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Tango can’t really describe what it feels like, going through the rift.
When he talks to Impulse about it, his friend compares it to respawning. It’s instantaneous, but there was something shoved in there – some mess of compression and stretching and a blast of light or dark.
Tango thinks that’s close, but perhaps too generous.
Going through the rift takes longer. It’s just a few moments, but those moments get stretched like that tense, dense moment right before a rubber band snaps. It’s like when his foot cramps, and the pain is so bright and so all-emcompassing that he’s sure it’s just going to go on forever – so he sits in the stench of agony for a rash of ticks, and then it’s over.
Going through the rift is like that, but that thickness isn’t pain. It’s something he can’t describe.
He thinks about it a lot, though, as he’s been going through the rift more and more since it opened. From the first time he and a handful of Hermits dove in and tumbled out into Empries, he knew he’d be climbing through that thing whenever he could, just to see Jimmy.
When Tango first came home to Hermitcraft after being bound to Jimmy, he tried to quit the man cold turkey. He threw himself into Decked Out. He jumped at any opportunity to dive into someone else’s project or latch onto a prank. But when he nestled back into his den at night, he saw golden wings and yellow hair behind his eyelids.
Eventually, Tango finished Decked Out, and he debuted it to the Hermits and some guests. When it came time to invite people, he wrote Jimmy’s invite first, but couldn’t send it. He tucked it in his vest and carried it with him for weeks, dousing it in the scent of leather, his own odor, and a pattern of redstone fingerprints from the times when he’d take it out and just stare at it. At the last minute, he handed the envelope off to Xisuma to send to Empries, and then spent the night stress testing the game until he fell head first into a respawn in the early hours of the morning.
Nonetheless, Jimmy popped into the server along with a handful of others on the presentation day. He hovered, all warm and bright and tall at the back of the group, watching Tango with this open, sunny adoration that made Tango’s words come in fragments and sputters. And after Jimmy played through the game, he’d lavished so much praise onto Tango that Tango had to duck into his noodles and try to push down his deepslate wall.
All that work, and when it came time to unveil it, all that was on his mind was that tall, blonde bird and the way his big, goofy eyes just glowed looking at him.
Jimmy stayed, after the presentation. When everyone logged off to go back to their home worlds, Jimmy ambled up to Tango, ducking his head in that sheepish way and told Tango, yet again, that he loved the game. And not even giving Tango time to sputter in response, he continued on and pulled out the smudged, crumpled envelope and pressed it against his heart like it was sacred.
Jimmy stayed. He followed Tango back to his den, Jimmy on sweeping, sunshine-colored strokes through the sky and Tango in spurts of gunpowder, and they spent the night curled close enough to each other that Jimmy’s cheeks flushed with Tango’s netherborn body heat, and Tango felt as though he were getting drunk on Jimmy’s reedy scent. It was Tango playing with Jimmy’s fingers and Jimmy draping his sunshine wings over Tango’s compact body, fingers playing with hems of shirts and warm breath and even warmer words until they dozed off with hands tangled between them.
From then, Jimmy visited whenever there was an opportunity. They logged onto the MCC servers early, listening to the stadium wake up as they huddled together in the stands. They pushed the hours of third party servers, buying a meal at the eateries there and tipping a few more dollars for every hour they overstayed their plates.
So, when the rift to Empries open, Tango eagerly enlisted and dove through to see Jimmy in his own home. And he returned often.
Tonight, Tango hadn’t even messaged Jimmy to let him know he was on his way. Making his way to his partner’s empire felt second nature, at this point. And when Tumble Town came into view, Tango made a beeline for Jimmy.
Jimmy looked up at the spark of Tango’s rockets, and his wide mouth split into a childlike smile when he saw Tango’s glowing hair approaching. He opened his big arms and received Tango at full force as his partner flew head-first into his chest.
“Rancher! My love! What do I owe the honor?” his voice went high with surprise, but he immediately brought his arms around Tango’s compact form as the other burrowed into his chest.
“Missed you,” came Tango’s gravelly voice. “Wanted to see you.”
