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Oli’s eyes snap open at the sound of wood scraping across wood. He wasn’t sleeping, of course. Succumbing to the temptation of a mid-morning nap would mean he’s as exhausted and sick as Eddie keeps telling him he is, but he’s not. His body doesn’t need the extra energy. He was just… re-moisturising his eyeballs. He sits up in bed and blinks until his vision clears up.
Two harengon, both of them shorter yet equally as buff as Eddie, are hauling a large, round tub through the door. A bathtub.
Oli throws an arm over his face. ‘Oh, what a sight. I thought this day would never come!’
The bunnies – Lark and Robin, as they’d introduced themselves; Eddie’s apprentices in the high craft of smithery – jump and scramble for the exit. They’re really taking the ‘flighty little bird’ thing to heart. But who’s a bard named ‘Sound’ going to judge?
Eddie appears in the doorway, filling it with his bulky shoulders. His broad grin somehow manages to take up even more room than the man himself. ‘I knew you’d like that.’
‘I do like it,’ Oli agrees. He wriggles to the edge of the mattress and sticks his feet out from beneath the blanket.
‘Hang on,’ says Eddie, hurrying over with his hands outstretched.
Oli takes them, because not face-planting is always more dignified than face-planting, and uses Eddie’s hold to pull himself up onto his one good foot.
Splashing catches his attention. It’s a dull sound; from the cadence of the noise, the water must be piping hot. He hops along the bed.
‘Whoa,’ says Eddie. ‘Slow down.’
Oli doesn’t – he’s been waiting for this moment for too long. It’s alright, though, because the harengon keeps up with him, grumbling low under his breath.
The trio must have gone all out while Oli was not-sleeping, because when he gets to the tub, he sees that it’s already full. Not to the brim, but definitely enough to cover a human.
Robin, a white rabbit with large orange spots around her eyes and an adorable button nose, appears next to them. The sleeves of her flannel are rolled up enough to show off her biceps, both of which are larger than Oli’s calves. ‘All done, Eds. We’re headed back to the forge, okay?’
Eddie nods. ‘Don’t forget to use the bellows this time.’
‘Uh,’ says Robin.
‘Bye,’ says Lark, already out of sight.
The door shuts. Oli eyes his living crutch. ‘Eds, huh?’
‘Only to my favourite people,’ says Eddie, twitching his whiskers.
‘Aw, that’s cute. I like it. Gives new folk something to strive for when they meet you. A little treat to work towards. I’m one of those, right? I’m your favourite person ever!’
‘Hm, I don’t know,’ says Eddie. He tugs on the hand he’s still holding and they cross the last bit of distance to the tub. There’s a chair next to it, placed close enough that Oli is probably supposed to put his bad leg on it. ‘Those two rank pretty high, in that regard, and then there’s this sweet little rascal called Hermes that’s been around recently. Do you need help undressing?’
Oli considers it. With his limited range of movement the assistance would be nice, but on the other hand, his clothes are pretty grimy and his dirty rags are nothing he can inflict on another person. He’s not a decent man – in the way Scott’s not decent, or a mini-skirt; not in the way a corrupt sheriff is not decent – but he does have some manners.
‘Nah. I think I’m going to be alright.’
‘Okay.’
Eddie lets go of him, but doesn’t move away. A moment passes. Oli peers up at him. ‘Um, dude? Are you going to–,’ he waves in the direction of the door.
The harengon turns his head, following his gaze. One of his ears stays cocked in Oli’s direction. His brows furrow. ‘Going to?’
‘Leave,’ says Oli. ‘To let me wash?’
Eddie shakes his head. ‘You’re still injured. Usually, we don’t let people in your condition anywhere near a bath. I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself with that leg – who knows what could happen.’
Oli feels the blood drain from his face. Eddie is going to watch him undress. Eddie is going to get an eyeful of Oli’s everything, from head to toe. He’s already shivering just from their hands touching. His arms are covered in goosebumps and his skin heats whenever the other looks at him. He draws a breath. ‘No.’
‘This is not negotiable,’ Eddie says sharply. ‘You can’t even stand on your own two feet right now. Either you let me help you, or you’re going straight back to bed.’
Oli scowls, opens his mouth–
Eddie pulls his hands away. Oli lists sideways. The sudden lack of support would have sent him sprawling, had the harengon not stepped in to catch him with his barrel of a chest. Oli grits his teeth.
‘Case in point,’ says Eddie. He shifts his arm around Oli and tugs at his Hawaiian shirt.
Oli fumes. The issue is, he knows the other is right. If he tries to do this alone, he’s going to end up drowning in that tub – and then all the care he’s been receiving lately would have been for nought, and that’d be a real shame. Plus, it would take the string away.
