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Hobie Brown had known rage. He was all too familiar with the fire that boiled your blood, that seared behind the eyelids and trapped a scream in your throat, left you shaking and snarling and gnashing hungry teeth, every shred of your being baying for blood, roaring for destruction, for ruin.
Yes, Hobie Brown had known rage.
But nothing compared to the wrenching dizzying fury that overtook him when Pavitr Prabhakar stumbled through a portal in the middle of HQ, beaten and trembling and half-coherent, his mask and suit torn and ragged, weakly calling for help before collapsing in a heap on the floor, a veritable pool of blood growing beneath him as medics were called and bystanders hurried to gauge his injuries, the task made tricky by the fact that Pavitr was drenched in blood. No one was sure if it was his own or someone else’s (with both possibilities being equally disturbing) but he looked as if he’d been tossed into a vat of the stuff, and the ghastly sight turned the stomachs of even the most experienced Spiders.
Hobie couldn’t remember much after Pavitr collapsed. One moment he was watching his best friend stumble and the next there was blood seeping through his trousers as he knelt beside him, cradling Pavitr’s limp form in his arms and frantically calling his name, clutching him close and snarling at a well-meaning Spider who tried to take Pavitr from his arms. He felt wild, hunching protectively over Pavitr’s still body, teeth bared and spidey senses on high alert, more than ready to eliminate any threat to the man in his arms.
He’d damn near needed to be restrained, but he’d managed to get ahold of himself in the end, tersely allowing others to get close enough to check Pavitr over and determine he had no serious injuries, at least nothing requiring hospitalization, and with the unofficial confirmation that the blood coating him from head to toe was likely not his own (which was a whole other can of worms to be dealt with later) he was reluctantly given into Hobie’s care. O’Hara could lecture him all he wanted later, and oh boy would there be a lecture, but there was simply no way Hobie was giving Pavitr over to people he didn’t know in a Society he didn’t trust.
He didn’t trust anyone but himself, not with Pavitr, not with something he treasured so deeply.
Pavitr was a small man, but he had the sturdy muscle and density that came with being an active vigilante. Even so, he was worrying light in Hobie’s arms as he carried him to his little stopgap room in the HQ, bypassing the rumpled bed to shoulder open the door to the adjoined washroom, carefully setting the man down on the tiles to start running a bath and ignoring the dribbling red trail marking the path he’d taken.
“Maybe a shower might be better.” he muttered to himself, studiously not looking at Pavitr’s slack face, his motionless blood soaked form at rest in a way it should never be, “Don’t want you sitting in a bathtub of blood, yeah? Unless Elizabeth Bathory is a vibe you’re going for. Does your universe even have an Elizabeth Bathory? Maybe that’s your secret, yeah? What makes you so bloody perfect. Ha, bloody, get it?” He continued to ramble about nothing as he stood to detach the shower head, turning the knob to start the water and tuning it until it was a good enough mix of warm and soothing before setting it down in the tub, turning to Pavitr again.
“Alright mate, up you get.” he said quietly, kneeling to start peeling the bloody ruins of his suit from Pavitr’s still body, careful and delicate, like he was handling a priceless jewel. In a way, he was. Pavitr had always been a light in Hobie’s life, shining bright as a sapphire, all sunlit smiles and warm eyes and blinding confidence and a fireball temper, kind and cunning and compassionate and mischievous, open and devious in equal measure.
And someone had nearly taken him away. Some unknown attacker had nearly made Hobie’s world dark and cold, depriving the multiverse of the best damn thing in it.
The thought was enough to make him sick.
When Pavitr was free of his suit, lying bare and crimson on the white tile floor, Hobie gathered him into his arms, uncaring of the blood coating his own body as he held Pavitr close, setting him gently into the partially filled tub before grabbing the shower head and a bundle of towels. He ran the stream of water over Pavitr’s body, trying to rinse at least some of the blood off, but he was largely unsuccessful. Much of it had seeped into his skin by now, staining it, stubbornly unwilling to give up its place on Pavitr’s body.
Well, Hobie would soon fix that.
