Work Text:
If Alex could say one thing he loved about California, it was the sun, especially in the late afternoon.
It reminded him a little of VanCity, but not so much that he missed home, which as good because he’d really found his rhythm here - mostly in thanks to not just some dedicated friends, but to the very man he was watching right now, their figures slanted through the high windows of Matt’s workshop which hummed – not just with the distant, familiar thrum of the nearby hives, but with a quiet, electric energy that radated of Matt in waves as Alex watched him work.
He leaned against the main workbench, watching Matt with keen sleepy eyes - he may have only goptten back from a tour a few days ago, jatlag was a bitch - explain the intricate process of frame repair, his voice a low, calming rumble.
“See, you gotta get the tension just right,” Matt demonstrated, holding up a wooden frame, a fine wire threaded through it. “Too loose, the bees don’t build properly. Too tight, the wire snaps.”
Alex just nodded as he listened, not really paying attention to the words, more to the vibrations of Matt’s voice. 7 months. They had been dating for 7 months and all because Alex’s little rambler had a bee infestation when he was just a struggling kid from Canada trying to make it. Don’t get him wrong, he’s still that kid, just a little better money wise.
Okay, a lot better now he’s had his first tour with an actual label, but, hey, he’s humble.
It seems that the glazed over look he’s been sporting for the last 72 hours catches Matt’s eye, as he cuts himself off about ‘geometic patterns’ with a sigh, smile warm as he cups Alex’s cheek, bringing his attention back up to the latter. “Still half asleep, huh?”
“A little-” Alex leans into the touch. “Sorry. I like it when you talk about bees, but my brain’s as fuzzy as they are right now.”
Matt just chuckled, placing the frame he had been holding down on the workbench. “Aw, naw, that’s okay, I can get carried away sometimes. You’re one of the only people who don’t shut me up.”
“I like hearing you talk.” Alex looks up at him with soft eyes, before looking at his lips and then back up. “...but then again, I do like you when you’re quiet…”
Matt didn’t need to think twice, sliding a hand over Alex’s hip where his back pressed into Matt’s workbench he had been resting on and leaning down, bridging the height gap. Their lips met, tentative at first, then deepening with the familiar pull of everything as they found their comfort levels with practised ease.
Alex’s hands moved from Matt’s jaw to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, a small grunt leaving him as Matt’s large hands pushed him up gently, Alex now sitting a little higher on the top of the cluttered workbench. For 5 glorious minutes, all that existed was Matt, the soft scratch of his stubble, the comforting scent of beeswax and something uniquely Matt, the way their bodies fit together despite the height difference, the warmth of the sun.
Matt seemingly shifted, wanting to be even closer, his hips pressing Alex’s knees slightly against the workbench. It was made of timber and steel, something Matt had put together with his own hands, similar to the hives, so he trusted it wholeheartedly to hold Alex and himself up as their combined weight rested on it.
Then, a sound ripped through the suddenly quiet workshop – a sharp, sickening crack.
It wasn't dramatic like a tree falling or worse, but it still produced the effect of Alex and Matt jumping apart. “Whoa!” Matt pulled back instinctively, his eyes wide with surprise as Alex looked up at him, confused. “What was–?” Alex started to say, but it was cut off as one corner of the heavy wooden workbench dipped violently - and the entire workbench, along with everything on it – tools, frames, jars, buckets – gave way.
It didn’t just fall; no, no, in typical fashion of something under strain, it tilted sideways, Matt barely able to catch Alex before it crashed down onto the stacks of storage meticulously arranged nearby, the shelf creaking before it too, overbalanced and came down.
Jars of honey, collected over several months of cultivation, shattered, a viscous, golden wave erupting around them, swallowing them whole. It wasn’t just a puddle; it was a flood of splatters that turned into a lake of broken glass and thick, warm, sticky honey that spread rapidly across the concrete floor, lapping around their feet, their bodies and clothes covered.
“Uh…Matt…” Alex said, his voice tight. “I think we broke your bench.”
“I think-” Matt managed, still trying to process the destruction around them, “-we also released the Kraken in the form of a honey tsunami.”
“Maybe we should-” “Yeah, we should- here, I gotcha-”
They both tried to dislodge themselves from the wreckage and the rising tide of honey, Matt mostly attempting to shield Alex from the mess while pulling him away as best he could, which only made things worse. Their clothes, already sticky, became saturated. Their shoes, now slick with honey, offered zero traction. They slipped, stumbled, and flailed, inadvertently spreading the mess further.
“Okay, I don’t think this is working-” Alex’s glasses slid down his nose, catching on a long, sticky strand of honey. He pushed them back up with a hand already coated in gold, smearing honey onto the lenses. “Maybe, one of us should go first and then the other follows?”
“Okay, okay, yeah-” Matt grunted, trying to pull his foot free enough to move out to where the honey hadn’t reached, putting Alex’s hand on his shoulder. “You steady?”
“Yeah.” The honey squelched under Alex’s fingers as he squeezed Matt’s shirt.
“Okay, slow. Very slow. Watch out for glass.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” As promised, Matt took it slow, finding their feet before taking the next step so they didn’t slip and suddenly carve themselves up like totem poles. It was painful (in terms of slowness, not in effort), but thankfully, they made it to the door, shaking their feet off as they did so.
