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Surprised that the Enforcers hadn’t come running, you tightened your grip around his other shoulder, press your mouth close to his ear as you murmur firmly, “I’m gonna do it on three.”
A hitch in his labored breathing, but he nodded with jaw tightening around the rag you had him biting down on. Pressing closer against his back as your hand creeped up, you rested just on his left shoulder and took a small, steadying inhale. He gave a full-body flinch with sweat beading on his pale face,, as you gripped the lump that was his untreated shoulder. “Alright… three… two-”
Before he could tense, you snapped the shoulder back into place, immediately tightening your arm around his waist. The rag was practically in tatters as he thrashed, legs kicking out in his agony. He smacked the back of his skull to your chin, but you still held him until, finally, he sagged back against you. Pained yowls transforming into dull, muffled groans and panting while your chin smarted from the blow.
Both arms had dropped to loop around his waist, holding him tight from behind as if to contain his struggles. They remained until the flare in your jaw lowered back down to an acceptable level, and you worked it slowly to croak out, “A-arm working fine?”
A few labored breaths, before you saw the afflicted shoulder roll back. A harsh wince, but it otherwise looked normal, and you unconsciously tightened your arms around him in relief. He’d be fine.
Chancing a glance over the top of his head, you were glad to see his pain-driven struggling's hadn’t lead the Enforcers back into your location. You had chanced ducking into this largely vacant building, hoping to wait out the chasing patrol before joining your scouting crew again. Silco had been distracted during the jump, courtesy of a near-missing bullet, but thankfully, you’d swung in after him just in time to smother his grunts and yells of pain at the dislocation.
You were still new to the Children of Zaun. Honestly, a bit surprised that you’d been tagged into so many missions with one of it’s founders in your first few weeks, but still glad you had this chance to prove yourself. And you were especially glad you were here to assist with the unexpected fall, internally shuddering at the idea of the revolution losing one of it’s heads of leadership…
“Right… come on, we can sneak out through the downstairs…”
You trailed off, but otherwise didn’t move.
Perhaps not to spook off the hand that was now resting on your arm around his waist. The calloused touch was light, warm, and you felt your breathing slow to a near-standstill when you felt the equally slow-motion of his thumb along your skin.
Silco wasn’t holding your arm captive, and the sensation was more akin to an embrace… you could almost imagine it was… All it would take for you was to close your eyes, and imagine the comradery you shared as something more intimate…
For a moment, you wanted to. Perhaps out of loneliness, or indeed comradery, you wanted this moment of closeness.
Then the moment passed, with the distant shouting of Topsider officers from outside.
Silco was already half-way onto his feet with a grunt, leaving you to scramble to join in standing again as he slinked close to the window, pulling the fabric from his mouth as he peered down to analyze the streets below.
“Moving southeast… better circle counter-clockwise back to the safe-house, then. Otherwise a bruised shoulder will be the least of our troubles.”
The pain in your chin and jaw came back with a vengeance as you nodded. It became easier to focus on the ache, and the need of survival, than… whatever that had been.
Of course, because your mind hated you, your thoughts of what… ever that had been, lingered.
And because life, and the rest of the leadership in the rebel-forces also hated you, you found your nails biting deep into the leather satchel as you stood in the doorway of the safehouse.
The very small safehouse. With a single bathroom, just enough space to pace around the room during times of boredom, folded table with chairs stuffed in the corner, a dusty armchair, and only one bed.
“I’ll take the… chair,” You started, and finished that sentence quickly under his side-look to you. Thumbing the lighter, the fresh cigarette hanging from his mouth came to life as you slipped into the space, shutting and bolting the door behind you as you dropped off the bag. “I don’t mind, really.”
“We’ll take turns keeping a watch on the dock-yard. You take the bed when I’m not in it. We don’t have to share any more space than necessary for us to do our jobs.”
Right.
Busying yourself by looking out the window, familiarizing yourself with the cargo-ship you were meant to be watching, you head the bed creak and groan before settling. You mulled over the question in your mind, letting the silence fill with the distant sqwak of gulls and low exhales of smoke, before asking, “Shoulder?”
Another couple puffs before he spoke, “Better than Vander could’ve done. I’ve seen the fool nearly rip an arm off in an attempt to fix it.” You snort, amused, but he continues on borderline curiosity. “You aren’t a part of the medical forces. Where did you learn how to fix a dislocation?”
“Oh. I was raised in the builders-circle, construction and all that,” You shrugged. “Y'know… people fall a lot. You pick up on things that help get them back up and working.” An appreciative hum at the backstory, and the silence is eased until you hear the bed creak again.
