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Nothing much is soft anymore. Not in the fear infested, rabid world they live in. But past the callouses, past the small scars raised here and there, Hakon's hand is. Its soft as it runs along Aiden’s side, under his jackets and shirt, hushing warmly across his skin. There’s nothing behind it besides a facsimile of the morning sun’s warmth though the night stretches around them. This usually doesn’t happen till then, Hakon never feels him up until a lazy wakefulness envelopes them, until they’re both sleep warm and needy. It doesn’t really matter though, when Aiden’s back is pressed to his friends chest, when Aiden shivers at the breath along his neck, when Aiden has let Hakon push under his layers to get at his skin.
It probably has something to do with the close call they had today. Time and time again everyone and their mother are told to stay out of a dark zone during the day, but hell waits for no man. It didn’t wait for the child that wondered until lost, it didn’t wait for Hakon when he’d been rushed, it didn’t wait for Aiden who took the blow and was knocked two stories down into the black abyss full of grabbing claws and gnashing teeth. The call wasn’t as close for Aiden, he did this often enough by himself to trust his limits and know the situation keenly, but Hakon as stated wasn’t there, he didn’t. It wasn’t a lack of trust either, merely a hedging on the fact that shit went wrong, and fast.
They’d been fine, Aiden was fine, Hakon was fine, the child, after a firm scolding from both men and his mother, was fine. And yet, the rest of the day passed with Hakon being more quiet than usual, more careful than usual, more prone to mother hen-ing than ever before. So all in all, upon their return to ‘their’ spot, late in the night enough to simply fall into bed, it shouldn’t have been all too surprising. The closeness, the warmth, the need to feel another alive.
And Aiden, as the elders would say, knew where his bread was buttered. He basked in Hakon’s hand working steadily up and down his flank, dipping teasingly over his taught stomach, he relished in holding the elders other hand between his own two, the one attached to the arm he was using as a pillow. It was good as usual, but it also felt like more. The way Hakon nosed at his neck, like he’d be placing kisses there were he allowed. Aiden would, he’d allow Hakon to do anything he wanted in this moment, but something in him said this was better. Kisses weren’t needed to feel another, in fact it may have been an easy way out. So he continued to let Hakon do as he was, pushing back into him, into his warmth, tilting his head to expose more of his neck, squeezing his hand when he did something particularly nice.
Nothing much was soft anymore. Not in the fear infested, rabid world they lived in. But when Hakon touched him, felt the life under Aiden’s skin, shared his seemingly endless warmth, it was softer than anything he’d ever known.