“You just saw me a few days ago!” Jimmy chided lightly, hands running along the other’s spine.
“Mmm,” Tango groaned, tilting his head back to look up at Jimmy. “Always want to see you though.”
At that, Jimmy let out an easy laugh and bundled up Tango even more, lifting him off the ground and letting Tango climb up his partner’s body to press his face into Jimmy’s neck.
“Always want to see you too, Rancher.”
Tango is a bundle of heat against Jimmy’s lean body. Jimmy used to be a cold sleeper, leaving windows open and favoring lighter materials for his nest, but after all these nights with an ember of a man in his bed, Jimmy finds himself burrowing under fleece and spun wool in order to drift off, heating up hot water bottles when Tango’s on another server.
Jimmy puts Tango down, but keeps his arms looped around his partners shoulders. In the same way, Tango’s tail finds its way around Jimmy’s middle and settles, draped over Jimmy’s hips.
“Have you eaten yet?”
Tango grunts. “Yeah, haunches are low. Been at it with Etho all day trying to get his Piglin barter-ificator all optimized.” He bunches up his face. “Mostly been a rotten flesh day.”
Jimmy coos at that, bringing a hand up to run up the back of Tango’s head and dip his fingers into the flames dancing lazily on his scalp.
“My poor genius, my hungry Rancher –” Tango lets out an indignant scoff, but instantly betrays himself with the way he lolls his head back into Jimmy’s palm.
“Yeah, yeah. Right. Less genius more lab rat in my own lab.”
“Mmm hmm,” Jimmy hums, leaning down to drop a kiss onto Tango’s temple, then maneuvers his partner’s head to place one at his cheek. When Jimmy reaches the corner of his mouth, Tango’s letting out all these impatient noises, but letting Jimmy move his head to finally press a kiss properly to his lips.
Void, Tango could downright combust at that. He’s kissed Jimmy enough times that it usually just feels like living, like current running through his redstone circuits at regular intervals. But sometimes – sometimes when Jimmy kisses him, it’s pure light. It’s the sky cracking open when he kills the Ender Dragon. It’s the feeling of a project coming together after breaking it down and building it back up over and over again. It’s finding his first diamond on a new seed. It’s a crisp golden apple, his favorite music disc on a jukebox, it’s – it’s Jimmy.
Jimmy lazily leads him back to his base, letting Tango keep a hand on him the whole walk back. When they duck inside, Tango excuses himself to take a shower while Jimmy picks through the chests in his kitchen, absently chucking produce and meat in a pot.
When Tango steps out of the bathroom, humid air billows out into the rest of the base. He feels himself steaming still, as he picks through Jimmy’s wardrobe and pulls on a mixture of his own clothes – ones he’s left there after all this time – and Jimmy’s clothes that smell like terracotta and wax and plumage. Climbing down the stairs back down to Jimmy, he hears the simmering of stew and the popping of the fire; but at the top of it, is his partner’s rich baritone humming low.
Jimmy’s long body is propped up against the walls of his kitchen, eyes closed and wings drizzled against the oak-plank wall. He’s got his arm’s crossed, hands tucked in his elbows. He’d taken his boots off when they first came in, so Tango can see the yellow socks Jimmy’s wearing today, and Tango can see where his sheriff’s hat is carefully placed on a hutch by the door, sheriff’s star badge propped against it.
“What’s on tonight?” Tango asks. Jimmy opens his eyes, and the corners of them crinkle when they land on Tango.
Tango knows he’s steaming a bit, still – feels the last water clinging to his skin give way to his Netherborn heat. With Jimmy’s affectionate gaze on him, he stands a little taller for his partner – filling out his limited height. He’s got one of his own shirts sitting over his shoulders, unbuttoned in the desert heat, and a pair of Jimmy’s house pants sitting low on his hips to let his tail snake out over the waistband.
His tail flicks lazily back and forth behind him, having a mind of its own, unless Tango really thinks about it. But he doesn’t think about it, not when he’s with Jimmy. Being in Tumble Town, just the two of them, he doesn’t think about much beyond blonde hair and yellow wings and hazel eyes dancing across his body.
