, but because... everything’s so strange and wonderful and good.
“I’m, uh, a bit out of practice on that front,” Ted murmurs, with a nervous smile. “But -- yeah, i could go for that. I'd like that.”
“Out of practice?” Booster breathes. “Jesus, Ted. Tom Cruise should come to you for lessons.”
Ted laughs, self-conscious, flushed, so perfect and beautiful and there, in this apartment, in this century, in this life.
“Do it again,” Booster murmurs.
Ted giggles, hand squeezing around Booster’s. “It wouldn’t be the same now.”
“No, it would be better.”
Ted gives him a look, a kind of mirthful squint, pauses, and then raises Booster’s hand again, holding his gaze as his lips meet Booster’s palm, exhaling through his nose, his breath warming Booster’s skin.
A choked moan escapes Booster, completely overwhelmed by this small action. He wants to burst in every way -- laughing, crying, sexually, whatever way his body is capable of. Then Ted grins and licks his palm.
It’s too much. It’s entirely too much, and Booster all but jumps him, wrapping his arms around him, kissing him, letting himself be kissed.
Who knows what happened to the aches and pains in his body, the pain is gone except when he forgets himself and tries to use his wounded hand, when he tries to follow the contours of Ted’s body with it or pull Ted even closer with it or tries to undress himself or Ted with it. He wants to melt into Ted, Ted's strong perfect warm eager body. He wants to memorize the taste of him, the shape of him, the delicious little sighs and groans and giggles from him, forever.
Four minutes later there’s an all-too-familiar beeping sound emanating from the heap near the door where Ted’s boots and equipment and costume lies in a heap.
They pause, out of breath on the couch, Booster on his back, shirt pulled up, Ted on top of him, warm and flushed. They both look towards the heap in silence, and when Ted gets up to his feet Booster makes a soft keening sound, a whine. They didn’t even get to the good stuff. “No," Booster breathes. "Just five more minutes.”
“It’s the League, Booster,” Ted smiles at him, pausing a moment when Booster gently pulls at his arm.
“I know, but they can wait five more minutes.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ted tells him gently, walking over to the door, bracing himself against the frame with one hand as he starts pulling his boots on.
Booster sighs dramatically, pulling down his shirt, flattening his hair. “You’re right, but it’s still unfair.” Booster studies Ted getting dressed, a frantic melancholy overcoming him. How long will it take Ted to put his gear on and be ready and out the door, on his way to the Embassy? How many minutes or seconds do they have left together today?
“Boos, you look like someone died,” Ted teases him, pulling off the T-shirt, granting Booster a tantalizing glimpse of his strong torso, his dark chest hair, before he pulls on his blue lycra shirt.
“Just my hopes of a very enjoyable evening,” Booster mutters, kneeling on the couch, his chest to the backrest. He folds his arms, following Ted with his eyes.
“We’ll find a way to coordinate now we’re on a different teams,” Ted tells him brightly, pulling on his belt. “And you’re benched for a while, I’m guessing, while you heal.”
“So when are you free?” Booster asks, feeling like a love-sick teenager, still a little dejected, still feeling his erection pounding.
Ted pulls on his gloves, frowning at the dried blood still on them. Booster's blood. He takes them off again, bunching them in his hands “Well I’ve got monitor duty tonight.” Walking over to the couch with energy in every step. Booster recognizes it, that thrill when the signal rings and you’re up for a new mission. “But I could come back tomorrow.” Ted grasps the backrest of the sofa, leaning over Booster with a shy smile. “If you want.”
Booster looks up at him, exhaling softly. “If you’ve got monitor duty you’ll want to sleep tomorrow.”
“I can sleep in the morning,” Ted murmurs, and his gaze drops down to Booster’s lips. “Come here in the afternoon.”
Booster's body aches, missing him already. "Around seven?"
“We could have dinner.”
Booster hooks two fingers into the neck opening of Ted’s costume, pulling him down. “And then dessert,” he whispers, kissing him, and the way Ted trembles for a moment almost makes up for being so horribly interrupted by the League’s signal.
Ted glances back at him as he pulls on his cowl, walking into the door frame with a thud. They exchange giggles, and the next moment Ted is out the door, on his way to save the world.