No people, no gym, no healthful restaurants (since he had no kitchen), no routine unbroken of at least four months, and stretching back even further than that with small fluctuations of familiar faces. It left the day horribly, irresistibly empty, save the prospect of being in uniform all day in the city, training, or searching in the Rift. He didn’t feel like any of it- standing in the eye of the storm of nightmare with the anxious, motionless, heavy Nothing. There was no staying asleep all the day, either, to escape it- what depressed his mood and mind couldn’t overcome years of habit to wake early. Björn got up at five in the morning. He jogged out of the city, out to one of the campgrounds by seven, paid the 5$ fee to use the cement, clean-but-cold camp showers, then hitched a few rides back to the city with truckers to avoid getting sweaty again. Traffic was insane, with entitled, stressed, risk taking people in near misses at every street corner as they tried to get to their Turkey Day locations.
He was dropped at the Macy’s department store by another kind driver, and kept walking along to a coffee shop he knew was open until Noon. He got a soy vanilla latte in the largest size they had, hoping that the slight splurge of sugary calories might lighten some part of the grim. Then Björn walked.
City blocks and city windows passed.
The Lafayette East Park, with brick paved walkways and ancient trees rose up around him. He sat on one of the turn-of-the-century park benches, decorative with cast iron sphinxes for arms, and curled forward and down so that his elbows rested on his knees. The cup was still too small to really curl both of his extended paws around, like a bear with a tiny circus prop. He looked down at the bricks beneath his feet. The sugar was not really helping. His stomach felt soured on it and tight. It was eleven, still five hours from when much of the city would be starting to gather around tables. Thirteen hours until the day was over. A day and a half until his routine could resume it’s storm.
Holidays classically were meant to be spent with family, with loved ones, and while Colin had several places he could have gone to celebrate Thanksgiving, he’d opted to be alone. Not to dwell, but to avoid the stress - to allow Miri and his mother to enjoy a more ‘traditional’ Thanksgiving feast, though they wouldn’t have minded otherwise. He’d enjoyed the look of pure excitement on his sister’s face at the thought of a real turkey.
But the day had arrived and long-ingrained habits set him awake early for a jog - something he’d been told he needed to be more and more careful about if he didn’t want to end up in a ‘teaching’ role sooner rather than later. The balance of his morning was spent tidying up the apartment and himself, realizing he should go out and pick up one or two last minute things, and bundling up to make the trek on foot - with the madcap traffic, Colin wasn’t about to risk getting into traffic like that when he was perfectly capable of walking.
Besides, walking would take more time, which was good as he didn’t have ballet to fill his hours that day and was somewhat at a loss. Colin supposed he could have powered up and patrolled, or even just gone to do solo work at DCBC using his key - and had in fact thought to do just that - but instead wandered Destiny City with his as shop after shop closed and fewer people were out, rushing last minute to get to their destinations.
Taking the scenic route, mind distracted with the memory of holidays gone by, Colin shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets; the sound of booted heel on weathered brick and dried leaves loud enough to echo slightly. Resting on one of the benches, a large man rested in a manner that said the world was wrong and off and too heavy; he was distracted enough that it took him several moments - and steps nearer - to realize that the familiar bend of weary shoulders and blond hair was not simply him seeing Björn in other people, but was actually the man himself.
For a long moment, Colin stood some distance away from Björn, taking in the strongman’s state with a worried frown. He looks like hell…oh baby, don’t tell me you’ve been alone this whole time. There seemed deep shadows in the sunken hollows of his cheeks, his eyes; his knuckles looked red and the tendons in his hand stood out from the pale skin in sharp relief. Should I go? He wanted to keep us separate, but…that’s the shape of a man that shouldn’t be alone. And he’s alone, isn’t he? Anna’s long gone to Europe...so where would he spend Thanksgiving? Sorry baby, you’re stuck with me for a little bit. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? Him telling me to go?
Mind made up, the curly haired dancer moved purposefully towards where Björn on his bench, hands held loosely clenched before him. Would he look up? Was he so deep in thought Colin would be standing near enough to touch before he was noticed?
“Björn?” Bending a bit and tugging his scarf down so his voice would be clearer, Colin gave the blond a smile tempered by worry and care, “I thought that was you.”