Jimmy pushes himself off the wall and turns to the stove.
“Rabbit. But I’m treating you tonight –”
“You’re treating me?” Tango comes up behind his partner and tips his head to Jimmy’s back, right between his wings..
“I’m treating you,” Jimmy’s wings tremble some, and his voice does, too. “I’ve got fresh garlic and onions. Fwip found a patch of Aliums in his Empire and dropped a bundle of them by today.”
“Gotta love Fwip.” Tango presses a kiss to the fabric covering the downy feathers he loves so much and loops his arms around Jimmy’s waist, finds the hem of his shirt to run between his fingers. His tail loops itself around Jimmy’s calf.
“Of course!” Jimmy’s voice goes high as Tango noses at the edge of the fabric, pressing the soft cartilage into Jimmy’s down.
Tango’s voice is low. “Of course.”
Jimmy props his spoon on the rim of the pot and lets his hands drop to where Tango is still working Jimmy’s hem between calloused fingers. His breath hidtches when he feels his Tango press another kiss to the skin where feather meets skin.
“Tango –” Jimmy whines, drawing out the other’s name. “My Rancher. Rancher, the soup’s almost done.”
“Mmm,” Tango grunts into Jimmy’s skin, giving Jimmy his hand but still slowly pressing warm kisses across that sensitive seam of skin. “I know. I know.”
“And the aromatics! I want it to be good for you –”
“Let it keep simmer-ficating. Soup needs to do that, right?”
Jimmy groans again, but this time it’s taking a nose dive from frustration into something a little nicer – something that Tango spins him into, all loose and pliant and wanting. And he always wants Tango, in a way he never wanted before and a way that never subsides.
“It does ...” Jimmy’s voice trails off as Tango unfurls one of his hands onto Jimmy’s stomach while keeping the other holding Jimmy’s.
As soon as Tango’s stocky, callosed fingers sprawl over Jimmy’s abdomen – the fight goes out of him. The soup does need to simmer, and it can do that for a good while before anything funky happens. But it’s hard to worry about that when Tango’s sweeping his hand across Jimmy’s torso in a way that makes him feel small.
“So good, Jimmy.” Tango murmurs into Jimmy’s wings, still working his fingers through the blonde hairs across Jimmy’s core, bracketing Jimmy’s torso in warmth.
“Such a provider –” The press of cartilage into hollow bones, nails raking across his soft tummy. Jimmy keeps making noises like he’s trying to speak.
“– So handsome –” Jimmy can feel Tango’s glasses poking between feathers when Tango turns his head just so. Jimmy lets his head loll back.
“– So hard working, my sweet Rancher.”
It’s a breathy chuckle, this time from Jimmy. He wants to push back at Tango lavishing little compliments on him.
It’s easier to accept touch from Tango – Tango fits with his body like it’s in their code. Like their bodies and stories were made with the other in mind, for them to sink into one another. But no matter how easy it is for Tango to lather Jimmy in kind words, Jimmy never feels ready to accept them. He’d rather accept soft touches or firm, knowing grasps than any verbal affirmation from Tango.
"Tango, let me -"
"Hmm?" Tango cuts him off with a low hum. Turns his cheek, pressing it flat against Jimmy so his hot breath skates along the surface of his feathers.
“Can I turn around?" Jimmy’s antsy. He's gone all fidgety under Tango. Shuffling his hand where Tango's rests over his, lifting one foot to toe against his lover’s calf.
"Wanna look at me, hmm birdy?" There's something cocky in his voice. Something that makes Jimmy feel like Tango dwarfs him, as though Jimmy fits easily under his partner's frame.
"Wanna touch you." Jimmy whines, pleads, his voice going all high in a way that Joel or Grian would poke fun at — but Tango just takes as an invitation.
Tango hums some more as Jimmy keeps fussing, his hand and warm cheek a steady presence against Jimmy's body.
Maybe he was made for this, Jimmy thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut. This evasion that comes so naturally to him – this avoidance. Flighty, his light body made for taking off and escaping. Lean muscles and hollow bones designed to dart in and out. Quick to dodge teasing, quick to bounce back from failure. So different from Tango's enduring disposition. He's a constantly stoked furnace, a rumbling ember. A flame that may flare and flicker, but remains burning all the while. A temperament that chugs along, grinds through whatever it has to.