Granted, Oli’s not quite sure about that last one. He’s not the one toying around with soul magic to spice up his death games, unlike some people. But he’s not willing to risk it, either. The mere thought of losing the heaviness under his sternum is enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. Without the heartbeat shadowing his own, he will have no way of knowing whether Eddie is okay and even though the harengon’s life in Sanctuary seems to be pretty safe and unexciting except for the occasional visitor washing up on the shore, that is not something Oli can allow to happen. Which means he’ll have to keep it together. Keep his wits about him, a tight lock on his feelings and, preferably, his mouth shut.
He can control himself and not let his feelings get the better of him for the duration of one bath, right? Yes. Yes, he can.
Oli unclenches his fingers from Eddie’s apron to allow him to slide off the shirt. Then the other peels away his sweat-soaked undershirt and works it over Oli’s head, leaving him exposed to the warm air of the room. He turns his face away, trying to find something to look at that’s not Eddie – which is not easy, since this close, the other’s massive body fills most of his field of vision.
The harengon lets out a soft chuckle. ‘You’re hairier than I expected.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Oli bristles – just like the fuzz on his chest.
‘That I only know humans with less fur than you?’ Eddie says, an impish lilt to his tone. He reaches for Oli’s shorts.
Oli flinches.
The other lets go immediately. ‘I can turn around if you want,’ he says quietly.
He does want. But then he’d have a different problem. ‘I can’t get into the tub on my own.’
Eddie considers, then gives a short nod. ‘Hold onto me.’
Oli does as told, curling his fingers over Eddie’s thick biceps. Eddie’s hands, big and warm, skim lightly down his flanks, to the waistband of his shorts. Oli’s ears are on fire. His neck, too. In his attempt to direct his attention somewhere at least vaguely neutral, he makes the mistake of looking up.
The storm-tossed ocean blue of Eddie’s eyes pulls him in like a fish trap. Their gazes lock.
Gently, Eddie hooks his fingertips into the last, thin piece of fabric protecting Oli’s dignity and pushes his shorts down over his ass, the bandage and his thighs. They fall, pooling around his ankles. His hands hover on Oli’s hips, close enough to feel their warmth. Still, neither of them is looking away.
The air crackles, prickling on Oli’s face. He wets his lips.
Eddie’s eyes catch on the movement, whiskers twitching. He sways, as if drawn by an invisible string, then abruptly straightens. ‘Come on, I’ll help you get in.’ He tugs a woozy Oli in the direction of the tub and taps the chair with his knuckles. ‘Your leg goes here.’
‘Uh,’ says Oli, swallowing. His throat feels very dry.
His wobbly knees manage to carry him until he’s right at the edge of the tub. With a groan, he sits down.
‘Don’t put any weight on the injury,’ Eddie instructs, which is kind of redundant. The bugger has been hurting like void lately. He lifts his hand, hyper-aware of the bushes growing from his pits and how they smell. But relief is right there. ‘Would you mind–?’
Eddie slides an arm around him and Oli leans onto it, swinging his good leg into the tub. The water sears his skin. He lets out a hiss but doesn’t call a stop. Eddie loosens his grip and then Oli’s falling, and it’s probably the most undignified manoeuvre he’s ever been a part of, including the first time he got caught fumbling with a crush under a stifling blanket. Or the first time he tried to play a fiddle. That is probably the safer association here; he should go with that one.
The water rises quickly over his belly and ribs, up until it covers his collarbones. Oli makes a high noise. He can’t help it. Oh, it’s good.
Eddie chuckles. ‘Nice?’
‘Uh-huh.’
So nice it stings. Oli throws his head back, knocking against the edge of the tub. Pain radiates from the location of impact, just enough to remind him that he’s not supposed to forget himself.
Eddie rummages around in the background. ‘Alright.’
Oli opens his eyes, staring upwards.
‘Lean forward a bit,’ Eddie says, gesturing, which looks really funny upside-down.
‘Why?’
The harengon holds up a chunk of soap. ‘Gonna do your hair.’
You can do every part of–, Oli chomps down on his lip before that sentence can sprout wings. A metallic taste spreads over his tongue. He shifts forward just enough to allow Eddie access.
At least now he can blame the colour in his cheeks on the temperature.
Eddie’s hand reaches past him, submerging the soap. He rubs it until it forms bubbles, then fetches a big ladle. ‘You okay with water over your head?’
Oli nods.
