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The room was dark and cool. Lovecraft lay lost in the sound of the rain and John's sleepy noises of contentment. It was so peaceful that he almost didn't mind being awake, even though it was far too early.
He shifted slightly and tugged the blankets up around his shoulders. He wondered how humans ever managed to get out of bed. Usually he slept wherever was convenient, and woke out of necessity. Soft pillows and warm blankets made the latter incredibly difficult.
John seemed to be immune to the soporific effects of comfort; he rolled closer with a fussy whine, and tucked himself up against Lovecraft's back. Lovecraft smiled into the dim morning light. It had taken him awhile to get to used to John's insistence on physical contact, but eventually he had come to find it strange to sleep without the man's body heat next to him.
John's hands drifted up his back, and he nuzzled softly at Lovecraft's shoulder blade.
This relationship, from the start, had been oddly different from what Lovecraft had come to expect from humans. He had felt some degree of affection towards certain members of the species before, of course. Occasionally arrangements had been made, formed more out of a mutual curiosity than anything. While they helped relieve some of the tedium of the ages, they were generally quite short-lived.
And then there was John; curious and stubborn, but also genuinely accepting and patient. He never asked the barrage of questions that Lovecraft found tiresome. Even when he started to piece together the truth of what Lovecraft was, John still insisted on treating him as a friend. Even in moments where his confusion and his fear threatened to get the better of him, he smiled.
As they spent more time together, it became clear that John's blithe disregard was a coping mechanism that he had wrapped himself in like a second skin. It was disingenuous and sad in a very human way. One day, Lovecraft realized that he also found it almost heartbreakingly beautiful.
One of John's arms snaked over Lovecraft's waist and curled against his chest.
He had resigned himself to appreciating the man in silence; such a feeling was rare enough that there was no way it could be mutual. If he had ever felt a surprise like the one that shot through him when John had stammered out his confession, it had been lost to time. It still surprised him, in fact, even though they had both grown much bolder in their expressions.
John pressed tighter against his back, and began speaking quietly, in the soft mumble that he used when he thought Lovecraft was asleep. "I really hope that somewhere, in all the things I don't know about you, is something that lets you know how much I mean it when I say I love you."
Lovecraft lay very still. Somehow, acknowledging that he was awake felt like a betrayal.
John suddenly squeezed him hard and buried his face into his hair. "I know you'd rather be home, but please don't leave. Please."
He couldn't just lay there quietly after that. "John?"
John's muscles tensed. "Did I wake you?"
The man's eyes were wide and nervous. Lovecraft's throat caught before he could answer. How could John have no idea how very precious he was?
"You are mistaken, John Steinbeck. There is nowhere I would rather be."
"Oh." It wasn't even a word, it was pure surprise escaping John's mouth.
It was too perfect an invitation to resist; Lovecraft leaned into the gasp, and bumped his nose against John's. He sighed internally. Every time. One day he would get the hang of that motion, but for now he readjusted into John's soft laugh and their lips met.
"You mean it? About staying?" John asked, short of breath, when their kiss ended.
"Yes."
"Thanks," John said, his voice suddenly thick.
The rain began to beat harder against the window.
Lovecraft studied John's still-worried expression as he threaded his fingers through the man's soft mop of hair. "I will stay by your side until you tell me otherwise."
John seemed confused. "If I go anywhere, you can come with me."
"This is a very... unconventional relationship, and you have ties to consider that I do not."
"You mean my family."
Lovecraft nodded.
John sighed, "Can't we just... deal with that later and enjoy the morning?"
"If you like."
They lay quietly. Lovecraft listened to the rain, and enjoyed the rough warmth of John's hands in his own. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"No, it's okay. It's just... something that isn't going to go away." John sighed. "They do like you, you know."
Lovecraft had joined John in visiting his family on a few separate occasions. "Yes. They are glad to know you have a friend at the job that seems to weigh so much on you. However, the truth of the situation is now... rather different."
Their most recent visit had been very shortly after they had admitted their feelings for one another. John had sneaked into the guest bedroom for awhile the first night, but was startled the next morning over breakfast when Winfield had asked him why he had been in the bathroom for hours.
At the time, Lovecraft hadn't realized his mistake when he asked, confused, why John hadn't told him he was feeling unwell when he had come into his room. And although John's furious blush and squeaks of protest had been, frankly, adorable, the raised eyebrows and glances between the older Steinbecks at the table suggested they should be more cautious.
"I mean, I don't have to tell them. It could be just like work." John frowned. "It would be nice if I could, though. I'd like them to know that I'm happy. And you could come do all the family stuff with us." He laughed suddenly at the thought, "you could join us in church on Sunday mornings."
"That might be inadvisable."
"Yeah, you look awkward enough when we say grace." His expression turned darker. "Honestly, I probably shouldn't go either. I hurt people for a living and I'm in love with a sea monster. Ugh!" He fell backwards onto the bed and grimaced at the ceiling. "Why is this so complicated?"
Lovecraft's worried face hovered over him, framed by hair that waved right against his nose. "Are you all right?"
