Work Text:
He’d never seen Oskar so pale, practically blending into the pillows his head rested on. He’d been sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, for four hours. Four hours since he’d come out of surgery for his bullet wound.
He’d long believed his feelings for Oskar were those for a best friend – he’d never had one of those before yet had imagined it would be like this – but when Oskar had stepped in front of that bullet— No, when Oskar had growled ‘he’s mine!’ and stepped in front of that bullet…
He was a psychoanalyst, knew there were no bad thoughts, but he shouldn’t have been sexually stimulated by Oskar’s actions, his erection only subsiding at the sight of Oskar’s blood on the ground.
Dearest friend? Nonsense. Oskar had become his everything. He gently released his hand and locked the private room’s door. Shedding his clothes down to his shirtsleeves, he kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed alongside Oskar, curling his thin frame in as close as he dared, settling one arm lightly across his upper body.
He couldn’t stop staring at him, his stubborn profile, revelling in the feel of his muscular chest moving beneath his arm as Oskar breathed. He’d never realised he was in search of safe harbour but here it was, the urge to kiss him almost irresistible. Almost. What if, all evidence to the contrary, Oskar did just view him as his best friend?
He must have drifted off, only waking to Oskar’s rasped, “Max? What are you doing here?”
He’d been accused his whole life of rushing headfirst into things without a second thought and saw no reason to break a lifetime’s habits. “I am yours, always.”
Oskar’s smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen before he kissed him.