Chapter Text
If you were to ask Saps what he hated about Flux the most, he would give you an enumerated list, sorted alphabetically, marked with the amount of offenses, updated every other week.
…Affectionately, of course.
But if you caught him off guard or asked him at night, it would probably be that Flux kicked like a rabbit in his sleep. And that makes it really hard to cuddle. Or, at least, whatever their less-than-normal-rendition of cuddling was.
Every night, without fail, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Every night, without fail, Saps would wake up on the literal edge of the bed because somebody would attack if he were too close in range.
But he finds that there’s a quick fix to his problem —
—
See, Flux is, for lack of a better word, a brat. He wants what he wants, and he will throw a tantrum if he doesn’t get it. For the first few months of their relationship, Saps was okay with appeasing him. Until he felt like all he did was give and give and give.
Saps is a pretty patient guy. At least, he doesn’t let himself get swayed by emotions pretty easily. He was fine with playing house, and taking up the role of provider. But what’s the point of hunter-gatherer when he’s doing both?
Flux didn’t want to get a driver’s license, so Saps drove him around. Flux didn’t like a lot of food, so Saps dealt with the same five meals on rotation. Flux didn’t want a job, Saps spent a few days pumping gas and fixing up cars and other menial jobs most teenagers do as gigs, but that part wasn’t as much of a problem because they could run on Flux’s daddy’s money. If he didn’t scrounge it all up on his cigarette problem.
Now, if all that wasn’t enough, Flux is, for another lack of a better word, a whiny, depressive bitch.
So to speak, Saps was tired. He stopped talking to Flux, cold turkey, because he was pretty much addicted to him. He would nod and hum and shake his head if it called for it, but otherwise, he wouldn’t be the first to speak. It wasn’t an easy feat, given they literally live together, but any contact with Flux would lead to a relapse.
Flux caught on, though, and he hated being ignored. To the point he’d do anything to get Saps’ attention.
It started off pretty small. He wouldn’t eat, so Saps would have to force him to. That was fine. It got Saps a few more words in on an average basis, but eventually, Saps learned to ignore that bit too. So he had to up the ante.
He would be extra obnoxious in bed, as Saps was asleep. Saps took to sleeping on the couch. Whatever.
Finally, a few drinks in with inhibitions out, he would bring it up.
“Why don’t you like talking to me anymore?” he slurs across the dinner table. Saps cocks an eyebrow and shakes his head, and gets up to leave.
Flux had enough. He doesn’t let Saps get any further:
“Jesus fuck, just talk to me if you have a problem, jackass,” Flux spits, as Saps as his back turned to him. It takes not much for Saps to ignore him. Flux is a disease-ridden dog you see on sidewalks; all bark, no bite.
Well —
Flux pulls Saps’ hair from behind, catching him off guard, and swings a punch, full force.
Out of pent-up anger? Frustration? Or inebriation? Drunken stupor? Saps could tell.
But that knowledge didn’t really alleviate his anger. Saps stumbles backwards — not tripping, just stumbling. In hindsight, if he had expected the punch, it wouldn’t have hurt at all. He has about double Flux’s strength with some more to spare. He could easily punch him and not have to worry about retaliation.
So, well, he does.
It takes a few seconds, but when he overcomes the shock, he decks Flux right in the gut, sending him flat on the cold kitchen floor. Flux groans from the back of his throat, mouth agape, but Saps doesn’t stop there. Here’s Flux, pinned on the ground, desperately trying to punch up while he’s getting beaten blue.
Saps is cursing under his breath, saying all the things he’s been meaning to.
Stupid. So fucking stupid…
Flux doesn’t know what’s going on around him anymore. He’s so dizzy and he’s pretty sure he can see out of his elbow or something. His hands fumble for anything to grip onto, and miraculously, he finds some part of Saparata. Saps brushes his hand off and delivers an especially punishing blow.
Saps probably doesn’t know how to stop, Flux would guess. It’s punch after punch and Flux is only coherent enough to taste blood and sort of tune into the ringing in his ears. This is a long time coming. This is months of toleration. This is a steeping gas leak versus singular match. He hits him over and over like if he did it enough times, it would fix him. Fix the both of them.
The sound of whoosh-es of air and skin against skin filled the room, with the undertone of grunting. Flux can’t tell if that’s Saps heavy breathing or his own.
But eventually, everything slows.
Flux stops resisting, and when Saps notices, he stops completely, all the anger draining from him.
And he’s already back to giving Flux what he wants.
Technically, he has been, because Flux wanted all of this too.
“Shit, Flux—” Saps stops, hands on his shoulders. Flux eyes weakly hold themselves open — too swollen to see. “Are you okay?”
…No. Obviously not, Flux would’ve retorted on any other day. But he’s a few teeth down with a mouthful of blood, so he doesn’t even bother.
“Let’s— let’s get to bed. I’m tired. We’re tired.”
Flux hums. Or whines. It didn’t matter, because regardless, Saps lifted him from under the armpits, slinging Flux’s arms around his neck, sort of like a front piggy-back. Flux, in all his dreariness, sighs a breath of relief, going limp against Saparata.
Once they’re in the room, Saps gently props him seated on the bed and goes off to find a towel.
Flux can hear his thudding heartbeat in his ear. His ears aren’t ringing anymore, but his head is killing him. He can’t tell if it’s an internal migraine thing or a concussion.
He just knows he’s so, so tired.
Saps isn’t gone for long. He’s back with a towel, damp with warm water, and a basin. He kneels on the ground while Flux sits on the edge, barely holding himself up. Saps does it for him.
He gently wipes off the trails of blood, all while still scolding him under his breath.
“You shouldn’t have hit me first, okay?” So and so. Flux’s eyes track him, but he can’t scrounge up the words or any remaining snarkiness to reply.
He holds up the basin to Flux’s chin, “Spit.” and he does. A couple of teeth come out, but it’s mainly just blood. No biggie. Saps wipes the reddish dribble on his chin and sets everything aside for tomorrow’s Saps to worry about.
When they’re all cleaned up, Saps lays him down. He’s tucking him in like a little girl would a doll. Flux relaxes against the pillows, curling up on his side, fetal-position.
Saps is careful to not shake Flux as he himself gets in bed.
He wraps two arms around and Flux leans his head against his chest, burying deep and flinching away from any external light or sound.
He takes a deep, deep breath — all Saps’ strong, musky, macho body spray does is worsen his dizziness, but what can he do? Beggars can’t be choosers. Especially not if they’re bloodied and beat.
Saps is shielding. Saps is comfort. Saps is all the love and hatred he’ll ever need.
—
Flux goes to sleep that night with minimal stirring. He doesn’t even snore.
Saps wakes up on the bed, for the first time in what feels like forever.
He even has the blanket to himself.
Win-win situation, Saps thinks.