Work Text:
Yor shuffles around the kitchen, placing plates and cups in their respective cabinets, lining them up on their shelves with ease. She packs away the leftovers that she and Anya were unable to finish for dinner, placing them neatly in the refrigerator with a sticky note for Loid to see when he finally comes home for the night. When everything is put in its place, Yor gets to work cleaning the counters and sink, elbow deep in soap suds.
She likes order, likes everything to be tidy, and Yor finds that her husband - fake husband - likes order as well. It is one of the many mindsets that they have in common, though Yor often finds herself wondering if she really knows Loid at all.
No matter, she decides, continuing with her chores of cleaning the kitchen, mind fully at ease after a long night of helping Anya with her homework, cooking dinner, and catching up on work. She knew that Loid would be home late tonight, as he so often is. Really, it’s not so much a surprise anymore, but sometimes Yor finds herself yearning to spend more time with him.
Not in that way, no! In a way two friends spend time together, sitting quietly next to each other as they sip their tea and watch television with their child. Yes, yes, normal friend activities.
As she works, Yor hears the door creak open and the sound of footsteps warily making their way into the apartment. She pauses briefly, cocking her head to the side and straining her ears as she listens to Loid remove his coat and shoes, his low groans permeating her safe haven.
Something is… wrong. Without even seeing him, Yor can tell that something is different about Loid. She can tell in the way he hisses when he moves, the slight hitch in his step as he makes his way further into the apartment.
“Loid?” she calls out, dropping her cleaning supplies and making her way out of the kitchen. “Loid, is everything all right?”
“Oh, I’m fine, Yor!” he replies, though his voice sounds strained. He hisses again, his footsteps receding as he heads towards the living room.
Instead of believing him, Yor shakes her head and follows Loid into the living room, eyes studying his back as he limps ahead of her. “You’re clearly not,” she states evenly, quickly catching up to him and placing her hand on his arm. “Loid, what -”
But she’s broken off when she catches sight of Loid’s face: a bruise, swollen and purple, forms on his cheek. She gapes at him, eyes trailing his body as she notes his rolled up sleeves, the trail of bruises leading up his arm.
“Loid, what - what happened?” she whispers, heart in her throat as she watches him collapse on the couch with a low moan of pain.
“Oh, nothing to worry about, Yor,” he assures her, though Yor can hear it in the way his voice trembles that he’s hurting. “Just - just some trouble with some patients. Happens all the time.”
And while she wants to believe him, wants to believe that this was just the work of some overzealous patient who decided to beat up his doctor… Yor has trouble believing him. Still, she cannot deny that her husband is a hard worker, someone who provides for his family even when the hours are long and draining.
“Even if you say there’s nothing to worry about, at least let me take care of you,” she tells him firmly, patting him on the shoulder before making her way to her bedroom where she has a first aid kit stashed away in her nightstand.
Loid is still sitting on the couch when she returns with the kit in hand, though he is slouched down into the pillows, his head leaning against the back and his eyes closed. Yor sighs, approaching him slowly so as not to startle him.
He cracks one eye open, watching as she settles on the couch beside him and places the kit on the coffee table so that she can ruffle through it.
“Really, Yor, I’ll be fine,” he repeats, sitting up carefully, placing a hand on his side as he groans in pain. “I’m used to being beat up by this, there really is no reason to worry.”
Yor just clucks her tongue and shakes her head, sifting through the bandages and ointment that she so often uses after a long night. Loid sighs, resting his arms on his knees as Yor turns to face him, ice pack in hand.
“Yor…” Loid tries again, wincing as Yor breaks the ice pack and places it gently on his swollen cheek. “I - I know how to take care of myself.”
“You’ve been taking care of yourself for too long,” she says, shifting closer to Loid so that she can scrutinize his wounds. “Let me take care of you for once.”
As soon the words leave her mouth, she swears she hears Loid release a sharp breath.
How long has he been alone? How long has he had to patch up his own wounds, his own heart? She doesn’t find it fair, a man who works so hard to provide for himself and his child left to his own devices, unable to depend on the help and care of others.
It doesn’t seem fair.
Loid finally relaxes at Yor’s touch, leaning his cheek against the ice pack, sighing softly at the relief it brings to him. Yor gives him a timid smile, reaching up with her opposite hand and brushing his hair - usually so perfectly combed back, but now disheveled - out of his eyes. At the first brush of her fingers against his forehead, Loid closes his eyes and lets out a soft hum, melting into her touch.
“Let me take care of you,” she whispers again, pulling the ice pack away from Loid’s face so that he opens his eyes and nods at her.
He lets her inspect his arm, the dark bruises that decorate his pale skin. There are no cuts, but Yor can make out the outline of fingers around his forearm. She places a hand on his side, feeling the way he tenses beneath her, watching the way he winces in pain.
“No broken ribs,” he assures her, placing his hand on top of hers. “I’ve broken my ribs plenty of times in the past. They’re just sore now, promise.”
Yor nods, taking his hand in hers and turning it so that his palm is up. Without thinking, she brings it to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss in the center of his palm. He stiffens beside her, body tense as she looks up at him through lashes.
