Work Text:
It's fairly late. Around 2 AM. You've been up working. You aren't quite used to the winters on Earth C, it's nothing like the infinite summer of post apocalyptic Texas. Despite this, you still cannot bring yourself to wear warmer clothes. You can't sleep feeling it on your skin. Jake's been asleep for at least an hour. He always gets into bed early.
Compared to you at least. You crawl into bed next to him. He’s had time to get warm under the comforter. It’s nice.
You press your face into his back. He shifts a bit and turns over, wrapping his arms around you.
“You’re cold.”
Something about skin contact is slightly overwhelming to you. You aren’t used to it in the slightest. It isn’t bad. Just different. When you’ve spent the first sixteen years of life with no human contact, it ends up feeling weird.
His face is in your hair. You can feel him breathing. You aren’t entirely sure how to describe it but, it feels right to be this vulnerable with him. Would you ever be this exposed near Roxy? You imagine her looking at you like this. Seeing how. Feminine you look. Letting him do this to you. He’s gentle when you need him to be.He twirls your hair with his fingers. It’s a subconscious action performed under sleep. It's more of a habitual action rather than being for comfort. It doesn't hurt.
"Please don't leave me."
You're afraid. Afraid he'll leave you again. You're getting weaker. Now that the others stop you from training for something that will never come. What if a drone came? You’d probably break something. You’d barely be strong enough to fight it off. Part of you knows that you’re safe now. The other part is so used to that flight or fight that it makes you want to run away. You don't want him to see you like that.
"I'm not going anywhere."
You hate this. You hate that he has to see this. Why would he love you? You're horrible, a drain to everyone around you. When you die, you doubt that anyone will be truly sad. Why would Dave care? You're the reason he's scared. It's pathetic.
You dig your nails into his back. You’ve never really been able to sleep without holding something. His skin is soft. Your face against his neck. You want to give yourself to him. If your death benefited Jake English in any way. You would take it in a heartbeat. You want to dedicate yourself to him in every way. Body, soul, blood, sweat. He is perfect in a way you cannot articulate.
You close your eyes. Relax your muscles. Listen to his breathing. Its soothing. The texture of skin has always been one of your favorites. Baby hairs on his arms mixed with his grandmother's lotion.
”It’s going to be okay. I love you Dirk. Such a lovely boy…”
You let him ramble praises into the nape of your neck. Deep down you know, he’s afraid of losing you too. Just in a different way. He rubs your back, taking time to massage the bit of your cervical spine that gets knotted from sitting at your desk all day. The stripe of hair between his belly button and his hips brush against your stomach. You’re surprised you can’t feel every hair on his body, seeing how he’s pressing into your skin. You let your eyes close. You let him coax you to sleep like this. Touching you. Murmuring into your shoulder.