You manage not to jump when his hand lands on your shoulder. You manage to pay attention as he leans down to join you seated at the window-sill, tapping knuckles while holding the smoke between two-fingers against the window, as he reminds you of the cargo target you’re watching out for in low tones…
You don’t manage to resist the urge to also keep some focus on how warm his touch is through your shirt.
Or resist imagining his touch lingering on you for several seconds more, before pulling away to take the bed, and let you have first-watch.
The arrangement worked for about two days. And then, you both got bored.
“Come on, you said you were in construction. Surely you got enough strength to make a victory possible?” The dark brow raised, and the bastard waggled his fingers slow and loosely, arm propped up on the table by the elbow. Gaze unable to resist flicking down, seeing forearm muscles roll slightly at the inviting waggling of his long digits, and a small flex of his wrist with the veins defined under pale skin down his forearm…
“Eyeing up the competition? Or something else?”
“Shut up,” You said automatically, flicking the window curtain back into place as you moved, at a reasonable pace, to sit across from him. Propping up your elbow even as your eyes trailed further up and catching sight of the edge of a white-bandage beneath his collar. “Your shoulder might still be weak. Tap out if you start feeling a strain.”
“Ha.” At your pointed look, the blue-green eyes rolled, and he took the moment of distraction to clasp his hand around yours, other arm slipping behind him. “I’m looking to build strength back into it. Can’t do that if I’m not willing to put the work into it.”
Any reply died as his gaze locked smoothly onto yours, and you felt a force against your own arm already. Fisting your own fingers into your shirt at your back, you caught your bottom lip on a canine as you soon, rather quickly, actually, found yourself straining. Both from the surprising effort he was putting into this casual bout of arm-wrestling…
And with a calloused hand against yours, you also found yourself straining to keep the eye-contact the two of you were sharing. His eyes seemed almost hooded on yours, bright even in the evening light, and your eyes flicked when you saw a terseness in his jawline at a particular push-back from your grip…
It was almost evenly matched. And then you glanced down, catching the way his forearm muscles were defined in the strength he was displaying. You caught a flex in his wrist as he let out a small grunt under the pressure of your grip, and you felt your grip slip at both the visual and auditory event.
“I win.”
You replied something intelligent. “Mmhm.”
A small laugh across from you, but you focused on smoothing your twisted-shirt from behind you. Trying to to pay attention to his hand still clasped over your pinned one on the table, and failing miserably when you realized it wasn’t moving.
Your gaze flashed up to his, and for a moment you were struck still under his calm gaze, the humored and victorious smile fading, an oddly soft look crossing over his eyes. The feeling of a thumbnail brushing on your skin, so faint you had to have imagined it broke the moment as you blinked, feeling your ears starting to burn. “I, uh… think it’s about your turn to take watch, right?”
A blink. His hand didn’t move off, but the phantom feeling of his finger drawing small circles on your skin faded. “… yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Again, you said something rather intelligent with a nod, “Mmhm,” but you couldn’t pull yourself from his grasp. Honestly, you didn’t even try, simply watching him for a moment until slowly, with the pads of his fingers trailing, he removed his grasp from yours and got out of his chair to walk over to the window.
Your palms were sweaty for the rest of that long, sleepless night.
“Captain leaves at highnoon… be a suicidal mission to do a raid at day.” You sighed, tapping the pencil on the notepad as you analyzed the timestamps of the stake out. “Dammit, it’s called the playground for a reason. Brothels'-galore, don’t sailors love that kind of stuff?”
“Temptation coming and going with the tide for them, apparently.” Silco’s voice was equally dry behind you as he was reclined back on the bed, one leg propped up and, from your brief glance before you sat on the edge, arms folded behind his head. “Could always start a flare further down the docks. The captain’s second seems like the heroic-type.”
“No, he leaves around the same time, they’re practically attached at the hip.” You sighed, hearing the bed creak as you assumed he was sitting up. “No, I saw him last night, around nine. Gone for at least two hours.”
You frowned and rolled your eyes, tucking the pencil behind your ear and waving the notepad over your shoulder. “That had to have been another dockworker, come see the notes for yourself.”
A beat. And instead of taking the notepad from your hand, you felt his hand slip under yours from where you were grasping the book, keeping your grip tight on it as he guided it back in front of you. You were still as a rock as his other arm slipped around you to take the rest of the book in his free hand, holding it open as he finished curling around from behind you and promptly dropped his chin atop your head.
You could hear his eyes analyzing. Taste the dryness of your mouth with your parted lips, but more importantly, felt his warm palm against the back of your hand with his chest pressed against your back as he leaned against you. “Hm.” Was all he said for a moment, and you swore you felt the small huff of air from his nose brush against your hair.