The sound of approaching feet, or any approaching auditory stimulus, drew warnings across his awareness and lifted the strongman’s face to confirm danger- so many hours daily in the Rift required caution to keep a starseed where it belonged. It wasn’t the Rift, there on the bench, but that didn’t stop the reaction. It wasn’t a senshi, nor an agent uninformed of his civilian identity and trying to fill their quota. His name in that familiar voice sounded like it came from far off, in some dream from a thousand nights before. He knew the voice, and the face, the set of the shoulder, the faded jeans and patterned, unusually fashionable tshirt. It was one of the few, once, that didn’t belong to space-fiction fandom. “Colin?”
Am I questioning the world that it is Colin there, Colin that he is actually Colin, or ...that he still calls himself Colin? Should it be a question? No. I don’t think it should be a question. Maybe we both think it is each other. But we know each other. “You should already be at your mother’s, ja? What are you in a park?”
Why, not what. “Why ares you in a park?” “Are.”
Face on, Björn looked even more haggard than Colin had first thought, yet he remained beautiful and beloved in Colin’s eyes. Even with the wary look that was set his way before recognition set in only served to further tug at his heart. Before him sat a shadow of the man he’d once shared so much with…a man in need of comfort, of contact, to make up for what was clearly a deficit.
Inching closer, Colin unconsciously wet his lower lip, “I’m not going to Mom’s for Thanksgiving this year.” He shrugged a little bit, rocking back on the balls of his feet and giving the blond before him another smile, “Miri was upset at first, but when she realized they could have a real turkey? She all but locked me out.” Björn’s speech was even more accented and rough than he remembered, as though the man were unused to making conversation - or was overwhelmed in some way. “I think they’re actually having a turducken or something crazy like that.”
“I went out to pick up a few things,” He patted his messenger bag, “I’m not really doing Thanksgiving, but I was out of a couple things. And then I decided to take the scenic route home…” And there they were, with the danseur wanting terribly to put his hands on Björn, to touch and soothe that expression away.
“So…why are you here in the park?” Here instead of anywhere else? On a park bench with over-priced coffee and an expression like there’s nothing at all for him. And perhaps there wasn’t, with Anna gone - Björn certainly didn’t look as though he were getting proper nutrition and care. “If it’s because you’ve no where to go, you can come with me.” Ah, but that sounded awful!
“I mean, if you’ve nothing better to do…I’d love to have you.” Better, still awkward - but much better. Colin left it that that, before he made a bigger mess of trying to invite his former lover to his house for dinner.
Not really doing Thanksgiving? If you could koselig, why would you choose not to? If not with family, friends? Björn looked down again at the ground, not worried of Colin being a threat to his continued survival. He wasn’t sure, and didn’t feel up to trying to weigh if Colin’s reiteration was due to empathetic embarrassment on his behalf or something else. It was easiest to form the answer using Colin’s own statement and implied questions. “I have no where to go. It is two days. It is not much long. ”
“I should not interrupt your day. It is a day off, ja? Holiday to relax. I am not so relaxing.” When he could manage it, even though it wove a lump in his throat and made it hard to breath, Björn recalled the feel of the small fists on his chest and protests of worry on the rooftop. It had been when? July? But it was enough proof that he was pain to the danseur. He invites me to his table. But not as Thanksgiving, which he is not having. Does he have a new roommate? Would it just be us? A place with doors, locks, windows, lights, running water...blankets. A floor that isn’t stone or crystal. It would smell like home. It sounds too good to be.
The inner corners of his eyes stung, so he continued to look at the ground. It meant they were dry enough that the start of welling tears, quickly hedged around, wouldn’t fall and could just moisturize. The accompanying flush of blood at his cheeks and eyes was the more troublesome. “It is a very kind offer-”
He didn’t know how to finish, so the words just trailed off. I want to go. I want to go so much. Even if it’s just walking you to your door and then parting ways again. Even ten minutes would be good, beside someone whose name and heart I love.
It wasn’t to be isolated, Colin simply didn’t want to spend the holiday where good-natured questions about his love life might come up. Or where his sister might ask if he’d managed to ‘fix’ whatever had gone wrong with Björn - she could get stuck on things like that. He really didn’t want to have to explain over again that sometimes people just couldn’t stay together, for whatever reasons.