“I - I’m sorry,” she stutters, dropping his hand and backing away so there is room between them. “I just - It’s just - When Yuri was young, the only way to make him feel better when he was hurt was to kiss his cuts and bruises and…”
It felt right. Kissing Loid’s bruises seemed to be the most obvious course of action. And with the way she feels about Loid…
“It’s okay, Yor,” Loid tells her, his voice soft, low. “I - I don’t mind.”
Yor’s eyes meet his, so strikingly blue that she feels that she might drown in them. He’s watching her intensely, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
All these months spent together, all this time dancing around each other’s feelings and oddities, trying not to notice how often Yor finds Loid staring at her… The way their gazes meet and she feels heat rushing to her cheeks as Loid’s lips twitch in an awkward smile. The way his hand lingers on her shoulder when he passes her in the hallway or the kitchen.
All these small, insignificant actions all seem so real suddenly, catching Yor by surprise so that she is unable to breathe.
In an act of bravery, she takes his hand again, bringing it to her lips and kissing each one of his fingers, listening to Loid’s sharp intake of breath, the way he sighs at her touches.
She looks up at him, his cheeks flushed pink as he stares at her, his eyes slowly beginning to dilate. This feeling of want, of need, overwhelms her, urges her onward. So she moves closer to him, their knees pressed together as she leans forward, her eyes focused on the bruise that blooms on Loid’s cheek.
Inhale.
Exhale.
She presses her lips to his cheek, closing her eyes as Loid exhales slowly.
When she pulls away, she asks, “Did that help?”
“Yes, I think so,” he says, placing his hand on her cheek, thumb stroking just under her eye. “You’ve done a wonderful job of taking care of me.”
For a beat, they just stare at each other, Loid’s hand pressed firmly against Yor’s cheek, her fingers digging into his knee. His eyes dip towards her mouth, though her teeth worry her lower lip. Still, he isn’t deterred.
Yor’s never seen Loid look at her this way before. And while she’s sure to have felt her heart racing whenever he touches her, or her cheeks flushing pink when he catches her eye, she’s never experienced the desire pooling in her belly as he tilts her head up.
Closer.
And closer.
They meet in the middle, a gentle brush of their lips, but still enough to spark a flame in her veins. She pushes closer to him, pressing her lips more firmly against his, swallowing his small gasp when she places a hand on the back of his neck. He matches her movements, letting her take the lead, letting her slip her tongue between his lips, shuddering when he pulls her into his lap desperately.
What started as tentative, cautious, turns into hungry and desperate, with soft pants and moans as they devour each other fully.
Yor’s mind is fuzzy, buzzing with electricity as she and Loid move together, his arm wrapped around her waist while his opposite hand travels up her side.
She could die here, she thinks, die happily in Loid’s arms with his tongue shoved down her throat.
She fingers the buttons of Loid’s shirt, tempted to tear them away without any thought.
Yes, that’s what she’ll do. She’ll tear open his shirt, press her lips to every part of his exposed skin, let her teeth graze against his flesh.
“Loid,” she gasps, feeling him hard beneath her.
“Yor,” he rasps back, kissing along her jaw.
She lets out a quiet moan, her hands pressed against Loid’s chest.
“Yor, I -”
But he’s interrupted by the sound of a door opening down the hallway, and the call of, “Mama! Papa!”
They break away abruptly, shuffling towards opposite ends of the couch as small footsteps patter along the hardwood floor.
“Mama!” Anya calls, racing into the living room. “Is Papa home?”
Yor and Loid sit as still and as normal as possible, Loid’s legs crossed to hide the now obvious bulge in his pants. Yor can’t help but stifle a giggle as he turns away from her, his face flushed crimson red in embarrassment.
“Yes, Anya,” Loid answers just as Anya stops in front of them. “Papa’s home.”
“Yay!” Anya cheers, grabbing Loid’s hand and tugging him to his feet. “Mama promised that you would come say goodnight when you got home.”
“Did she now?” Loid asks, glancing back at Yor with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes! Please, Papa, come tuck me in,” Anya begs, hopping up and down, not paying attention to the way her father winces in pain.
“Anya, be careful,” Yor cuts in, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Papa isn’t feeling too well. But I’m sure he’ll tuck you in if you go with him quietly and carefully, okay?”
“Are you okay, Papa?” Anya asks, staring up at Loid with wide eyes.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Loid replies, shaking his head.
Anya’s small huff in reply sounds off, as if she doesn’t believe him. The child scrutinizes her father, squinting up at him with pursed lips as Loid just shuffles awkwardly on his feet. Finally, she nods and tugs Loid’s arm again, forcing her to follow her down the hall towards her bedroom.
Loid sneaks one last look at Yor before he disappears behind the wall, his eyes still dark and cheeks still red.
When he’s finally out of sight, Yor lets out a deep sigh, melting into the couch and she presses the heels of her palms in her eyes.
What was she thinking? Acting like that around Loid? What gave her the right?
With another sigh, Yor gets up off the couch and gathers the first aid kit so that she can make her way back to her bedroom, trying to banish all thoughts of Loid as she does.