"Mostly," John answered, as he tried to brush Lovecraft's hair away from his mouth. "Do you mind if I think out loud for a little?"
Lovecraft settled beside him and closed his eyes. "Not at all."
"Okay. So, Ruthie and Win, they won't care. Well, Ruthie might care a bit, I think she's getting a little crush on you of her own." He laughed, "She might be kinda sour her big bro beat her to it."
"John, I do not want to date your little sister," Lovecraft said, seriously. "She always gets things stuck in my hair."
John laughed long and hard at that. "Well, good. I mean, I wasn't worried about it. You kind of took away the wrong thing there."
"Ah. What was I meant to... take away?"
His expression was still so serious that John couldn't help himself. He rolled over and planted a tiny kiss on Lovecraft's nose. Lovecraft blinked at him, confused.
"I just can't see either of them telling me I'm a terrible person for doing that, that's all. Now, Rose, I don't know. I don't think she'd say anything, but I can imagine her disappointed face. And then there's ma and pa..." his voice hitched. "God, I just don't know. I'm supposed to inherit the farm, raise a family. I'm not supposed to come waltzing in with a... a... boyfriend. It's not what folks like us do. I just can't--" his voice caught again and he stared up into nothing.
Lovecraft rolled onto his side, ready to offer what comfort he was able, but John shifted away from him, keeping his face hidden. "I can't lose them," he said, quietly. His shoulders shook raggedly and he went quiet.
Lovecraft reached out gingerly and placed a palm against John's back. He could feel his labored breaths and racing heartbeat. "John?"
"But what am I supposed to do, just keep showing up with 'my friend from work' for the rest of my life? They're not idiots. I'm pretty sure they'd figure it out."
The phrase "the rest of my life" took hold in Lovecraft's mind and made it very difficult for him to retain his focus on the conversation.
John continued, "And anyway, say I finally get my way out of this shitty job and go back to the farm, where does that leave you if I never tell them?"
Lovecraft's voice was distant. "In the same place I will end, regardless."
Silence descended.
"I'm sorry," John said at last, turning back over. His eyes were red and puffy. "I didn't mean--"
Lovecraft shook his head. "John. Human life by its very nature is... brief. I cherish whatever amount of time I have to spend with you. And however long or short it may be, when it ends, I will mourn its loss, but I will not regret it."
It was so easy to forget, not that Lovecraft was different, but just how unfathomably different he really was.
John swallowed hard, momentarily lost in his dark stare, ancient and ageless.
"The end comes to everything, John. Perhaps one day, it may even come for me."
John felt his eyes sting again and he buried his face in Lovecraft's chest. The tears came openly this time, and although Lovecraft had very little idea how to deal with the sudden outburst, he tried his best, holding John close until he stopped shaking.
"You've been having to deal with that the whole time, haven't you?" John asked, his voice muffled by congestion. "You're going to get hurt no matter what. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm so selfish, I never thought about what it meant for you to--"
Lovecraft laughed quietly against the top of John's head. "It is not your fault that after all this time, I am still foolish."
They sat like that for some time, the rain outside growing more insistent. John held onto Lovecraft as tightly as he could, as if he could somehow make everything all right through sheer force of will.
"I'll figure it out," he said quietly. "I promise."
Lovecraft nodded sleepily against the top of John's head. The man was always so eager to take responsibility for others' happiness. Perhaps one day he would learn to focus more on his own. Until then, Lovecraft vowed to do what he could to help him shoulder his burdens. Or at least forget them for a time.
"John?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do we have anything we absolutely must do today?"
"Today? Nah, don't think so."
Lovecraft carefully disentangled himself from John's arms, and lay back down, pulling the other man down beside him. "Good."
John nestled his head between his arm and chest and laughed softly. "Still sleepy?"
"Yes."
"Me too." He felt John's mouth brush against the side of his chest in a lazy kiss. "G'night."
When Lovecraft woke again the patter of rain could still be heard outside. He rolled onto his side and curled up tighter under the blankets.
John made a soft noise of distress and shifted closer, his knees pressing into the back of Lovecraft's knees.
Lovecraft smiled to himself and pressed back against the embrace. He heard a quiet chuckle.
"Sorry if I woke you up again."
He made a dismissive noise.
John's fingertips traced lines lazily along his back, which were erased every few seconds by warm breaths.
"I can get up and start breakfast if you want to sleep some more."
"Stay."
He could practically feel John's smile widen against his skin. "Okay." The smile dissolved into a series of kisses along his spine, and melted further into long drags of tongue.
The sound of the rain outside grew more insistent, but it couldn't quite drown out the soft wet noise of John's mouth on his back, or his occasional happy murmurs. Lovecraft let out a contented sigh of his own.
He moved his head slightly to try to get more comfortable on his pillow. Most of his long hair trailed itself into John's face.
"Augh!" John coughed. "Not fair."
Lovecraft laughed softly and rolled onto his back so he could look the other man in the eye. "That is the risk you take for being the larger utensil," he said seriously.
