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John rolled over in bed, trying to stamp down rabbit-hearted panic. He’d woken in a cold sweat, moisture sticking his inner thighs together, coating his arms and torso, causing him discomfort. He really should take off his sweat-soaked shirt, but right now his whole body was tensed with fear. Immovable. The shadows in their room were too long, too angular, and John just couldn’t trust the darkness of the closet, mounds of clothes suspiciously shaped like haunting figures dancing across his vision.
He knew that Arthur was right beside him. Sound asleep, body slack with comfort. Comfort, like the sun flowing through a window in the morning, a cozy, safe cocoon of blankets as you rise. John loved the morning, he adored that time of the day, but stupidly, embarrassingly, he was frightened of the night, of the dark shadows that loomed across the living room couch, a place once filled with warmth now bathed in the cloak of bitter, cold shadow.
And he couldn’t reach out. Arthur didn’t deserve another late night. They had enough of those already chasing criminals and their own demons. But… the darkness was consuming. John didn’t want to go on without his light.
“Arthur.”
No answer. Arthur’s breathing continued to be slow.
Arthur never snored - he somehow was too gentle a creature for that despite his ferocious nature. Or maybe he was always meant to be soft, and the cruel world had forced his hand from prey into predator.
“Arthur,” John pulled the name out from his very chest, a poem and a prayer. “Arthur, Arthur. Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyelids crinkled. His bushy ginger brows scrunched up like confused caterpillars. He shook his head slightly.
John repeated the words of prayer called his name again, and this time he was answered.
“Jnh?” Arthur yawned, canines flashing in the dim moonlight from their window. John much preferred the sunlight. “Wusss wrng?”
“Arthur,” John said the name slow, letting his heart rest slightly in relief. He said the syllables slowly, savouring the taste in his mouth. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to wake you, I…”
Suddenly, the former elder god felt shame. Hot, scolding shame. Why did he feel the need to seek comfort in his lover when he had interrupted his slumber with pointless childish whinings? The dark was what he used to thrive in. It was his home of madness and pain, of royalty and rule over Carcossa the dark world. Why did he not seek comfort in that instead? John should love the dark, not fear it.
Why did he fear it?
why did he fear himself-
Arthur sat up a bit at John’s words.
“John, don’t give me that,” Arthur scoffed. He rubbed a scarred, calloused hand over his sightless eyes, massaging his temples. John wanted to do that for him. “You were calling for me. What’s the matter?”
John felt the hand snake its way over to his open palm, and couldn't stop himself from darting his arm far, far away. Despite his paralizing terror, John threw the covers off his sweaty, sweaty body, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, now dangling.
Foolish thoughts of ugly clawed hands snatching his ankles from beneath the bed berated his mind. John huffed in frustration, curling his toes upwards slightly.
“It's nothing Arthur," John mumbled. This was so stupid. He could feel his legs shaking, cool night air surrounding them. He was out on display, bare for the darkness to overtake. “Go back to sleep. You need the rest.”
Arthur remained quiet for awhile. John tried to quell the shake of his body. Human bodies. Such awkward, awkward things. Fragile and inconvenient and telling of all the emotions John wanted to keep locked up. It was much easier to sulk when you were a voice in someone’s head, not when you could be felt with caring hands for muscle tension and be heard through the creaks of wooden steps as you paced the apartment.
Quite annoying as well how Arthur managed to drag out everything John was feeling despite that. For him, just words was enough. John sometimes wondered if Arthur had some magic left over from being special to the gods after all.
John huffed again, breathing in the stink and mustiness of his sweat. He almost flinched when a hand slid up, fingertips first, over his shoulder.
“FUCK!”
Unfortunately, he couldn't help the surprised noise that leapt from his throat.
“Christ John!” Arthur chuckled lightly behind him. “You’re jumpy.”
“No I’m not. You just surprised me.”
