Work Text:
Flow doesn't often enjoy quiet moments. He likes conflict and fights. Admittedly, he can't really sit still when he's not in some kind of fight or war.
But occasionally, every once in a while, it actually feels good to calm down. The shower he took five minutes ago finally got rid of a permanent ache in his shoulders he's been feeling for weeks now. His hair feels good again, his fur fluffing up properly, and when he plops down on his bed, he's more than happy to just sigh and relax where he sits.
Of course, he still can't do nothing for a prolonged time, so after those first five minutes, he fishes his brush from his inventory. By now, the summer heat has dried enough of his hair to make it fluff up. He ignores that fact in favour of dragging the brush through the shorter parts of his hair, feeling the ends curl up just a little once he's done with them. A small, reserved smile paints itself onto his lips without his consent. It just … feels nice.
He runs a hand through his hair to rough it up just so it doesn't stick to his head too much, then takes the brush again. Before his shower, he'd taken out his braid. Now, that part reaches to his ankles if he were to stand up, and he's not stupid enough to leave it unbraided in fights.
Carefully, he parts the long strands into three sections. This is going to take a while, but he at least has the base to himself. Having his hair this soft is a rare occurrence these days. He's always doing something, and his showers have been hurried and less safe than he'd wished for—he's never going to live down the incident with Sword. So, feeling his hair be this nice and smooth is good, it reminds him not everything in his life has to be rushed all the time. He drags a hand through the strands again for good measure.
Flow hears the footsteps of someone approaching, but the fact that they're on socks is enough to relax the second he wanted to jump for his sword. No one looking for a fight enters a base on socks. The bed dips behind him. Gentle hands take the hair from him, and he's happy to drop his own into his lap.
"You look like you've had a nice shower." SB's voice has a smile to it Flow copies easily. His teammate takes over his work to make three even sections and without so much as asking anything, then gets to work twisting his hair into a perfect braid fit for fighting. He's asked about it before, studied it another time. Maybe he'd done it before or he has some natural affinity to it after watching him do it once, but he doesn't make a single dissatisfied noise to indicate it's not working out for him.
It's nice to not have to do any of the work for once.
He sighs, a positive thing. "I had a fantastic shower, uncle." His skin still glows from the heat of the water and his fur is mostly dry but nice and warm to the touch. SB probably knows, his hands keep brushing the stripe of fur along his spine.
"That's good," he says, voice hushed. His words hit his back, just another source of heat in this awful summer weather, but the reminder of his presence isn't all bad.
Apparently, SB doesn't deem it the time for conversation. Nothing follows the statement. Flow can't say he minds. This quiet isn't an awkward quiet, not how it would've been if Minute, May or Ash were to sit behind him to help. He doesn't even feel awkward to be in just his boxers. Out of anyone, SB is the last person to make a comment about it. Actually, no. That's a lie. SB would totally make a comment, but he doesn't make fun of him for it this time. Flow guesses it's nice to see him for once; the fur that decorates his body and the sparkles of magic coating him like a bucket of glitter had been dipped over him some time ago.
Flow closes his eyes at some point. He doesn't recall even doing it. He slips off, not quite falling asleep but not being entirely awake either. Just floating in between dreaming and waking, his hair being braided a nice grounding touch, he thinks about nothing at all … except SB and how absolutely comfortable this is. He hums in content.
"There, all done."
He struggles to open his eyes. How long has it been? It hadn't felt like SB was in any kind of hurry. He yawns, a soft little noise. A chuckle follows how Flow stretches his arms above his head.
And really, he can't help himself; he shuffles a bit on the bed and then lays back, his head settling on SB's lap so he can look up at the man. That gets SB to freeze, mouth falling open as he stares down. He's studying him. For a long time too, taking in every detail on his face before he finally dares to brush his knuckles over the fur on Flow's ears.
He dozes off again. How can he not? SB's sweet touches have him drifting away in seconds, a thumb brushing over his cheek, a finger gently drifting up and down the underside of his chin like you would with a cat. He feels like he's two seconds away from purring like one, even though he's never even done that.
Then SB trails his lips with his thumb and Flow understands things are a little different than he assumed. He cracks open his eyes to stare up at him again, sucking in a breath despite lungs that feel a lot tighter suddenly. SB doesn't pause. He's admired like he's something precious, blatantly stared at. Like he's treasure, more riches than the man has acquired in his whole life. Something the biggest mining machines can't get him. Flow's cheeks burn a little.
A giggle escapes him. He buries his teeth into his bottom lip for a second. This might not be what he thought it was, but he can indulge a little. Especially if his stomach is doing flips at this kind of attention from SB of all people.
He sits up again. This isn't his usual arena—too little blood, too much silence. He hardly knows what he's doing when he leans forward to catch SB's lips with his own. Thankfully, one of them is experienced, and rough but careful hands pull him forward to sit on his lap. They linger in his fur, warm and soft and more comfortable than Flow could ever imagine someone holding him feeling like. Their foreheads lean together while they're rearranging. A blush that's quickly turning more red than pink coats his face.
SB kisses him again. It's another one that's over within a second. But the feeling is nice. Flow can melt in his arms right here and they'd both be okay with it. He might actually.
"You're so cute." SB grins against his lips before he steals another kiss. "Flow, will you be mine?"
Flow kisses him too, over and over until they both need to catch their breaths. He's not too used to quick kisses like these, not used to taking it this slow, but he can't say he minds at all. "I'm not cute," he still says, more to keep up his reputation than anything else. He's tough, not cute.
His heart beats against his ribs. It's hard to breathe. This took a quick turn, one he wasn't prepared for in the slightest. He's not one to do relationships. And yet the mere idea has him smiling. SB is waiting patiently for his answer, leaning back to take him in as a whole, relaxed like he already knows the answer. Really, they both kinda do.
Flow drags him back by his chin, smiling innocently at the raised eyebrow he gets for it. "Sure." He breathes out, revelling in the look SB wears just for him; adoration, like a puppy in love. "I'll be yours."
They end up cuddling together on that same bed. Flow is plastered to his side, his tail wrapped around his leg and happily thumping on the covers every so often. With SB's arm around him, all he feels beyond warm is safe. Any idea of getting up and being productive is thrown out the window. He'd meant to get up at some point, he swears, but why would he?
He'd rather be here than anywhere else. He's perfectly happy just being here.