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It was cold. Too cold. Locke was freezing, and he felt strangely like he was drowning at the same time. His eyelids were heavy, his brain felt like mush.
After a few moment of hazy confusion -Had he been poisoned and kidnapped?- his mind supplied him the answers. Fever. He was on a ship, after he fled from Camorr... After the fight with the Gray King... after Jean carried him in his strong arms like he was nothing more than a puppet to him. After he was pressed into that broad chest so gently, so carefully. "Jean..." he managed to get out, his voice weak and groggy.
In his fever induced mind, it suddenly became very important to make sure Jean was safe. That he was alright, and very much alive. He couldn't lose him. The big man was by his side in a second, before his panic could even rise.
Good. That was good. He would have reached out, but his movements were currently heavily restricted. Still, a wave of fondness rushed through him at the sight of the gentleman bastard by his side. Jean... Jean would always be there. Just as he would always be there for him.
~
Jean was a light sleeper these days. Locke would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, asking for a glass of water or an extra blanket, and he vowed to be there for whatever he needs, to the smallest of requests.
So when he stirred awake by the sound of the small man calling his name, naturally he rushed to his side, crouching by his chest.
"Locke? Are you alright? Is something wrong?" The big man spoke quickly. His hand instinctively rising to Locke's forehead to check for the fever that came and went for the last few nights. "Fuck, you're burning up. Let me get some cool cloth."
"No! No... Jean..." Locke mumbled urgently, looking at him with desperate eyes. "Don't leave me." He begged.
Jean's heart wrenched, and had it been made of glass, it'd shatter into a million pieces. Fortunately, it was a tough Gentleman Bastard heart. He didn't leave Locke, however. "I'm here." He mumbled. "Everything is okay."
Locke looked relieved. "You're... alright? Not hurt?" He inquired, some urgency still in his tone. It was ridiculous, the nerve he had. Asking Jean if he's alright when he himself isn't out of danger yet, despite Ibelius's best efforts.
Jean shook his head, then remembered it was very dark and Locke's vision might have been blurry from the fever, so he spoke up softly. "No, Locke. I'm fine, perfectly healthy." A small lie, since he still had injuries from the fight against the twins. But reassuring the small, feverish man in front of his was more important.
"That's... that's good." Locke seemed to calm down more after that, leaning back into the makeshift pillow made of an empty, folded sack. "Jean?" He turned his head towards him after a few moments again.
"Yeah?" The big man encouraged him.
"I'm cold." The smaller said.
That wasn't good, was it? Maybe he should go fetch Ibelius after all... But the second he tried moving away from Locke, the man started protesting weakly. "It's fine, I'll be right back," he tried, but it was a lost cause. He couldn't let Locke waste what little strength he had like that, and the minute small, slender fingers wrapped around his ankle (probably the closest body part Locke could find) weakly, it was game over.
He gave up, slumping back to where he sat next to the other gentleman bastard. "How can I get you another blanket if you won't let me go?" He sighed to himself. He didn't expect an answer, so he was pretty surprised when he got one.
"Just... be the blanket." Locke mumbled weakly.
It was so odd of a thing to say, that Jean couldn't help but chuckle. Surely the other meant to say something else, and his words got mixed up on the way to his mouth, right? "What do you mean?" He tried, not really expecting a coherent answer this time around as well.
And he was surprised again, when Locke breathed out an explanation that was actually quite logical. "You're... always hot. Just lay down... next to me. It'll be warmer."
Jean's mouth made an o shape as his cheeks heated up slightly. "Oh. Right. Okay." He mumbled. Things have been... different between them after they fled from Camorr.
Locke didn't start developing the fever until about a week into the journey. In that time, Jean refused to leave his side. Quite literally. The small man was never out of his sight, and more than half the time they had some sort of physical contact. Whether it was initiated by Jean or Locke, neither ever protested. At times it was as slight as having their pinkies touch as they slept, other times it was Jean holding him down as Ibelius changed the bandages, or holding his hand to comfort him afterwards.
It was simply something they both needed, after the traumas they've been through. They both looked for constant reassurances that the other is there, alive and well. Perhaps that they're not alone.
It was more than just touching, at times. He’d catch himself staring at the other, noting disapprovingly to himself how gaunt and hollow his cheeks were. How his ribs stuck out from under his skin like they never had before. Locke was always on the light side, but the night he carried him, he could have sworn the other weighed less than feathers. It gave him a scare, naturally, and he vowed to make the other put more meat on his bones than he ever had if he gets through this.