He got to work, figuring the best tactic would be to start at the head and work down. He wet a hand towel and wiped it gently over Pavitr’s slack face, cleaning the blood away with the reverent care of a conservator restoring a priceless work of art. With every pass of the cloth, more of Pavitr’s warm skin was revealed, pale and sallow and covered with worrying bruises, many indicating a bad knock to the head that set Hobie’s teeth on edge. Still, it was leagues better than the ghastly wraith of moments ago, and Hobie threw his entire focus into wiping every trace of red from his face, his throat, his jaw, even behind his ears. He thumbed gently across Pavitr’s cheek with his free hand, steadying his head when it lolled, not looking away from him even for a moment, just… watching him. Reminding himself that he was alive, that he was here within Hobie’s grasp, safe and sound where he could watch over him. Keep him safe.
And when he found out who had done this to his Pavi, heads would roll.
He shook his head slightly, refocusing on the task at hand. Pavitr took such pride in his perfect hair, so that’s what Hobie focused on next, moving to the head of the tub and lathering the blood soaked locks with the pricey shampoo he kept just for Pavitr’s visits (for which his friends teased him relentlessly). He massaged it gently into his hair, its usual soft volume lost under the heavy tackiness of the blood, and Hobie wished the man was awake just so he could hear the screech he’d surely let out at the state of it. He took his time, making sure not a single lock of hair was left out before rinsing the shampoo thoroughly, the water running down his body and washing away a few wispy red trails of blood, though the majority of it still clung to him, refusing to release its grasp on the beautiful man. Hobie could relate to that.
Conditioner was next, lathered in with equal care, and once that was finished he set his sights on Pavitr’s shoulders, drawing the cloth over the broad expanse of dark skin, and here he hesitated. The flesh of his shoulders was freckled by the sun, soft from whatever ridiculous moisturizer Pavitr used, and Hobie found himself dipping down to press a soft kiss to a clean patch of skin, silently willing Pavitr to feel it even in his unconscious state, to sense that Hobie was with him, looking after him. He washed his shoulders diligently, christening each swath of newly clean skin with a loving kiss, wishing more than anything to hear Pavitr giggle at the ticklish sensation, to feel him swat him away and laugh about what a puppy dog he is before turning and giving him a proper kiss. But of course, no such thing happened, and Hobie was forced to continue on with no sound but the running water to keep him company.
Once he finished the shoulders, he shifted back to his spot beside the tub to clean off Pavitr’s arms, then his hands, holding them reverently as he cleaned between each elegant finger, pressing a kiss to his knuckles once they were free of blood. The cleaning, unfortunately, also revealed extensive bruising around Pavitr’s wrists that implied he’d been tied up, as well as vivid hand-shaped marks around his biceps like he’d been grabbed too tightly, and Hobie noted them down for his report to O’Hara while gritting his teeth so hard they creaked. It was only the fact that Pavitr needed him right now that kept him where he was, rather than trashing the room in a fit of screaming fury.
“I’m going to find them.” he hissed to himself, forcing his jaw to unclench, “And I’m gonna hurt them, you hear me Pavi? I’m gonna beat them within an inch of their lives, make them plead for your forgiveness. They’ll pay for every bruise I find, darling, and they’ll pay dearly.” After a moment of deep calming breaths, he turned his attention to Pavitr’s chest, that naturally (allegedly ) perfect body he was so proud of and Hobie so often found himself distracted by. He focused on his task, being sure to clean off every inch of his torso, from his pretty clavicles to his toned abdomen. Pavitr was starting to look like his old self again, at least from the waist up, and Hobie could almost pretend he’d just fallen asleep in the bath again. His indolent little loverboy had a habit of falling asleep just about anywhere. Literally anywhere, Hobie had found him twisted up in a chandelier once, dead asleep, it was wicked.
He’d nearly managed to forget his anger when his dutiful cleaning reveal a new bruise; the clear outline of a large boot print directly over Pavitr’s ribs, already purpling vividly and turning the skin of his chest an ugly black and blue, and his tenuous calm shattered like it had never been there. He closed his eyes against a surge of blinding rage, lurching forward to bury his face in Pavitr’s wet hair in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on what was important instead of tearing off to rain hell on the people who’d hurt Pavitr. He braced his arms on either side of Pavitr’s head, breathing in the scent of rosemary and bath water as he struggled to speak through the coursing fury setting his blood on fire, his voice shaking and rough and near feral with emotion.
