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They lay together on the couch with the dimness draped around them; the glow from the fireplace splashes over their entwined forms, casting their shadows across the room. The quiet is comfortable, practiced; silence is a song they’ve sung many times before.
Steven runs a hand lazily up and down Wallace’s back, ghosting the tips of his fingernails across the bare skin prickled with goosebumps. Wallace, his cheek resting against Steven’s chest, dances along the line of sleep and wake. His heavy eyelids droop and lift perpetually; he clutches at Steven’s shoulder, listening to the heartbeat thudding, resonating in the hollowness beneath his ear.
Steven can’t sleep again tonight but having Wallace here helps. He finds comfort in the weight and warmth of the other man’s body resting on top of his. Wallace’s serenity has rubbed off on him and he doesn’t feel restless. His body is worn out, exhausted from their evening of love-making and that’s a good feeling, one he’s grown to look forward to perhaps even more than the actual sex. Still, though, his eyes won’t stay shut. His gray gaze is trained up above him and he starts finding patterns in the texture of the ceiling, odd alien figures mingling among the familiar shapes of stones, stars, and stairways.
Eventually, Wallace’s breathing becomes steady and even and his grip on Steven’s shoulder becomes a dead weight. Steven’s hand ceases its wanderings, coming to a rest on Wallace’s mid-back. For a moment there’s a wave of calm; a pleasant warmth creeps up from where Wallace’s cheek rests above his heart. Steven lets his mind empty, allows his body to slacken completely beneath Wallace. The smallest of exhales passes through his slightly parted lips, and his eyes flutter shut at last.
At first the peace continues in the darkness. The force is almost visible in the blue and green squiggles that undulate at the front of his mind and behind his eyelids. Steven floats among the familiar colors, letting them guide him deeper and deeper into the sleep he craves.
But somewhere in the depths the colors begin to disappear. It’s gradual, and he doesn’t notice it until a cold, sick coiling begins in his abdomen—a feeling of dread. He panics, struggling to swim back up even as the darkness continues to suck him down. He tries reaching out into the black space, but there’s such an overwhelming feeling of aloneness, of bleakness, that even when he tries he can’t muster the strength to break free. He’s breathless, choking. The emptiness smothers him.
Suddenly, Steven’s body is jolted violently. His breath is knocked back into him so forcefully that he gasps, choking for air as his body reflexively fixes itself upright and his eyes fly open. Immediately there’s a blur of green-blue hair, and then Wallace’s face is pressed against his own. He can barely react to the gentle kisses being sprinkled across his cheeks and mouth; the smallest sounds around him are suddenly enormous. The poppings and cracklings from the fireplace begin to roar; the persistent pattering of rain against the windows becomes gunfire. Steven’s brows furrow in a grimace. A light groan escapes him, and Wallace’s hands come up to cradle his head, the long, nimble fingers burrowing into his silvery hair.
Wallace continues to hold and kiss him like this until the cacophony in his head dies away. When all is quiet, he at last is able to raise his arms to wrap around Wallace’s neck. The two men sit silently like this for a few moments longer.
Finally, Wallace murmurs, “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Steven answers, but his voice is hoarse and the word sounds choked. He breaks away from the embrace to sit back and clear his throat. “Yes,” he says again with more strength. “Sorry. Thank you.”
“Another nightmare?” Wallace’s eyes, filled with concern and caring, drill into Steven. The two men’s hands find each other habitually; as their fingers lace, Steven feels the cool silver of Wallace’s ring, and this calms him somehow.
“Yes,” Steven repeats. He brings Wallace’s hand up to his face to kiss the ring.
“I’m sorry,” Wallace says, and though it’s ever so slight, Steven can catch the break in his voice.
“It’s truly not your fault,” Steven answers hurriedly. “Please don’t be upset.”
Wallace shakes his head, throwing his glance sideways into the leaping fire. “I just feel so useless. Like there’s nothing I can do to help you.” His lower lip begins to tremble, and he clamps down on it with his teeth. He turns his head away so that his hair obscures his face.
Wallace is strong, Steven knows. He’s stronger than Steven could ever be, and this is something Steven had realized the moment they’d met. Wallace is strong not just as a Gym Leader—and the man is overwhelmingly, almost scarily powerful—but in character as well. Wallace is elegant and charming in everything he does; he is always a gentleman, even to those who don’t deserve his grace; he is kind and devoted to his Pokémon; he is strong in both speech and in practice. When Steven had once asked him to take his place as Champion, he had stepped up to the position with humbleness and poise.
It was that combination of beauty and strength that had first dazzled Steven; it was that beauty and strength that had coaxed Steven down from the mountains, where he’d fled from his troubles to hide away and dig for rare stones. It was that beauty and strength that, four years ago to this day, had once had Steven on one knee, raising up a satin box that held a silver band encrusted with lapis lazuli.
Now, as he brings Wallace close into his arms once more, Steven is jarred by the realization that the solid, seemingly unbreakable foundation of Wallace’s strength crumbles beneath a single one of Steven’s tears.
“Come on now,” Steven mutters into Wallace’s ear. “Don’t you know you’re the only thing keeping me together?”
Wallace chuckles breathily. “Is that right?”
“Of course. Without you, Mr. Stone, I’d lose my head.”
Steven feels Wallace’s grin spreading against his neck, and for a moment the two of them sit in contented bliss. Wallace lifts his face from Steven’s neck to kiss the man’s mouth tenderly, lovingly, coaxing him back down to lie flat against the couch. Without breaking the kiss, Wallace moves to straddle Steven’s hips.
Steven smirks, raising a brow in mock surprise and innocence. “Oh?” he says against Wallace’s lips. “What’s this, Mr. Stone?”
“Well, Mr. Stone,” Wallace says, “I was thinking perhaps you’d need a bit more help getting back to sleep, is all.”
“So?”
“So, I mean to tire you out.”
Steven grins into Wallace’s kiss, tangling his fingers in his husband’s soft locks. Suddenly the popping fireplace is a percussive symphony; the light, bouncing rain is a lovely chorus; Wallace’s sighs against his skin are the most beautiful melody.