Maybe that's why now, Tango can sense how Jimmy is looking for an out – a way to dodge the kind words that come so easily to Tango. So Tango lets his stream of compliments dry up, for now, putting off that conversation for another day. Instead, he finds comfort in being this anchor for his partner. Being a place for him to land and rest when he spends the rest of his time taking off.
It’s in this way that now, Tango knows to gently maneuver Jimmy around until they're facing each other. He unfurls his tail from Jimmy and walks them back, away from the stove – one hand anchored at the soft meat of Jimmy's hip, the other now fully intertwined in his partner's hand.
“What's wrong, sweetheart?” Tango croons, bringing their hands up to hold against his chest. He cradles them near his heart.
It’s a sheepish way that Jimmy answers, voice low and timid. That part of him made for flight still deciding whether he needs to take off. His wings tremble, the barely audible sound of feathers against feathers.
“Wanted to look at you.” Jimmy settles on admitting. His eyes are low, his gaze filtering through his blonde lashes. Tango kneads his fingers lightly into the skin of Jimmy's hip as he pours his own gaze over Jimmy. Slow to answer, letting Jimmy simmer under his heat.
Jimmy lets his eyes close again.
“Oh Jimmy.” Tango knows. He sees how Jimmy fights with adoration, dances when it's levied at him. He knows Jimmy, so he doesn't pick this fight tonight. He lets Jimmy have this and raises himself up to press a firm kiss to Jimmy's mouth, feeling a relieved smile blossom beneath.
Instead, he leads him away from the kitchen — both of them stumbling, as Jimmy keeps his eyes shut and Tango won't turn around – using his tail to haphazardly look for obstacles in his ample blind spot – all giggles from Jimmy and staccato mutters from Tango until Tango plops backwards down onto the sofa and pulls Jimmy along to fall on top of him — and lavishes Jimmy with a praise he knows how to receive. Something that allows him to squirm under Tango's firm hold in a way that doesn't leave him wanting to flee. Something that leaves him breathless and warm, his open mouth panting into Tango's shoulder as the smell of aromatics waft past them.
***
They eat the soup lounging on the front steps of Jimmy’s base, watching the sun kiss the horizon of Tumble Town with their thighs pressed together. The meat is falling-apart tender, but the vegetables are a little mushy. Tango tells Jimmy it’s delicious, and when Jimmy stammers about it, Tango scratches at his wings and presses a kiss to his cheek.
And when the sun has given way to scattered stars and phantoms can be heard in the distance, they retreat to Jimmy’s nest high up in his base. Jimmy peels blankets off his nest and leaves them in a pile just outside its threshold, even digging a cooled-off hot water bottle from the depths of his bedding and tossing it on the pile.
Once Jimmy is settled, his blinks are slow from down in his nest when he looks up at his lover, tugging off his shirt. It’s a sort of engine for him, these evenings, Tango in his roost a glowing coal in the locomotive of his life. Something that keeps the smirk on his lips and itch in his hands to keep working – regardless of how raw his skin may become under a few too many jokes at his expense, or how tired his body may grow after being met with the futility of his builds. But ensconced in his nest, watching Tango move like he belongs in Jimmy’s roost – because he does – well it – it –
Jimmy lifts himself up on his elbows to get a better view of his soulmate.
He watches the loose way Tango’s muscles move beneat his skin as he hucks his shirt over his head. The way he doesn’t even need to turn as he lobs the article into Jimmy’s hamper. How he doesn’t ask before climbing into Jimmy’s nest – just lowering himself into the nest alongside his lover.
Tango lands next to Jimmy with a huff and shimmies himself deeper into the nest. With a crooked smile on his lips, he grunts, “Move, won’t’cha?” before snagging the front of Jimmy’s shirt and tugging his long body on top.
“Hey!” Jimmy cries, but the startle doesn’t last long. It’s hard to be anything other than cozy and content when his partner’s solid body is under him – right there for him to loop his arms around.
