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It’s surreal.
Felix thinks that, at any moment, he’s going to snap awake, alone and shaking in a ditch somewhere. He half suspects he’s back on Chorus, bleeding out with his organs draped like dripping moss through the trees above him. He must be dying, cocooned by hallucinations, wrapped up in his own head — he must be, because nothing like this ever happens to him. Nothing this warm. Nothing this good.
At any moment, he expects to be pulled back into reality. Still, as the minutes tick by, Felix doesn’t wake up and he doesn’t die, either. The ship hums, the stars glow, his heart beats, and — impossibly — he stays.
On the bed across from Felix, Locus lies on his side, the edges of him feathered by darkness. The little bit of starlight that shines through the window above them catches on the planes of his face, on the slope of his shoulder; traces a curve down the line of his ribs.
Locus reaches out a hand. His thumb catches on Felix’s cheek, right below his eye. His hand is cold, his fingertips calloused. His touch is so gentle that Felix feels he should be expecting a slap — something sharp to balance out the softness. Still, Felix forgets to flinch away, too distracted by the knit of Locus’ brows. He wants to touch the little scar on Locus’ upper lip.
Felix’s breath hitches.
“You’re crying,” Locus murmurs, lowering his hand to the sheets.
“It happens,” Felix says.
“Why?”
Felix swallows. How does he put these feelings into words — this total emptiness that ruins him from the inside out? This longing that rips his stomach into shreds, that rakes bloody lines up and down his throat, that leaves him breathless, bereft? How can he explain Locus, soft and scarred and open, or the silence that breathes between them, balanced shakily on fear of the unknown?
Felix wants to touch; he wants to consume.
God, he wants.
God — he aches.
“Must be something in my eye,” Felix says.
“What,” Locus huffs. “An emotion?”
“No,” Felix scoffs, the exhalation suspiciously damp. “Never.”
Locus is smiling; at least, Felix thinks he is. Maybe it’s the darkness playing tricks on him, but he thinks he sees a smile. Either way, as soon as it’s there, it’s gone, and Locus is sitting up.
“Do you need —”
Locus pauses, looks down at where Felix has grabbed him by the wrist. Felix hadn’t made a conscious decision to move, so he looks too, equally confused, at where his hand holds tight to Locus’ arm.
“Everything okay?” Locus asks.
Felix flushes. He immediately lets go and falls back against the bed, resisting the urge to bury his face in the mattress.
“What was that?” Locus prompts.
Felix turns away, wishing he could smother himself with his pillow. It would be easier if Locus made fun of Felix for being clingy, or told him to fuck off, or even punched him, or anything — but he doesn’t. Instead, Felix glances back and has to look away again, because he’s never going to get used to a look of amused softness on Locus’ face. The quick flash of Locus’ teeth in the dark makes his chest hurt.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felix grumbles.
Locus takes hold of Felix’s shoulder and rolls him onto his back. Felix allows it, too tired to be stubborn.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Locus says, an observation rather than an accusation. He almost sounds resigned. Felix offers up a hand and Locus takes it between his own. Locus doesn’t do anything with it; just holds Felix tight between his palms.
“Yeah, well,” Felix says. “Are you surprised?”
“No.”
“Disappointed though, huh?”
Locus’s expression turns pinched. He lowers his forehead to rest atop their joined hands and sighs, the exhale a heavy sound. He shakes his head.
“Just wish you could trust me,” Locus admits.
The again is silent, but Felix hears it anyway.
Felix pushes himself into a sitting position with his free hand, the motion shifting him closer to Locus. Locus keeps his head lowered, bowed like the weight of the world has taken up residence on his back; he clutches Felix’s hand like it’s his only anchor.
“Burned that bridge, I think,” Felix murmurs.
Locus straightens up. He releases Felix’s hand and reaches for all of him instead; his large hands timidly circle Felix’s waist, paused in question. When Felix doesn’t protest, Locus hauls him into his lap. Felix goes, clumsy but willing.
“What about this?” Locus asks. He’s close enough that Felix can feel his breath ghosting between them. Locus smells like mint, like his woodsy aftershave. He smells familiar.