Nowhere to go? If you think I’m going to let you alone now, knowing that…you’re not thinking clearly. “I have four days off, spending two with you isn’t a hardship.” Colin reached out to put a hand on the strongman’s shoulder, confident that he wouldn’t be pushed away - or just to the point where he was stubborn enough to try even with the possibility of rejection. If his words were awkward or rough, his tone at least spoke clear as the way he bent towards his once lover, like a plant to the sun. Björn wasn’t looking up at him, but rather studying the ground, so Colin didn’t catch the dampness at his eyes, only the redness tinting his cheeks; strong emotion that echoed in his own wont to wrap arms around the seated man, in the way his throat seemed to seize up momentarily. “Björn…”
Maybe he’d not intended to celebrate Thanksgiving before, but if he could bring this haunted looking piece of his heart some comfort? He’d be very thankful indeed. “I’m not offering to be kind, I want you with me.” With a rustling shift of his clothes, the danseur crouched down and put hands on Björn’s knees for support so he could look him in the eye more easily. “Come home. Let me care for you.”
“Two days isn’t much.” It’s just forever. Two days to chase the shadows from his eyes, to remind him what it is to be loved. But after? Is it as worth it to him as I want to believe? Sweet, stubborn, self-sacrificing heart…be greedy for once. You need this, I think, as much as I do.
Being large, it didn’t take much for anyone to still make eye contact even if he was looking at the ground. Björn didn’t have the energy or time to ponder it compared to the sensation of touch. First his shoulder, then each knee, and it felt like places petals had dropped onto a pond. He moved one of his large paws, the venti drink limited the other, to cover and press Colin’s right. There was no glove between them- calloused, oversized hand was free to read each vein across the back of the dansuer’s hand. The strongman held still, just that way, for a moment. Then, still not moving, he breathed slowly, deeply, letting the sensation seep up his arm while the oxygen ran through his blood. He didn’t know how, at that moment to manage, nor did it seem necessary to equivocate about reasons or further apologetics. The answer could and had to be simple: “Thank you.”
Björn left a moment for Colin to back or steady before shifting to rise to standing. He didn’t want to let go of Colin’s hand. The danseur’s apartment could be states away to walk to, and in that moment the strongman couldn’t have minded. Even cramming onto a bus, if it was necessary, didn’t rankle. “I do not know the way. …”
“You have new jewelry. It was October?”
Björn’s hand over his own was a good sign, or seemed that way; the almost tender contact, the heat of the hand covering his was both familiar and surprising. How did I forget? It was purposeful, I think. Had to be.
The pair remained still, Colin waiting with breath unconsciously held until the strongman breathed deeply - his decision made, quiet thanks given though they were not needed. “Wonderful,” mouth curved into a smile, Colin used Björn as a means to push up straight, twisting his hand so he could lace slender fingers through calloused ones as his companion rose. It was all he could do to not rise up, to press a smacking kiss to Björn’s face as a show of how happy he’d been made; instead he gave the blond’s hand a squeeze. “It’s not too far for us.” He’d given Björn the address, but that didn’t mean the strongman would remember, it had been summer and their parting harsh and cruel…mostly by Colin’s fault. But his apartment really wasn’t too far - not far for those used to traveling miles before they slept, for those whose lives revolved around their physicality. “I didn’t want to drive in the traffic.”
Tugging gently, the danseur started home - many blocks to go but his step was light; Björn’s question had him blinking a bit, but then he was reaching up a bit as though to touch the slender horseshoe ring. “Oh, mmhm. I went with Van to get it done in time for Halloween.” What other changes had there been? Scars, surely. And then there were plans for the team tattoo that Aleksy had drawn up, never mind the haircut and way he was no longer too thin.