He could see the amusement on John's face. Had he gotten the expression wrong?
"Guess I just like to live dangerously," John answered with a wide grin. "Plus, I can't really help it, you're too cute when you curl up like that, I just have to snuggle."
Would he ever get used to these strange expressions of affection? Cute? He shrugged. "You could try sleeping, instead."
"And miss out on you being adorable? No way."
Before Lovecraft could protest, John changed tactics. "Oh! Guess what? I thought of a new nickname for you."
Lovecraft grew a little worried. John had a habit of using a variety of terms he had called "pet names," and, due to their strangeness, sometimes it wasn't clear to him what the man was talking about. First there had been a string of food-related terms that John assured him were considered standard in human use: pumpkin, honey, sugar. Confounding. After awhile, John had started inventing his own: squidlips, snugglenemone, fishbiscuit. He used one once within earshot of Twain; Twain still laughed and called him "octokisses" whenever they met.
"Wanna hear it?"
Lovecraft knew he didn't really have a choice. And truthfully, he didn't mind all that much. He was simply glad that John's earlier dark mood seemed to have subsided, even if it had been replaced with his signature overabundance of energy. "All right."
John leaned closer with a grin and whispered into his ear, "Cuddlefish." He paused a moment. "Get it?"
Lovecraft stared wordlessly.
"I knew you'd like it." John began a quiet chant of "Cuddle, cuddle, cuddlefish," as he returned to his earlier ministrations. It wasn't too long before he distracted himself with another thought.
"Hey, Lovecraft?"
"Yes?"
"What's your real name?"
"What do you mean?"
"C'mon, I'm not dumb. You didn't come out of the ocean with a regular name like Howard."
Lovecraft frowned slightly. "I don't understand why it matters."
"I'm just curious," John said with a smile, "and maybe I want to be able to call you by your actual name."
"That would be... difficult."
"What, you don't think I can make weird noises? I can absolutely make weird noises!"
"I didn't intend the statement as... a challenge. Merely a statement of fact."
John ignored him, in favor of making a disturbing gargle. He suddenly stopped and started coughing. "That's gotta be pretty close, right? Sometimes you talk in your sleep, it sounds kinda like that. It also makes my skin crawl, but... not for very long. So it's okay."
Lovecraft sighed. Of course he would decide to be stubborn on this.
"C'mon, just tell me! If you do, I'll tell you my real name!" He grinned.
"I know your name, John."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Okay, okay, you got me there." He laughed and tucked his head under Lovecraft's chin. "Maybe you don't want to say because it's embarrassingly adorable. Like..." His voice trailed off for a moment while he thought, then he made loud kissy noises followed by a high-pitched squeak.
Lovecraft was glad the man couldn't see his slight smile, as he tried to sound annoyed. "John. You do not possess the capacity to perceive half of it, let alone approximate it."
"So it's like a dog whistle?"
The human insistence on reducing everything to its simplest form. "Yes. Just like that."
"Okay," John nodded. "Tell me anyway."
Lovecraft sighed again. "Very well."
After a moment John felt a strange sensation in the back of his mind, like a damp collection of clicks and crinkles. There was a sudden susurrus of whispers and the sensation of unending darkness in the pit of his stomach. For a second he could have sworn he was somewhere else entirely, surrounded by dying stars. Then he was firmly back in bed, Lovecraft's breath warm against the top of his head.
"Oh," he said.
He felt the low chuckle more than he heard it. "Are you satisfied now?"
John looked up at him, and thought for a moment. "It's really kind of pretty. It suits you."
It had taken him a long time to be able to pick out the very slight flush that indicated Lovecraft was blushing. It was definitely there now. "You are a strange man, John Steinbeck."
"Yep." His eyes gleamed. "And you like it."
Lovecraft chuckled again, a soft laugh that was more motion than noise. "Go back to sleep, John."
"Nope, I'm not going back to sleep until I figure out how to pronounce your name," he announced. "I think I have a good idea, tell me how close this is."
While Lovecraft struggled with trying to understand how he thought he could interpret a non-audible sensation with his human vocal cords, John ducked under the blankets and blew a loud, wet raspberry against Lovecraft's stomach. Lovecraft pushed him away reflexively with a noise of alarm. John's laughter, even muffled by the blanket, was loud and bright.
"Pretty good, right? That's what I'm gonna call you from now on."
"Please don't."
"It might be kind of awkward in company but they'll get used to it. You're gonna have to start leaving your shirt untucked." He was still giggling against Lovecraft's side. "So, what do you want for breakfast?" he asked, then suddenly assaulted Lovecraft's stomach again.
"John!"
The lump of blankets shook with more laughter. "If you don't like it, you're gonna have to stop me!"
He ducked to repeat his action and Lovecraft rolled away slightly, and put a restraining hand on John's shoulder.
"Hmph. Very well." He pulled the blankets up over both of them with a free hand and occupied the man's wayward mouth with his own.
"You know that's just rewarding me, right?"
"You are incorrigible, John Steinbeck."
"Love you, too."