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The slight sway to his hips was an unintentional thing, brought about by that degree of tiredness that threatened to teeter over the lip of exhaustion into something more manic. It made his body roll, as he walked; gave a gentle sway to his movements that caused him to stumble slightly down the hall. One hand out, his fingers trailed against the cool expanse of the wall and bright blue eyes gazed into the sunlit space of their living room.
His lover was bent over their little coffee table; long, strapping legs sprawled out beneath its syntho-wood spread. Data PADDS filled with textbooks cluttered one corner beside his elbow, and the fingers of the closest hand were lost in the chestnut strands of his hair, forcing them back from his forehead and eyes. The other tapped at the digital screen, either letting out a slew of words or flipping through articles; it was impossible to tell from his distance.
Lips curling down slightly into a frown, Jim sighed, though the sound of it was caught somewhere deep within his throat. He wouldn’t let it out, no matter how much he wanted to, and instead he tipped his head down. Defeat felt like a heavy thing lying across his shoulders, and he carried it into the kitchen with him, an albatross that would hopefully allow love to find him, regardless of his shortcomings.
Surely, today of all days, he was allowed to have his faults? His heart was on his sleeve, a ragged, bloody thing that didn’t want to beat, didn’t want to hurt. Already, his week had been long and his days had dragged; he had dozed during one of his exams and had lost himself as he stood tall at the fucking memorial, as everyone expected of him. He’d gone through with all of that and then the call with his mother, where all she did was cry and stare at him in an accusing fashion and, through it all, his lover had seemingly forgotten him...
He deserved a drink.
Fingertips dancing across the swell of a Bourbon bottle, Jim paused, tongue licking at his lips even while his eyes narrowed upon it. Within its glass confines, the amber-red liquid looked soft; a far cry from what would be the biting cut of its taste upon his tongue. He denied himself a drink then, pulling his fingers away and grasping at an apple instead.
The green flesh dimpled under his fingers where he gripped it, and the cut of his nails brought forth a dribble of crisp liquid.
Staring at it, eyes threatening to cross, the all-nighter he had pulled had done nothing but leave his stomach painfully empty. He could get something else, punch a few buttons on the replicator and it would give him a meal instantly, but it wouldn’t sustain him, not past the nausea that burned in his belly. Teeth sinking into the meat of the apple, his eyes slipped shut, and Jim missed the way that a soft hazel gaze had flittered in his direction, searching and sorry.
Body bare save for the sleep shorts that clung low to his hips, the delicate, black scrawl of letters was visible at the sharp cut of one hip bone. Darlin’, the endearment was etched into his skin as if it belonged there and, any other day, his state of undress would have had amorous fingers settling over it. Instead, this time, there was a hollow sort of curve to his body, brought on by a lack of sufficient sustenance the previous week, and it cast shadows that caressed their way along his skin.
“Jimmy.”
Teeth to the apple, caught in the round of its skin and meat, he couldn’t give much more of a response than a grunt. Still, he didn’t finish the bite, teased himself with the mouthful that he hadn’t been able to take; if he thought about it long enough, the fruit would taste like mold upon his tongue, would burn within his throat. Instead he just let his mouth rest there- testing the weight of it against his lips and tongue. It was enough for the moment; anticipation quieted the rumble in his stomach and the roar of too tight sensation under his skin.
From the living room, he could hear knees creak and the shuffling sounds of his lover getting to his feet. There was near-quiet then, as the bigger man made his way into the kitchen and paused to watch him. Only for a moment though, for just long enough to observe, then the apple was pulled away from his mouth and the slow fall of tears was brushed away from the bruised skin under his eyes.
A warm kiss was pressed to the crest of his brow.
The fingers that brushed against the bottom of his jaw were callus rough, though they were gentle against his skin. Then strong arms surrounded him, one banding his waist while the other wrapped around his shoulders. He was cradled then, held as if he were something special, something to be kept safe and content.
“Happy birthday, sugar.”