Felix lifts a hand and drags his thumb over that tiny scar on Locus’ lip. He feels like his heart should be pounding out of his chest, spurred on by that fluttering thing that took root there years ago and has yet to leave; that feeling which sparked when Locus found him in the jungle, cocooned and broken by the trees.
But, inexplicably, Felix feels grounded in a way that he hasn’t in a long, long time. Locus is warm against him, and the world feels a little bit righted.
Felix cups Locus’s face. Locus leans into the touch, something pained in the wrinkles around his eyes.
“What about it?” Felix asks.
Locus looks at him. Felix looks back. There’s a long, still moment in which they both lean a little closer. Another, shorter moment in which they both stop breathing.
Felix closes his eyes.
When Locus kisses him, Felix kisses back, over and over and over again.
It’s the greatest satisfaction, and the best, worst kind of pain. Felix feels like he could die from just how bad he wants this; how bad he wants Locus against him with Felix’s hands on his skin and Felix’s name on his lips, forever and ever and always. He clings to Locus and, to his relief, Locus clings back; he slips warm hands beneath Felix’s shirt, grabs bruises into Felix’s skin.
And Felix is desperate for all of it, and it scares him on some primal level. In fact, it scares him half to fucking death, because this is it. If he loses this now that he’s had it — now that he knows —
When they finally break apart, chests heaving, Felix shoves his face against Locus’ neck and laughs. Locus’ fingers thread into Felix’s hair, settle over his nape, and grip.
“Is this bridge burned too?” Locus asks as he gently pulls Felix out of hiding.
Felix rolls his eyes. His lips are tingling. “What do you think?”
“I don’t want to make assumptions.”
Locus releases Felix’s hair, but catches him before he can duck away again. Hands framing Felix’s face, Locus resumes kissing him — brushes his lips over Felix’s nose, his chin, his forehead. By the time Locus returns to his lips, and kisses him like something soft and fragile, Felix is burning again; alight with a need that he doesn’t have a name for.
When they break apart minutes later, they’re back to being horizontal on the bed, this time with legs tangled and breaths mingling. Locus holds him close and gives him just enough space to breathe.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Locus murmurs. He looks good like this, Felix thinks; a little dizzy and a little dumb.
But Felix must be the same, because without hesitation, he brushes a strand of hair from Locus’ cheek and asks, “Do you trust me?”
Locus’ grip on Felix tightens. He doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Felix sighs. “You shouldn’t.”
“But I do,” Locus murmurs. “I do.”
Locus smiles, just a little, but Felix sees it clearly this time. He surges forward and kisses Locus again. The image of Locus smiling, of Locus pleased, pleased with Felix, rings around and around in his skull; Felix has never been so drunk on the idea of someone else’s pleasure. He wants Locus to take his shirt off. He wants to crawl inside him and never leave. God — Felix can feel that smile against his own lips.
I could die like this, Felix thinks.
Hours later, Felix stares at the ceiling as Locus snores quietly beside him. Felix’s hand plays idly with Locus’s hair, and he can’t stop thinking about his daunting realization, no longer softened by lips on lips. It’s like a cold knife to the sternum: Locus makes him weak. This thing between them — it could kill him. It probably will.
Felix rolls onto his side and studies Locus for a long moment, so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice when the snores trail off.
“I can hear you thinking,” Locus rumbles, voice thick with sleep. Without opening his eyes, he gropes around for Felix. Felix scoots forward and Locus grabs him, pulling Felix against him and into his side. Locus’ skin, even without a shirt, radiates heat.
Locus pats him on the head, big hand clumsily stroking his hair.
“Sleep, Isaac,” Locus breathes, and Felix’s heart skips. “It’ll all be there in the morning.”
Felix watches Locus for a long time. He memorizes the way that Locus looks asleep: the slack openness of his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He thinks of how easy it would be to kill Locus like this; all the different, terrible ways that Felix could wring the warmth from his body. How easily he could betray his trust.
Felix pushes up on his elbows and plants a kiss to Locus’ brow. A few minutes later, draped over Locus’ chest with one ear pressed close to the steady beating of his heart, Felix falls into a dreamless sleep.