“…perhaps you’re right. The docks are hardly well-lit, we may have to spend another couple nights before calling it in for a raid.” You felt the expansion of his chest against your back as he breathed in, before letting out a sigh, the small press of his arm at your side getting a bit closer as you nodded, careful not to knock his chin off your head.
Not sure why you were being careful about it, until he muttered quietly, “Do you want me to pull away?”
You felt that thumb unconsciously brush on the skin of your hand, and you huffed out a sharp breath of air. You knew you couldn’t possibly be imagining… whatever this was. Comradery, loneliness or that glint in his eyes he started to develop, as the days passed with only you and him on this mission…
Managed to swallow as you tried to find your voice. “I uh…” No, you tried to mouth out, but it seemed to be a beat too long. Another brush against your hair as his hand slide up from yours, taking the edge of the book between his fingers to start pulling it from your hand, the other arm slipping away.
Stilled only when you nearly-clapped your palm atop of it, halting the motions. Halting him as well.
“… I… I think it’s my watch now.” Unsure if he heard you for a moment, feeling the tense motions of his bare forearm beneath your touch. The sharp exhale he gave blew some strands of hair down over your face, as you slowly slid your palm down the curved muscles under his skin.
Covering his the back of his hand with your palm, fingers slightly curled into the space between the knuckles of his fingers.
There was no way you were imagining this. Yet still, reality called, and you swallowed after a long moment of silence, and stillness between you. “G… get some rest. I’ll keep an eye out for the… the second.”
He didn’t nod, or say anything. Just, torturously slowly, peeled himself off your back as he slipped his arms from around you; the bed creaking as he moved back and you moved over to the window with the pages of the notebook nearly ripping in your hand as you clenched it to your chest.
You suddenly felt very cold.
And it only got colder as the night went on, and the silence stretched.
It got to the point where you wished for a calendars just to make sure winder hadn’t come early. After another eon (probably closer to an hour) passed with no lights or movements from the cargo-ship, you found yourself abandoning your post at the window, and quietly stepping over to the bed.
As agreed, neither of you had broached the unspoken agreement of sleeping in the same bed. Taking turns keeping watch, and resting between supply runs during the stake-outs were more important than any juvenile embarrassments that come with two young adults together in a single bed.
After whatever happened earlier that afternoon, you suddenly felt the fact that you were cold was more important than the flustered ramifications of asking Silco to scooch over.
You knew he was awake, the forearm keeping the pillow pressed against his face twitched when you called his name. It wasn’t long after that his digits curled into it, pulling it down low-enough to see the peek of his bright eyes in the dark of the room watching you.
“I… its getting cold.” You noted lamely, and something bemused flickered in his otherwise impassive, but attentive gaze. You swallowed, “…could we…?”
A slow blink. The pillow was returned back behind his head, and after a brief second to untangle the covers, he lifted it silently to allow enough space for you to slip in.
It was definitely not a part of your imagination when you felt that arm loop under your waist the moment the thin bed-cover dropped over you. You swallowed, breaking into a small gasp when you felt his palm reaching over, sliding along the curve of your neck, before gliding into the hair on the back of your head.
“You can move, if you don’t-” “No, don’t… I don’t want to move.”
You felt that chin, once more resting atop of your head, move as you imaged a small smile on his lips at your quiet, but honest declaration. You felt those arms squeeze gently, experimentally around you, pulling you closer to his chest. Fingers curling into the loose fabric of his shirt as you pressed your nose close to his collarbone, you felt his chest rise and fall with a sharp breath as his fingers carted slowly through your hair.
Admittedly, you murmured quietly with your breath brushing against his skin, “I don’t… I don’t know what this is. Or what you want it to be. Us.” Nails scritched at your scalp, and you let out a small hum, closing your eyes as you felt a rumble from his chest at the sound. “… could be anything you want it to be, really. I certainly wouldn’t be adverse if you wanted more… or just this, for now.”
“I just…” You squeezed your eyes shut, glad for the dark being able to hide your flush as you pressed your face close to him in earnest. You were rewarded with a knee slipping between yours, hooking slightly behind your own and pulling you even closer. Breath catching, you whispered the rest of your sentence out, “I just want to be close to you.”
A small beat, and a sigh as you felt him tilt his face down, nose brushing against your hair as the arms slipped further around you, thumb brushing along your back hairline as he cupped your head. “The feeling is mutual.”
You smiled against his skin at the quiet, but honest confession as you nuzzled against his collarbone.
Supported in the evidence of his limbs wrapped around you, you had a suspicious you both would miss your next watch-shift, and not move from this bed for a while yet.