Archive of Our Own

Most of the fluorescent lights in the hospital room are off in favor of one nestled above Geno's bed, where a few heart shaped balloons are tied to one of the arms. Rose petals had been spread across the bed, scattered around over Geno's legs, some of them having fallen off from the sides. Geno is propped up in said bed, the oxygen mask on his face faintly fogging with each assisted breath he takes.
Tubing drapes over his collarbone, IV lines sprouting from under his hospital gown, others extending from his arms, leaving him entirely helpless in his terms.

Reaper is sitting in the room's chair barely a foot away from the bed, too close. That is the problem.
He smells of a nutty cologne, something warm on the senses, and of freshly cleaned linen undeniably from the tailored suit he's still wearing from when he came in with that sweet Valentine's surprise an hour ago.

Geno lets out grumble under his breath, shifting himself to get comfortable, resulting in his IVs tugging partially, and causing the machines to chirp in response. He freezes, ultimately pouting as Reaper looks up immediately from the newspaper he was reading.
"Pain?" He questions, Geno narrows his eye in his direction.

"No."

He shifts again, the tubing running down from the clear cup over his mouth brushing across his sternum in the process.
He groans into the mask, lifting a hand to run over the side of his skull, clearly irritated by something.

Reaper raises an eyebrow, eyes narrowing lightly with observation. "What?"
Geno turns to stare at him, longing, and intense, before opening his mouth to speak.
"If I were not," He starts carefully, voice slightly muffled behind plastic, "attached to half this building..." He lets out a breath.
Reaper sets the newspaper to the side now, shifting to face his husband fully now, blinking at him with some curiosity. "...Yes?"

"I would have already climbed into your lap by now." Geno finishes, exhaling another breath he had to take. The monitor a few feet away immediately gives a warning beep as his soul-beat ricks upward. "Traitor..." He grumbles under his breath in the direction of said machine, turning back to Reaper who's lip twitched upward lightly. "You are on oxygen, my dove."

"I am aware." Geno replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You nearly fainted two days ago." Reaper counters, foot tapping on the tile.
"I remember." Geno grumbles again, shooting Reaper a soft glare.
"And you think this is the appropriate time to be-" Reaper starts to question.

"Yes." Geno said flatly.

Reaper lets out a soft laugh as he leaned back in his chair, a warm and dangerous sound that got Geno's face to flush a soft shade of red. He shifted again, frustration practically radiating off of him as his hands flexed at his sides.
He wants to reach! To pull, to press closer to Reaper. To touch, to kiss without worrying about yanking something vital loose.
Instead he's stuck here, breathing through a mask like the universe itself installed a chastity device to his person.

"It's Valentine's Day," Geno mutters aloud bitterly, his single eye twitching lightly.

Reaper sits up, leaning closer now with his elbows resting on his knees, deliberately lowering his voice. "I am aware of that, too."
Geno gestures outward to his bed, "You set up roses and balloons," He accuses.

The god hums at his words, "Yes I did."
Geno then gestures towards Reaper's person, the IV in his arm shifting from the sudden movement. "You wore that suit."
Reaper doesn't stop the grin that spreads over his features. a glint in his lightless sockets. "I did."

Geno can't stop the scoff that he lets out past his teeth, upturning his chin with some annoyance. "You're sitting that close on purpose." He observes, the monitor chirping behind him when his eye meet's Reaper's own. 

"Absolutely." Reaper replies.

Geno finds himself deflating, leaning his head back into the pillow with an audible huff. "This is entirely cruel, you know that?" he grunted, turning away from Reaper's direction even as he heard the chair shift from his weight.

Reaper, now closer to the bed side, slid one of his hands carefully over the blanket where Geno's thigh is located.
"Do you think I am unaffected?" Reaper murmurs the question, watching as Geno's chest rises with a sharp inhale, the machines to his right hissing in response.

"Don't," Geno warns weakly, turning back towards Reaper who cocked his head. "Don't talk like that."

Reaper hummed, leaning closer anyway, his lips brushing past the plastic mask Geno wore over his face to breath, kissing the edge of his cheek where the plastic doesn't block him. The act earned him a small, frustrated noise from Geno.

"I hate this mask. I hate these wires, these IVs, these damn tubes." Geno almost growls his complaints, lifting one of the tubes for emphasis, even as Reaper lifted a hand to trace his thumb over the curve of his jaw.
"It is assisting in keeping you from overdoing it." Reaper comments, earning himself another frustrated noise.

"These damn things are cock blocking me from my husband on Valentine's Day!" That got Reaper laughing again, shoulders shaking lightly as he shifted to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. "You are unbelievable."

Geno's eye almost darkens with intent, a low hungry look in that soft, desperate way. Turning back in Reaper's direction, hand finding the fold of his suit jacket, and tugging it close. "I want you." He says plainly, no dramatics, no theatricals, and very much full of desperation.

Reaper's gaze shifts, his magic stirring beneath his own clothes at what could almost sound like a straight confession.
He leans in again, pressing a slower kiss to Geno's cheek while being mindful of every wire, tube, and fragile tether as he gently pulled him close by the hip.

"We will celebrate properly," Reaper murmurs against his jawline. "When you can function without machine assistance." Geno exhales shakily into the mask, shoulders slumping yet his hand doesn't let go of the other's suit.

"You're strangely calm about all this." Geno sighs, attempting to press further into Reaper's soft affections.
"Mh, I am simply disciplined." Reaper chuckles, Geno could only groan out while his head fell forward into the god's shoulder.
"The moment I'm discharged, you're not getting five minutes." Geno breathed, tail gently thumping against against the bed from beneath the bedding.

"I would not expect anything less." Reaper cooes.