Tango smirks down at him. “See, now isn’t this better?”
There’s a glint in his eyes that reminds Jimmy that his lover’s an incendiary being, a man of blaze and sparks and licks of heat. The enduring coals that Jimmy sees in his partner are sheathed in the Nether’s erratic, blazing nature.
Jimmy absently flickers his wings above them, faint wind swirling down over them.
“I would’ve moved if you’d asked me.”
Jimmy feels the tickle of Tango’s tail slithering up his leg, punctuated by the flat of the spade rapping once against the curve of his backside. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”
Jimmy noses at his partner’s beard, feeling the chafe of stubble against skin, and he ducks down to nip at Tango’s sturdy jaw.
“You torment me,” he whines, finally propping his head on Tango’s shoulder to pour his biggest puppy-dog eyes at his partner. “You come into my nest, just to torture me –”
Tango muffles Jimmy’s whining, bringing his hand over his mouth. “I’m pretty sure it’s our nest at this point.” Tango tils his head. “Just like we definitely have shared custody over my den back on Hermit- hey! You can’t lick my hand!”
Tango snaps his hand away, scrubbing his palm against Jimmy’s pantleg as Jimmy suppresses cackles against his partner’s shoulder.
“Can so.” Jimmy raises his eyebrows and wags his chin smugly, giggles still simmering behind his mouth as he tightens his grip on Tango’s waist.
“‘S not playing fair.” Tango pouts, inspecting his hand like Jimmy’s stained it.
“We were literally making out two minutes ago – quit complaining.”
“Not the same.”
But Jimmy knows he’s won, or Tango’s decided he doesn’t actually care, when he feels the press of lips against the tip of his nose. His eyes sink shut, and he tilts his head up to catch Tango’s mouth.
“Thank you,” Jimmy whispers.
Tango brings a hand up to cradle Jimmy’s head, threading his fingers through the fine blond hair at his neck.
The gentle rub of fingertips in hair, Tango’s low voice. “What are you even thanking me for?”
Jimmy squits, and it’s the same thing again – the heaviness of his partner’s adoration, so warm on his face that he swears he can feel sweat beading on his neck.
Times like these, where Tango’s caught Jimmy in insecurity, Jimmy worries that he’s too messy for Tango, too squirrly for him. That they’re unevenly matched, the glory of Tango and the chaos of Jimmy.
Tango’s solid. Immutable, unmovable. A boulder of a man and a machine of a player.
Jimmy’s partner is a man of order and achievement. He makes things that knock the breath out of Jimmy’s lungs and leave him scrambling to understand how they even work. Before Tango’s even properly begun a project, he has a queue of his friends waiting eagerly to try it out and shower him in praise. He plans and invents and earns every iota of awe that’s given to him.
And Jimmy . . .
Jimmy’s gunpowder shop is always empty. He’s got a sherif’s badge, but no authority to back it up. He’s got some builds he feels pretty good about, but when he goes to his friends’ bases, it makes him come up with excuses to not bring them back to his own.
He knows that he’s always the butt of the joke. And usually he doesn’t mind – it’s funny when Jimmy messes something up and his friends pile on him over it. It’s a good laugh for everyone involved. And ninety-nine times out of the hundred or so it happens, Jimmy flies home still chuckling at the quips made at his expense.
But sometimes he gets home and it’s like the time with his friends has scrubbed him raw, and all he can do is sit in his nest and wait for his skin to grow back. Wait for their jokes to be funny again.
When Tango hears Fwip and Joel rag on Jimmy too much, his hair burns hotter and his stocky fingers curl into fists. And Jimmy just runs his hand along his partner’s spine and makes sure Tango can see him smile, and the little pool of shame that sometimes leaks into his stomach feels a little stickier than usual.
Because Tango wants to fix it. At his best, he wants to talk to Jimmy’s friends and help them explain how he feels. He wants to come up with some kind of blueprint for them to keep from hurting Jimmy anymore. And at his worst, he wants to cram their bases full of TNT and trap them in a death-loop so fool-proof that they’ll be apologizing by the letter until Tango is satisfied.