“When I find the people who did this.” he reiterated, “I’m gonna make them hurt. Everything they did to you, I’ll give it all back tenfold. An hour of torture for every finger they laid on you, another for every tear you shed, and still another for every second you were kept from my side. They’ll be begging for death by the time I’m done with them, Pavi, pleading for the mercy of oblivion. And I won’t give it to them.”
Pavitr, predictably, didn’t respond, and Hobie grit his teeth against the unnatural silence. Pavitr Prabhakar should never be this still, this silent. It wasn’t right. Even in his sleep he was always rustling around and mumbling, drooling on Hobie’s shoulder and making tiny little snuffling noises. Here, lying in his bloodied bathtub without so much as a twitch, he looked too much like a corpse. It made Hobie feel nauseous, made him feel jittery and wired, like he needed to sink his teeth into something.
He stood abruptly, taking deep even breaths as he roughly pulled the bloodied shirt over his head, careful not to get any on himself, and tossed it aside with a little more force than necessary. He washed his hands in the sink, scrubbing angrily as he tried to calm down, not wanting to touch Pavitr too ungently, not wanting to sully his newly cleaned skin with his bloody hands.
Once he was sufficiently calmed and free of blood, he returned to the tub and focused on washing the rest of Pavitr’s body, dragging the cloth over his stomach, his hips, the vee of his pelvis. He remained professional and perfunctory as he cleaned the area between his firm thighs, too wound up to feel even a spark of interest, too worried and angry to even try making a joke to the silent man. He moved on to his legs next, powerful limbs limp and malleable in his hands as he washed them, feeling rather like a devoted knight kneeling at the feet of his prince, bowing to press a kiss to the arch of each newly cleaned ankle, then the calves, then the knees. Supplicating himself like a worshipper, like Eros kneeling at Psyche’s feet. Orpheus washing Eurydice’s body, pleading and praying for one last I love you-
He violently rejected that thought before it could even form, shaking his head to dispel it, focusing on Pavitr’s still-warm flesh, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his golden heart just visible at his pulse point. Pavitr was alive, alive and safe in Hobie’s arms, and he would do anything to make sure it stayed that way. It was a little concerning, actually, how far Hobie would be willing to go to keep Pavitr safe, the things he’d be willing to do. But if Hobie did his job right, then no one would ever have to know just what lines he’d cross, or what he’d be willing to become.
With Pavitr’s lower half now free of blood, Hobie gently set his legs down and pulled his limp form forward to rest against his chest, granting him access to the red expanse of his back. He held him gently, a precious irreplaceable thing cradled against him as he washed that muscular back, keeping his touch dutiful even when dragging across the perfect plush of his behind, keeping his focus on the task at hand and not the warm breath ghosting across his throat, soft and even and so frighteningly precious to Hobie.
There was another set of boot prints right beneath his shoulder blades, bruises he hadn’t noticed while cleaning his shoulders earlier, and Hobie could tell just from looking that he’d been stomped on multiple times by someone not concerned with being gentle. They’d had Pavitr on the ground and they’d taken advantage, clearly having no qualms about killing him. Pavitr was lucky to have escaped, and clever to have done so all on his own. It didn’t stop Hobie from raging on the inside.
And with that, Pavitr was clean, all traces of blood washed away as if it had never been there, and all that was left was to turn the bath off and gently lift him from the red-stained tub, wrapping him with the softest towels Hobie could find and drying him off. He toweled off his hair as best he could before gathering the newly burritoed man into his arms and lifting him, carrying him out of the steamed up little bathroom and into the cooler air of the bedroom, pressing a kiss atop his head before setting him gently onto the bed, uncaring of the wet spot that immediately formed on the pillow. He tucked him under his patchwork blanket and then briefly left him to dig out his softest black jumper and a pair of loose pajama pants, a shade of dark green he knew Pavitr would love.
“You know Pav, when I pictured you wearing my clothes, this isn’t exactly the scenario I had in mind.” he joked weakly as he dressed him, heart panging when Pavitr remained silent as the grave, the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was alive, “Ah well, plenty of opportunity later, yeah? Been fantasizing about getting you into my jacket, I have. Just the jacket, if you know what I mean.”