Arthur was now inching closer, leaving the warmth of the blankets to scooch to John’s back. John felt Arthur's thin arms coil around his middle, and didn’t want to admit to himself how comforting it was.
“You are wired,” Arthur argued, tightening his hold on John’s middle. Dang it. Leave it to Arthur to disguise a gesture of intimacy as a way to gather more intel on a situation. The detective in him, John supposed, was the culprit. “And if I’m not wrong, it might be related to why you woke me up.”
“Whu-” John felt the stubble of Arthur’s chin rubbing his left shoulder, and whipped his head to the sensation. “Arthur, I am not a scratching post-”
John shoved his palm into Arthurs cheek, shoving him away, and Arthur yelped in annoyance.
“It could be something else,” John argued just to argue, a familiar pattern, path, lines in the ground, grassy trails that are tread again and again and again because they are known well. Familiar. “You don’t know everything about me Arthur!”
Arthur hummed. His hands started to wander, tracing John’s abdomen and chest absently. He took special care to press on John’s wildly beating heart through the fabric of his shirt.
“That may be true,” Arthur mumbled. “But I’m willing to bet on my case. I’d bet good money on it, I’d bet my life!”
John sighed, feeling, against his will, his defenses being disarmed. He carefully pulled his legs up to crisscross on the bed, stupidly watching the darkness for any attackers as he did so. His eyes ached with exhaustion. His legs were sore from shaking.
A car rumbled loudly on the road outside, as if to scold him for letting his walls down. The scream of the engine made John’s ears ring, and his blood turned cold. John felt a sudden spike of terror. The same terror he had been fighting overtook him.
He whipped around and grabbed Arthur by the middle of his forearms and slammed him back into the bed. He kicked his legs in frantic panic to cover the both of them in the blanket, wrestling with it like a sea serpent. Arthur only let out a small surprised noise, but made no move to struggle. Soon John had successfully protected Arthur and himself with the blanket.
“John?” Arthur asked after a while. By now John’s beating heart had slowed down, finding comfort in holding Arthur’s body against his.
“Yes. You are right.” John sighed in defeat. “To tell the truth… I had a nightmare and woke up like this. I was too scared to fall back asleep.”
Arthur’s blind eyes blinked at him.
“Knew it. What would make this better? How can I help comfort you, John?”
“Uh,” John felt shyness creep up his neck. “Could you… turn on the light? Just for a moment, I know we need to sleep and-”
Arthur was already up, tugging his arms free from John’s hold to feel for the bedside lamp. Light flooded the room, banishing the leering shadows. John blinked his eyes to adjust to the brightness. He saw Arthur getting up, feeling his way along the wall to the door to the living room and kitchen.
“Arthur, Arthur where are you going?” John’s throat felt tight. He hated how desperate he sounded.
Arthur turned around at the door, and smiled. His blind eyes shone golden in the light of the lamp. “I’m going to get some candles.”
As John waited anxiously for Arthur to return, he tentatively tugged off his shirt and threw it to the floor. A smell to worry about in the morning.
Light footsteps padded back into the room. Arthur placed wax candles onto their dresser, desk, and bedside tables, lighting each one with the flick of a familiar silver lighter. He lit up everything he touched. Every nook and cranny of the room.
“Okay. What else do you need, John?” Arthur asked as he slid back into bed. “What else can I do to help?”
“Uh,” John glanced around their illuminated room. The light did make him feel better, but the leftover terror from the dream still lingered in his mind. Talking about it would not make him feel any better, and that is what you are supposed to do after nightmares, it seemed. So John didn’t know what else to do. “Uh, I don't know Arthur. What do humans do to not be afraid?”
Arthur’s soft expression suddenly shifted to a smirk.
“Well, we can laugh. I’ll tell you a joke. I know you have a fondness for my poetry. How about a limerick?”
“I do like poetry,” John agreed.
John shimmied closer, eager to hear this. Arthur cleared his throat dramatically.
“There was a young girl of Aberystwyth
Who took grain to the mill to get grist with.