The harengon scoops up some and upends it on Oli’s head, drenching his curls. Then he slides his fingers into the damp strands, spreading the soap. When he retreats to repeat the process, Oli thinks he’s gotten away with barely any touching at all, but that hope is quickly shattered once his hair is properly wet. Eddie reaches into the thick of it and starts tugging and pushing at the roots, massaging the crown and the soft fluff by his temples. His nails scratch gently along Oli’s scalp. The sigh falls from his lips before he can stop it. He drops his head into Eddie’s palms.
He feels, more than hears, the rumble of deep laughter behind him. When Eddie draws away, Oli makes a protesting noise.
It gets him a tug on the ear. ‘Little hedonist you are.’
Absolutely. Oli learned from the best; he learned from Joel. He hums. ‘Yeah. Palace comforts and down duvets, that’s me.’
‘Hmm,’ says Eddie. He picks up the ladle again. His other palm shifts to Oli’s forehead, covering his eyes to protect them from the wash of soapy water. Then Eddie grabs the mass of his hair. ‘How clean do you want it?’
Considering what it’s been through recently? ‘Yes.’
‘Alright.’
Oli hears the slick sound of the soap again and clenches his hands on the edge of the tub. This time, he manages to stifle the embarrassing sound that wants to escape his lips, but then Eddie’s fingers slide behind his ears, where his skin is too thin and his pulse flutters like a butterfly. Oli moans.
‘Shh,’ says Eddie, moving lower. ‘You’re very sensitive.’
A shiver runs down his spine. ‘I, uh,’ he stammers, clamouring for composure. ‘Just haven’t been touched by anyone in a long time?’
Washed. He should have said “washed,” it doesn’t matter that both is true.
Eddie makes a thoughtful noise behind him, then his fingers disappear, leaving a creeping cold in their wake. Oli swallows.
‘I’m so–’
Thumbs settle on the back of his neck, drawing small circles. They squeeze his tense muscles, digging in to the right and left of his spine. Oli’s so surprised he freezes.
Eddie’s fingertips skim lower, pressing, it feels like, all of the key spots. Oli’s body goes limp. He can’t help it. His brain is wired to trust the man behind him, to let down his guard and allow himself to be cared for and it’s taking over the by now battered and bruised part of his mind that has been clinging, desperately, to logical reasoning.
Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that they haven’t known each other that long and thus shouldn’t be this close, that they haven’t talked about this at all and that Oli doesn’t even know if Eddie feels the same way about him, or about men, or about humans. Although, the string between them being what it is, he’s reasonably sure there is at least some form of feeling involved. Why else would he… why else would he care so much?
Eddie’s knuckles work him over, meeting no resistance. Oli bleeds his tension into the harengon’s hands like a vehicle haemorrhaging petrol. His resolve to keep it together finally crumbles. His moan rings embarrassingly loud in the steamy quiet of the room.
‘Oh,’ Eddie rumbles, so close to his ear that Oli can feel the brush of his whiskers against his cheek. The warm gust of his breath. ‘There you go. Nice and easy. You like that?’
Oli’s not sure if it’s the words or the proximity, but the warmth inside him blooms into an almost painful glow. All of his senses are filled with Eddie.
‘Oli?’
‘Mhm,’ he slurs. ‘You have magic hands.’
Apparently his brain also forfeited control over his mouth. He can’t bring himself to care.
‘There you go, that’s it,’ Eddie soothes. ‘Relax for me.’
He keeps going and Oli feels his eyelids droop. The room swims.
Eddie could do whatever he wanted with him now. He could have all of Oli, right here, and he wouldn’t even be able to remember why he was so scared of it before, nor any of the distance that should still exist between them. All he can feel is the string drawing him in tighter, heart thundering heavy and loud in his chest.
Time passes like honey dripping off a spoon.
Eventually, Eddie nudges his shoulder. ‘Think you’ll be able to make it back to the bed on your own?’
For a moment, Oli can’t even parse the sentence. ‘Hnng,’ he says.
The harengon grins. ‘You really needed that, didn’t you? One second.’
He stands, letting the air rush in where his body had been close. Oli frowns.
Strong arms slide under his legs and torso and hoist him up. A towel appears, wrapped around him, and he honestly has no idea where it came from. He pushes his nose into Eddie’s chest, because it’s right there. ‘Eddie.’
‘Oli?’
Oh, his name from those sweet lips. Kiss me, Oli thinks. Please, just–
The mattress appears under his ass, replacing the harengon’s arms. Oli hisses.
‘Shh, it’s alright,’ says Eddie, still close. ‘You be a good patient now and go to sleep, okay? I’ll take care of cleaning up.’
‘Eddie–’
‘Sleep, Oli.’
Darkness rises, compelled by the words, and swallows him whole.