That was when it got just that little bit worse.
As if the universe seemingly wasn’t done with them yet (that or the honey gods - if there were such deities - were very upset with how Alex and Matt handled things around the bees), Matt, in shaking off his treasured sneakers, stumbled sideways and slammed hard against something wooden and hexagonal perched on a stand – a smaller, temporary observation hive Matt sometimes used for educational purposes, or just to montior a certain cluster of bees from one of his hives if something seemed sick or off about them.
The hive swayed for a minute before the residual impact sent it toppling.
The sound that followed was immediate, loud, and terrifyingly angry: a furious, high-pitched roar of buzzing as hundreds, maybe thousands, of bees, roused violently from their home and already agitated by the vibrations and chaos, boiled out of the broken hive.
They didn’t seem interested in the honey mess, surprisingly; no, they were more focused on the two large creatures nearby, covered in sweat and sweet, sticky stuff, who had just destroyed their house - a swarm of black heading straight for them.
“Shit!” Alex yelped, before Matt grabbed his hand, the honey making harsh work of Alex’s body hair as the taller man pulled him. “Run!”
He didn’t need telling twice.
With the furious swarm hot on their heels and dripping gold, they scrambled out of the open workshop door, legging it past the other hives (and hopefully not attracting more bees to the cause) and jumping the chicken cage wire fence into Matt’s other pride and joy: the meadow he’d grown meticulously since moving from Minnesota specifically for said bees to forage and pollinate for him, that had made the honey sticking to their bodies as they sprinted through the tall grass and flowers, everything touched acting like magnets, slapping against petals, leaves, and stems.
Thankfully for them, the bees seemed less aggressive out here, maybe finding the abundance of flowers at their disposal more appealing than both Matt and Alex, the frantic buzzing followed for a tense while before slowly receding and dissipating.
After a minute of waiting to make sure that the sudden beenado was no longer a threat to their survival, both men finally collapsed panting, deep within the meadow, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colours. The immediate panic also subsided, replaced by sheer exhaustion and the utterly ridiculous sight of themselves.
Alex lay back in a patch of purple coneflower and goldenrod, his chest heaving. His brown hair was liberally coated in honey and now adorned with stray petals and small leaves, making him look like a fae that had turned into a rapper, glasses also askew, one lens smudged with honey and pollen.
His white tank (a normal Alex accessory) and blue jeans were saturated, clinging uncomfortably, festooned with a bizarre collection of wild flora as was his skin, which was also covered in small cuts from glass and welts from where the bees managed to sting him.
Matt was equally transformed, blonde hair plastered to his forehead, spiked and crinkly with tiny white daisies and bluebells, long stems of grass stuck to his cheeks and upper arms like a bad ghillie suit impression. The rest of his arms and his legs, visible beneath clinging, sticky fabric, bore blotches of honey and crushed petals, dotted with pollen like bizarre, golden freckles. He looked less like a professional beekeeper and more like a woodland cryptid who’d had a very unfortunate encounter with a honey factory.
Both of them looked at each other, before, despite the stickiness, the lingering adrenaline, and the probable disaster awaiting them back in the workshop, they started to laugh.
It began as hesitant giggles, but then it built, a full-bodied, uncontrollable belly laugh that shook them as they leaned on eachother. Alex laughed so hard his glasses almost fell off. Matt leaned back onto the grass, the sound booming through the quiet meadow as Alex gasped for air.
“Oh my god,” Alex gasped between laughs, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Your face! You look like… like a giant, sticky bumblebee!”
“-and you -!” Matt retorted, wiping a tear of laughter (or maybe just honey-sweat) from his eye, dislodging a small blue petal, “You look like you tangled with a very enthusiastic flower garden… after bathing in a vat of syrup!”
That made Alex roar, their combined laughter making their sides ache as the absurdity of the situation completely overwhelmed everything that had come before it, the sun still warm on their skin as they lay there in the grass, casting long shadows and bathing the meadow in a soft, warm light as they carefully sat up, dirt and other substances clinging to them as they waded their way out of the foral dent they’d made for themselves and back towards the caged off fence where thor journey started, Alex wincing as the sticky fabric peeled slightly from his legs. “I think that’s officially the most eventful make-out session I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, note to self-” Matt chuckled, shaking his head, sending a shower of petals (and stray drops of honey) flying on both of them, “-check the workbench screws before getting romantic.”
“Not to insult your craftsmanship, but-”
“Hey! That bench has held up perfectly well for the last 2 years!”
“I mean, if you say so, but I have to question that if your benchmarking skills are this shit, I can’t imagine what might happen if I were to let you loose on my poor house like you’ve been asking me-”
“Shut up!” Matt shoved him, tendrils of honey sounding like velcro as they came apart, both of them laughing again as they started the slow, sticky trek back towards the bungalow, each step looking like 2 walking art installations that had come to life, a trail of sticky footprints and stray petals behind them.
(and later that night as Matt spoons slave over Alex’s wounds followed by soft kisses, Alex knows that Matt’s forgiven him for the mess, even if Alex laughs from the porch the next morning as Matt fights the honey ocean they left behind with a very uncooperative broom.
Matt looks good doing it though, despite the glares he sends Alex’s way from stifled giggles, so Alex is happy to sit with his coffee and just enjoy the view.)