He’d also notice other things. The slender curve of his waist when he washed him. His graceful features and soft hair that was growing a bit too long now. And sometimes he thought, or maybe imagined, that Locke was looking at him too.
But they never neared the closeness they shared on the way from the Floating Castle to their hideout, and then to the ship, when Jean carried him cradled against his chest, secure in place by strong arms.
There was no real need for him to embrace the smaller man at the moment, it wasn't like he was saving his life. He could have grabbed him a blanket easily enough. Give up his own, even. But he... He specifically asked, right? For Jean himself to warm him up? It just felt much more intimate than they've ever been, and he wasn't sure what to think about it.
He snapped out of his thoughts suddenly, and looking down at Locke’s expectant stare, it was decided. He carefully rearranged the blankets Locke was wrapped in so he could scoot next to him. His small body was hot, so hot Jean couldn’t understand how he was still complaining about being cold. Little tremors passed through him every few seconds, apparent enough for the big man to notice.
He lay down as close as he could without outright cuddling the other, but apparently that wasn’t enough. Weak fingers tugged at the front of his shirt, wordlessly pulling him closer. He complied, feeling more heat rise to his cheeks and a twisty sensation in his stomach.
They were now pressed flush against one another, with Jean’s arm draped over Locke. He couldn’t find any other place to put it, or it would have come in the way between him and the other Gentleman Bastard.
“Better.” Locke said after a few long moments. The shuddering lessened significantly, and he took that was a good sign.
Jean realized he was holding his breath and let it out, forcibly relaxing his muscles too. “I’m glad.” He mumbled into Locke's hair.
He didn’t think it was possible to get closer, but as usual, Locke found a way. In a series of small movements and nudges, the small man found his way into Jean's embrace. Locke's head burrowed into the crook of his neck, his hands were spread open on his chest, as if he could absorb more heat that way. His thin legs wormed their way between his much more massive thighs in a manner that made him glad for the lack of light, because if he wasn’t before, he was definitely blushing now.
They were tangled in a way that, if he saw anywhere else, he’d be certain the people participating were lovers. And there was no way he could ignore it, not with Locke humming contentedly against his neck.
It wasn’t that it was bad, not at all. It was even rather pleasant. It’s the confusion that wouldn’t let him live in the moment.
“Locke?” he tried after a minute, his voice so tiny he was afraid the other did not hear it, even though they were awfully close.
But he did. “Yes, Jean?” Came the mumbled answer. Jean could feel the chapped lips brush his neck, the hot breath sending chills down his spine.
“Uhm… What… What’s happening, exactly?” his voice was even tinier than before, and hesitant in addition to that. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted Locke to hear it this time round.
But he did. The smaller kept his hands spread on his chest, pushing himself back to put a small distance between them. Just enough so they could look at each other. Locke’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, but not overly so. His fever had probably gone down for the moment. Jean’s heart leaped and flattered for no apparent reason, and he was sure Locke could feel it beneath his hands.
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably closer to a few seconds, when Locke requested, “Close your eyes.”
Jean’s brain wasn’t in any shape to think for itself, and obediently filled the command. He was completely in the dark when he felt Locke move against him. Not away, just… shifting closer, and upward. Lean fingers trailed over his face softly, gently. Passing on his eyelids, the crook of his nose, the curve of his lips. He could smell Locke, hear him breath right in front of him. Jean shuddered again.
Then something else replaced the fingers on his lips. Something warmer, softer. His breath hitched when his brain registered it was Locke's own lips. But he didn’t pull back. Instinct made him press closer, ever gentle.
They tugged back and forth, not in perfect harmony with each other, but that didn’t matter. They were both slow and gentle enough to fix whatever went wrong.
The flattery twisty feeling in Jean's gut made a fabulous comeback, full force this time. He raised his hand to rest on Locke's cheek merely a second before the latter slipped the tip of his tongue out of his mouth, and licked a small strip of Jean's bottom lip. He gasped softly and shuddered again -he was beginning to realize this new power Locke had over him- but gathered enough of his wits to try and mimic the gesture. The smaller man seemed to like it enough, and tongues were now added to the small party between the two men.
Locke was the first to break away, not after a long while, and settle back into the broad chest. Jean was left panting, shocked and having a hard time making sense of reality at the moment.
“So you understand now?” Locke asked quietly, almost playfully.
No, for honesty's sake he had to say he did not. But he was very intent on understanding, preferably through repeating what had just happened.