The miller’s son, Jack,
Laid her flat on her back,
And united the organs they pissed with.”
When Arthur finished the poem, he flashed John with the slyest, cheekiest grin he’d ever seen, eyes twinkling with amusement. John just flapped his mouth like a fish, then shoved Arthur’s shoulder with his knuckles.
“That is utterly vile Arthur!” John declared, which made Arthur burst out into cackles. It was a joy to hear Arthur laugh, and John tried to up his dramatics, if only to hear it more. “What are you reading these days to have come across such a vulgar poem? It's absurd!”
“It’s funny!” Arthur protested, grabbing at John’s hands. Giggles spilled out of him as if he were a child. John continued to shove at him.
“Algernon Charles Swinburne,” Arthur announced, as of John would be proud of him remembering the author of such an inappropriate poem. “That’s who wrote it. It's an attempt at humour, John, it's supposed to be absurd!”
“Well the attempt was mediocre at best!” John scoffed, fighting back against Arthur’s grabby hands. “I could come up with a much better poem.”
Arthur’s smile was so wide, “Oh? Could you now?”
“Yes, I could.” John claimed, stealthily hooking his hands around Arthur to pull him closer. “I think it would go like…THIS!”
John dug his fingers into Arthur’s side. Arthur squirmed, and barked out a shocked laugh.
“John!” Arthur cackled, squirming in John’s grip. “This is not a poem!”
“But it’s making you laugh!” John argued. He spidered his fingers up and down Arthur’s sides, causing him to shake and giggle uncontrollably. “I think that’s better than a stupid poem-”
Suddenly Arthur tackled John, catching him completely off guard. John really should stop underestimating the shear strength and willpower of this man when in a vulnurable situation. They rolled over, John now on his back, and Arthur on top of him. John looked up at sightless eyes and gulped.
“Arthur, Arthur wait-” John tried to negotiate, a smile splitting his face. “Okay, so I know I said some things, but-”
“Too late.”
Arthur prodded John’s stomach, and he yelped, dissolving into giggles. The two continued the fight, roughhousing and tangled in sheets. They couldn’t help but try and one up each other every chance they got.
John eventually got away from Arthur’s tickling and sat like a boulder on the bed, unmovable.
“I’ve got you pinned!” Arthur shouted as he pressed his body against John. John was rock solid, not moving a muscle.
“You do not.”
“I fucking do!” Arthur slapped at John lightly, failing miserably at tackling him over. “One two three you’re out-”
John roared, and grabbed Arthur’s wrists to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. Arthur laughed and struggled as John flopped backwards onto the bed, his grip hard as iron. They both were trapped now.
“I got you!”
“Let go of me you big oaf!” Arthur protested, shoving his hands at John’s face.
“Orthr-” John struggled to speak as Arthur smushed his face. “Thts chting-”
“Ugh!!” Arthur yelled out, jolting his hands away. “Did you just lick my hand?”
“Maybe.”
And then John screeched as hands descended onto his hips, digging in with no mercy.
They wrestled until John was tuckered out, and they both were too tired to go on.
“Okhahahy!!” John laughed, chasing Arthur’s fluttering hands at his ribs. “I gihihive uhup!! I give up! You wihihin!!”
Arthur smiled, then flopped back beside John in bed.
“You’d think a blind man would be easy to sneak up on,” John huffed in disappointment, which made Arthur throw back his head and laugh.
“You kept narrating where you were, so I knew how to get you!” Arthur laughed.
They both lapsed into silence. John felt comfortable enough now for the lamp to be flicked off. Candlelight danced across the ceiling. John curled up against Arthur, hand splayed across Arthur’s beating heart.
“Thank you for distracting me,” John muttered into the sheets. “I feel calmer now.”
“Always, John.”
“Goodnight Arthur.”
“Goodnight John.”
And this time, when John slipped into his dreams, no demons or shadows followed him. There was only light.