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It’s raining outside when Freed drifts awake that morning, the soft patter of water on glass and the stirring of wind in the trees just outside their bathroom window a welcome sound after the long heat of the summer. His joints, as he starts to stretch, disagree. They ache with the rain, and the chill that he can now feel seeping in as his cautious movements dislodge the duvet. He stifles a groan, not wanting to disturb Laxus, the deep, thunderous snores a fitting accompaniment to the sound of the weather; and it’s all too easy to curl back into his husband, and let the Dragon-slayer’s warmth enfold him. Knows that if he wiggled just a little, Laxus would automatically shift and wrap his arms around him.
That sounds like a wonderful idea, apart from the fact that the rest of his waking up now, and the bathroom is becoming a pressing necessity. Still, he debates, because early morning cuddles absolutely beat how cold he knows the bathroom floor is going to be if the weather has changed, but it’s a losing battle.
He’s not sure if it’s his movements, or the quiet grumble as he has to slip out of that warmth and feeling his joints increase their protests, but the snoring cuts off with a loud snort – that makes him chuckle, and warm fingers shoot out, as though Laxus hadn’t just woken up to wrap around his wrist. Gentle despite the speed, as though his husband knows that he’s aching today. He probably does, he had been the one to look out the window last night as they were doing the dishes and warning that rain was coming, with that look in his eyes, that says I’m sorry for something that neither of them could stop.
Old age becoming the one enemy they couldn’t defeat, just keep fighting together side by side. With the occasional assistance of Wendy, who had the uncanny ability to know when either of them needed a bit more help than they were willing to admit to.
“Good morning,” Freed murmurs, turning his thoughts to the much more pleasant thought of the moment.
“Stay.” A sleepy Laxus sounds like the low rumble of an angry cat, and Freed adores it, and loves it all the more because he is the only one gets to hear it. There’s a sliver of blue now, just one eye, watching him. Pleading and tempting all at once.
“Always,” Freed murmurs, ignoring the threatening groan of his joints as he leans back to press a kiss to the Dragon-slayer’s forehead. “But I need to go the bathroom.” A grumble, and expression that is most certainly a pout, although he would never call it that because Laxus Dreyar, Dragon-slayer, S-Class Mage and guild master does not pout. “You can come with me if you want to.” In the past that invitation had led to some very interesting moments in their shower, and he can see the mischief appear for a moment as Laxus opens both eyes and tilts his head, contemplating, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Now that sounds like fun,” Laxus murmurs. “However…” And he sighs dramatically. “Someone needs to keep the bed warm for you.” Teasing, gentle, just a bit of fun at least on the surface. But Freed knows better, feels the thumb that has moved to rub circles on his wrist, right where the ache – made worse after years of sword fighting – is worst, sees the worry behind the smile, the tension of an incoming storm. The Dragon-slayer ready to move in an instance if that is what is needed.
“I have such a considerate husband,” Freed’s voice is just as soft, matching the teasing, but the kiss he presses to the back of the hand holding is wrist carries a world of meaning. Thank you. I love you. I’m okay.
“And don’t you forget it,” Laxus says, releasing him reluctantly.
“As if you would ever let me,” Freed teases, moving towards the door. As if I ever would. He pauses at the door, knowing that the hand he places on the door frame to steady himself won’t go unmissed, glancing back at the bed, and at Laxus now sprawled out to take up all the space, keeping it warm for him. Eyes locked on him, and their smile matches.
I love you.
*
The bathroom floor was as cold as he had been dreading, and the little dance he performs to get to the bathmat that Laxus had obviously ‘accidentally’ forgotten to pick up the night before doesn’t help the ache. It does get his feet of the tiles quicker though, and he’s not about to snub the small wins this morning.