Tango wants to bundle Jimmy up in his arms and spew magma at anyone who loves Jimmy any less than he does, or who shows it any less gently.
And it’s nice, that Tango wants to stand up for Jimmy, that he wants to defend him. But it would be nicer if Jimmy didn’t need defending at all.
Because as easy as it is with Tango, as right as it feels to fit his body on top of his partner’s and bask in his balmy presence, it would be easier if Jimmy wasn’t someone who needed fixing. It would be easier if he wasn’t a project Tango could work out – because Tango always catches the bugs in his system, and Jimmy’s left flayed open before him.
And so often, Tango shows him mercy. He pushes Jimmy’s buttons and then lathers him in reassurance and a snug embrace, the pressure Jimmy felt forgotten in the wake of a dozen kisses across his countenance.
But sometimes Tango presses a button and doesn’t pull back his finger, just watches to see if Jimmy will stop fighting.
This time it seems he as chosen the latter, and Tango doubles down and repeats himself, his voice gentler this time when he says, “My Rancher, what are you thanking me for?”
And Jimmy knows that no doe-eyes, no tantilizing touches will sway his partner when he’s levied his focus. So Jimmy does all he knows how to do and breaks eye contact and drops to bury his face in his lover’s shoulder, hiding and dodging.
Evasion, as always, even with Tango.
Jimmy feels like a leaky dam. Like his faults are always spilling out of him and getting all over those around him. Maybe it’s what he owes to his friends, allowing them to lob jokes at him as reparations for having to endure the overflow of whatever’s wrong with him.
And Tango seems to just tank it, take whatever keeps spilling out of Jimmy, and he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t expect Jimmy to toil in penance for his mess; Tango sits in the sewage and asks for more – more of Jimmy, more of his soggy, leaky birdy.
So maybe it’s why Tango, impatient as he often is, is willing to wait for him. He lowers his hands to the downy feathers on Jimmy’s back and works his fingers into the tender skin there. His touch an assurance that whatever shape Jimmy’s in, Tango will have him.
It’s for that reason, Tango’s touch the proof of his lover’s devotion, Jimmy figures he’ll answer plainly.
So he whispers into his lover’s skin, “For kissing me.”
And Void, Jimmy swears he can hear the smile burning on Tango’s lips without even looking up to see. It smolders through his skin, fond and proud and so very Tango.
“Don’t have to thank me for that,” voice rough in the dim orange room.
Jimmy feels Tango come across a pinfeather amidst the fluff, still in its casing, and pinch it, crushing the keratin between his fingers. He swipes the slivers off Jimmy’s back, and Jimmy is full of that toasty feeling of being cared for.
And Jimmy cannot explain why he offers up another answer. It’s so unlike him – Tango’s given him an out, and this is where he takes it. But Tango’s patience, his meticulous, boundless care draws something else out of him. A confession, professed in a barely audible voice.
Jimmy murmurs into his Rancher’s neck, “For loving me.”
Tango lets out a hum that Jimmy feels reverberating through his chest, like he and Tango’s torsos are made of one flesh, sinew and muscle woven together to create one body. One player, where Tango balances out all of Jimmy’s inadequacies and fissures – where he makes him whole.
Tango murmurs, like an oath and like a prayer, “Don’t have to thank me for that. It’s all there is.”
It’s nothing to me. It’s everything.
And this seems to be enough for Tango, enough of a resolution to this iteration of Jimmy’s anxieties. Jimmy feels as the body under him lets out a breath, hot air billowing over his neck and Tango’s chest falling beneath him.
In the desert night, with starlight winking in through the windows, they settle into sleepy silence.
Jimmy drapes his wings over the two of the, trapping Tango’s Nether heat in his nest, and Tango keeps his tail looped around Jimmy’s leg. And as Jimmy lets himself sink into sleep, he imagines the world is only him, the wreck that he is, and the solid man beneath him. Nothing beyond the security of body heat and feathers and sleep-slowed breaths in the safety of their nest.
And truly, as Tango told him, it’s all there is.