Silence was his only answer, and Hobie tried not to let it get to him as he finished sliding the clothes onto Pavitr’s unresisting form. He knew he should report to O’Hara, but the idea of leaving Pavitr’s side was repulsive. Instead, he sent over a summary of Pavitr’s injuries alongside a request (demand) that they not be bothered and then chucked the communicator aside. The decision to climb under the covers with Pavitr was a barely conscious one, as was the act of pulling the man into his arms, careful of his injuries, and settling back into the soft mattress, Pavitr’s head resting heavily on his chest and Hobie’s nose in his hair.
And then there was quiet.
They laid there for at least an hour, Hobie focusing on the feel of Pavitr in his arms, the warm weight of his body, the soft sound of his breathing, the sweetness of his slowly-drying hair. An hour of quieting his mind, of keeping his breathing even, filling his ears with the sound of Pavitr’s breathing, his nose with Pavitr’s scent, his mind with Pavitr’s presence. He fell into a sort of meditative state, the entire universe falling away until it was just him and Pavi, with nothing and no one else existing.
Until a wonderful sound broke the silence.
“…Ho…bie..?” Pavitr’s voice was hoarse and weak, but still the most beautiful sound Hobie had ever heard. Hobie let out a shuddering little breath, tightening his grip on Pavitr and pressing his face further into his soft hair, breathing out in one slow exhale.
“I have you.” he said softly, giving him a reassuring squeeze, “You’re safe. You’re with me.”
“I-I… How did… did I…?” Hobie hushed him gently, starting a gentle rubbing motion at his back, feeling Pavitr slowly relax against him as Hobie held him close. One of them was trembling, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was Pavitr. It only made him hold on tighter.
“You managed to get yourself to HQ.” Hobie slipped a thumb under the hem of his jumper to rub soothing circles into Pavitr’s hip, “You did good. You got yourself here safely. You were… You were messed up, love. But you’re alright now. I got you.” Pavitr weakly curled closer to him, tucking his face into Hobie’s throat as Hobie dutifully held him tight, feeling the last of the tension finally leave his shoulders at the feeling of Pavitr’s pretty lashes fluttering against his throat, his soft voice muffled in Hobie’s chest, his hands warm and strong and curled up between their bodies, twisted into Hobie’s shirt.
“I don’t r… remember much.” Pavitr admitted, soft lips brushing his bare skin, “I was scared. Panicking. Just… I just…”
“It’s alright, Pav.” Hobie crooned, but Pavitr kept going.
“I was in pure… fight-or-flight mode.” he pressed closer to him, “I c-couldn’t escape, I had to fight back and they were stronger than me, and they wanted… b-but I managed to grab one of their cleavers a-and I swung a-and I just kept swinging-“
“It’s alright.” Hobie assured him, brushing his lips against his temple, “You don’t have to talk about it right now, O’Hara’s gonna have more than enough questions for you later. Rest for now. I got you, and no one’s gonna bug you unless they get through me.”
“It doesn’t seem real.” Pavitr murmured, “I’m really safe...”
“You can rest easy.” Hobie murmured, “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Pavitr weakly tugged at him, and Hobie easily deduced what he needed, rolling Pavitr underneath him and resting his weight atop him, keeping his arms wrapped securely around him and acting as a weighted blanket. Pavitr let out a dreamy little sigh, relaxing underneath him, and Hobie hid his face in Pavitr’s throat, nosing at the spot just under his ear.
“You don’t have to worry about nothing.” Hobie murmured, mouthing at the spot, feeling Pavitr warm and perfect beneath him, “I’m not gonna let anything touch you. Nothing’s gonna get near you, not while I’m here. You’re mine, remember?”
“…I’m yours.” he felt Pavitr’s smile curling warm against his skin, like a ray of sunlight, “And you are mine, yes?”
“Damn right, and no one else’s.” Hobie kissed his temple, trying to pour every ounce of love and devotion he felt into the simple gesture, “And you know what that means, right?”
“…You’ll protect me.” Pavitr sighed, and Hobie nodded fervently against him, “You’ll protect me, right Hobie?”
“Always.” he whispered, a vow and a promise and everything in between, “I swear it. Always.”