And which of the two had accidentally sent snapshots to Björn? Had it been him? Or Van? Either was likely, they’d both been using his phone…what a shock that must have been! Suddenly getting a picture of your ex laughing in a tattoo parlor and making duck faces at the camera. “I have to flip it for shows, but other than that, it’s been no trouble.” Do you like it? What did you think, seeing those changes? “I’ve got plans for a tattoo as well…there’s a sketch of it at home. Not sure where to put it…”
Idle talk, important talk, to make the journey go faster. They were mostly alone, fewer and fewer vehicles were out and about, and there may have been two or three other people scuttling about to their Thanksgivings the whole way. All the while, he kept hold of Björn’s hand, even using his off hand to fish out his keys and open the outer entry to Florence Court, explaining that it had been converted to apartments some time ago, and while the outside looked dated, the inside was quite modern. Naturally, Colin had a ground floor space - things worked better that way.
“Well…here we are. It’s not much, but it’s home.” The apartment door opened to a decently sized living/dining area where, in addition to a sturdy couch, a coffee table, and entertainment center, was a spinning pole that had been mounted in floor and ceiling brackets. There was a folded blanket on the couch as though someone had recently stayed there but the space was fairly neat, even the Star Trek themed cat scratcher that stood next to the cloth-covered couch. The kitchen was to one side of a hall that led to a bathroom and to the single bedroom. Small, efficient, but with touches he would find familiar: a bowl of fruit set out, dance and Star Trek posters, a large throw that Colin’s mother had bought for the two of them one Christmas. Photographs of friends and family, including some of Björn himself.
“Shoes off, please.” Colin was toeing off his sneakers and nudging them near the door in a space where they were clearly meant to go. “And don’t worry about the sofa and chairs, they’ll support you.”
With Colin keeping his hand, there wasn’t a chance for second thoughts to creep in, or warnings of wisdom to tell against the progress and possibility of being near another for so long. The idle talk was a pleasure itself on the way, when most of his days went by without speaking a single word to anyone- the loading dock at work wasn’t complicated, the gym people knew him and needed no more than a wave in greeting, and youma didn’t care. Even without contributing many words, the few he did were quiet, happy rumbles. Finally the building loomed, and Colin kept his hand- so he didn’t spook or make excuses.
Is it possible to miss what has never been yours? The space revealed was tidy, but felt familiar for the touches of Colin in each aspect. Does he have friends over often, rowdy? Why choose furniture of a type that would bear me. Did Colin sleep on his couch? A friend? A lover?
Björn pulled off his shoes obediently, revealing usual Under Armour Socks. He wasn’t wearing a jacket over his button down to need to find a place for. He took the few paces to the standing scratcher, looking at it before looking around the apartment for if there was a sleeping, fluffy curl offering disapproving faces at loud humans. “You has a cat?”
None of the possibilities felt to spike any jealousy. It was a curious difference from what movies, tv and books he’d been exposed to seemed to demand. There was none in future dreams either. I just want him to be happy, and to grow. This looks more promising for that than when we talked before. Or than when he collapsed. Plans for a tattoo. His hair. There are people in those pictures I do not know. He is doing better? Maybe? Moving on. Whole sections of life, new waters flow between that I do not have any part in. There is some sadness in that, to not know intimately his directions. As much as in not being any part of any of it. My own doings. It is nice that there is no jealousy for these people. That would be a worse thorn to have poisoning alongside Metallia. Here I am, found at a surprise eddy where waters met again. So much to discover new about him, but I should not reach so deep. I do not want him hurt again, or set back. And I am so…
shabby. The winter afternoon light across the hung pictures allowed the ones with framing and glass to take on a mirror-aspect at the right angle. He could see himself now directly against a younger, smiling, fresh-faced seventeen year old in a Hillworth uniform. It was easy to see how much Colin deserved better in one of the other dancers, or these new friend-faces with their pretty eyes and surprised glances at what must have been a candid shot. What did they all talk about together? At Hillworth, being roommates and in school together gave them a shared experience to lean on for interactions. Then their relationship itself added to it, and kept a familiarity to subjects apart to ask after for updates. What could he talk to Colin, a living success story and professional at the top of a competitive craft, about? Colin was as good as famous, a name in his field that would be recognized and attached to the DCBC in talks in other cities. Björn didn’t even compete anymore, for as much as he trained. “You said Miri was happy about turkey- you are still vegetarian? Or more now? Vegan?”
Which reminded him of the venti cup he still held, “Do you have recycling?”