He doesn’t waste time, thoughts on the man and the warmth waiting for him to return. But, as he washes his hands, he can’t help but pause to study his reflection. It’s become a sin of late, an obsession that he hopes Laxus hasn’t noticed. He knows the man in the mirror, he can see the life he’s lived – the life they’ve lived – in the small scar from ear to cheek, barely visible except in certain lighting from a fight that might have seen him lose more than some blood if he Laxus hadn’t shoved him out of the way. To the faint patterning left under his right eye, from a transformation gone horribly awry.
He can see the laughter lines, around his mouth and eyes, something he could never have imagined possible before that fateful Battle of Fairy Tail – and he knows others have added to those over the years. But it’s the moments with Laxus that simmer beneath his smile now. Silly moments like this morning, teasing, laughing, soft jibes and inside jokes. The moment during their First Dance when the Dragon-slayer had dipped Freed too low, almost dropped him and then managed to stumble on his long hair. Moments in the guild, from Laxus’ first speech when he’d tried to emulate his grandfather’s enthusiasm and been so nervous lightning had flared out, taking out the S-Class balcony just as he had been warning about not going up there.
A lifetime.
Less easy to accept, was the silver that had overtaken much of his green. Although the stubborn spikes remained definitely green, much to Laxus’ quiet amusement; and the lines that bled out from the laughter lines. Age writ across his skin, as clear as the runes that guarded so much of their home and town now, years of work there for the world to see.
Sighing, he splashed water on his face. Made a fruitless attempt to quell the green spikes, which immediately sprang back as they had been, and pulled a face at his reflection. However, there was no point in feeling sorry for himself – as Ever and Bickslow were always quick to point out when he grew melancholy, and beside Laxus was waiting on him, and even after all this time, that was enough to clear those darkening thoughts and bracing himself he escaped back across the bathroom tiles, back to warmth and welcome and a place where the years would fall away in an instant.
*
Laxus had moved while he was gone, but not much. Gathering the pillows, and the numerous cushions that Freed had hoarded over the years and which always ended up on the floor during the night and piled them up at the head of the bed for them to lean against. The Dragon-slayer was lounging on them now, duvet pulled up, aside for the corner on Freed’s side which was turned down in perpetual welcome. However, it was the Dragon-slayer’s gaze, which had instantly landed on him the moment he’d nudged the door open just enough to be able to slip inside, which made him falter.
The intensity of that gaze had never faded over the years, and right now with the full weight of Laxus’ focus on him, Freed felt the colour beginning to creep up the back of his neck. A gentle warmth. As soft as the smile on the Dragon-slayer’s face as he watched Freed take another step forward and then another, only to pause again, stilled by the endlessly soft weight of that gaze.
“What?” He asked after another minute stretched without a word from Laxus, just that intense gaze, that seemed to see all of him at once.
“I love you, you know?” Laxus asked after another minute, and his voice was so soft, so terribly reverent that Freed blushed, hard and bright. Years together. Longer married. And this ridiculous man could still make him lose control with five simple words.
“If I didn’t know by now, then I really would be an idiot,” Freed managed to say at last, crossing the distance to the bed, still red-faced, but smiling.
“Well,” Laxus drawled. “It did take you long enough to realise.”
“Laxus Dreyar!”
“Yes,” Laxus raised an eyebrow, and Freed hovered on a knife edge for a moment before wanting to slap him and wanting to kiss him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done both either, but after a split second he caved and leaned in to kiss the Dragon-slayer.
“I love you too,” he said, when they parted. Reaching out to run fingers through hair that had once blazed like the sun but now shone like the moon. Fingers moving to trace the lightning scar, and the laughter lines that mirrored his own. Patterns on the skin as familiar as the magical patterns that came without thought, and he followed them now, unresisting, when Laxus pulled him down on the bed, into the warmth he had preserved for him. More than a lifetime can ever express, he thought as the Dragon-slayer all but curled around him, fitting to him, a balm against the aches, the weather waiting for them to brave the outdoors and the doubts that lurked in the bathroom mirror.
“I know.”
Soft.
Warm.
A quiet response to the words he hadn’t spoken aloud.