Work Text:
The apartment felt empty without Alice.
Wake knew what was waiting for him there, knew it wouldn't be easy. Yet, he stepped inside. He had do.
The cold city felt less present here. The usual mess around the space, the warm lighting and all those memories almost made it feel like home.
Almost.
The feeling of nausea crept up higher Alan's throat as he took another step into the quarters.
He couldn't do it.
Not today.
He was never a fighter. Sure, he'd pick fights and get drunk and get his fists ready, but when push came to shove, he preferred to run.
That's what he's doing now. Running, a pathetic decision of a pathetic man. He has to get away. From the memories and the life he misses more and more with every torn page.
From himself, again.
The Dark Place knows what he needs. In a mocking display of caring, the path leads him to the nearest hotel, up the stairs, past the whispering shadows and to a single room where the lights never go out. He knocks. He waits, not very long.
"Oh," Zane exhales in genuine surprise, then quickly ushers the writer in.
Wake is just as quick to act; as soon as the door closes, he pushes the other man into it. Leans in with his entire body. Grabs at Tom's shoulders, steadying himself, or hiding in his warmth, or still running - it's all a blur. The only thing that comes into focus are Zane's hands on his chest. Alan presses into him further, eliciting another quiet sound of surprise, and only then does he finally still.
Tom's fingers gently massage his scalp, but it's too soft, as if he's uncertain. Wake can't blame him; he's even less sure about what he's doing right now.
"I, uh, maybe I'll get us something to drink, and we'll talk?" Zane's voice sounds forced, laced with hope.
"No," Alan says.
No, I need you right here, heart beating against my ribcage and fingers intertwined with mine, is left unsaid.
Instead, he leans in for a kiss. Zane's lips are hot against his own, but they give Wake a slight resistance, and he furrows his brows when he notices.
It soon goes away as the kiss deepens, and only then does Alan feel him relax, even if only so much. He does, too, when Zane's arms gently massage his shoulders. Zane feels guilty, Wake realizes. He shouldn't have to.
"Hey," he starts, and wishes he'd think it through before speaking because Tom is looking at him with those drunken blue eyes, expecting him to say something else.
"It's alright. I remember," Alan assures before leaning in again. It's less frantic this time, he's gentle now, and this seems to help; Zane sucks at his lower lip and tugs at his neck to pull him into the kiss with newfound need.
It doesn't end for a while.
When it does, they're on a sofa, cuddled up and exchanging soft touches. He could get used to it. They both could. And then, get addicted. Until then, all Wake can do is seek Zane out, cover his mouth with his own, inhale and smash their lips together until they're both breathless, sweaty and dumb.