Björn’s inspection of the common space wouldn’t grant him view of Colin’s pet, Tribble, whom he’d adopted with the assistance of Quenton and his Catfe. “Oh, yeah. His name’s Tribble…I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” Often the derp feline remained in what Colin could only assume was ‘cat-space’, since there were a great many times where he could find no sight of the good-natured fluff ball. “I adopted him through the Cat Cafe…he’s a little weird.” The danseur did make an effort to call the cat, but it was to no avail, “Ah well, he’ll come out when he’s ready.”
As was being observed, Colin was doing better - better than Björn himself seemed to be, which was saddening. He wanted what he wanted, but if it weren’t possible for them to be together, having the two doing decently was high up on the list of things that the danseur wished to happen. Stepping close again, he followed Björn’s eyes across the framed faces, several of whom showed up over and over; Colin pointed and named each, though one - Vanessa - should at least be familiar. Even so, the photos with Björn in them held distinct places, close to his mother and sister’s frozen, laughing faces.
“That’s an old one, isn’t it?” Back in uniform, so young looking compared to where they both currently were. Watching Björn, Colin felt the blond must be dwelling on things, going down unwelcome tracks…perhaps even hurtful ones. He’d never really understood his own worth - so many of the people beloved to Colin were like that…it was sad in so many ways. “It’s one of my favorites. Mom’s too.” There are others I liked - like - more but it would be in poor taste to post candid n***s on the wall.
“I still am…can’t quite go fully vegan. You?” He gave a little shrug, smiling up at Björn, “Oh, in the kitchen. There’s a sorter, it’s labeled.” In what looked like some sort of bench-style storage, cans, paper, and plastic could be sorted out into hidden bags. It was currently Khaleel’s job to take the recycling out and his cousin did a good job of it. “If you’re not, it’s fine. I’ve got meat here…a cousin I never knew about has been crashing here…he’s away for the holidays though.”
It was small talk, but they were feeling each other back out, much as they had when he’d returned from studying with RAD. Conversation had always worked better for them when they were touching; things just felt less awkward when they were physical - even just to lean together. “His name’s Khaleel and he’s been pretty good natured about my schedule, since he’s on the couch until he gets his own place.” Granted, he’d gotten a few weird looks while he was practicing, on the pole or off it, but that was to be expected from someone without any ideas about dance.
‘Tribble’ was something the strongman remembered from one of Colin’s shows. It was another cute connection, a familiarity, that made being in the space less foreign. Less like being a bull in a china shop. “Eighteen seemed like forever away. Maybe it is normal it feels forever behind. You always have many pictures. It is nice to see them up. “
Björn couldn’t guess, to himself, whether or how much of the more intimate pictures Colin would have kept or destroyed. The youth he’d known had never seemed willing to destroy any snapshot, even of things that had been painful in their time. The man beside him now? It was possible it was the same. Some moving box in the back of some closet in the place, filled with a movie script and shoeboxes for different years, or pendrives with video that would make others blush or interested. Or, at least, would make Björn himself blush at having revealed again and remembering agreeing to Colin’s devilish grin beneath a mop of curls. The strongman answered as he moved to the kitchen to throw out the cup appropriately, “I don’t have to eat anything at all- I was just curious. “
Speaking was getting a little easier. It still felt awkward, but maybe there were less mistakes. “I still follow vegetarian. It is a lot of soy. Coconut being popular has helped. And Almonds. I still use butter and eggs sometimes. “
Or would, if there was a kitchen. I eat them at restaurants.
“It is a very nice place, here. It feels very you. Cousins are good company. And cats. Did you need to put anything away? You were shopping?” At least if there were high shelves, he could help out with reaching. “Were you watching shows today, or dancing? I don’t-”
“-want to be in your way. The couch or floor are fine...and if you don’t mind an audience. You don’t have to change your plans for the day. It is nice just-”
“-being around. It is nice to see you again. And hear you.“ To feel your hand and smell your scent in all the air of this place. “It will be December shows very soon. That is usually Nutcracker? It is this year? It has a Prince- the one with the red coat and white tights. ”
“It did, didn’t it?” What could he say, it was true: being young meant living within a very odd, very specific sort of time-slip. Things felt like they might stretch out forever, infinite and grand…or they felt a million miles away, experienced quickly like the flare of an explosion. “Sometimes I think I should’ve stayed in Destiny City…” Usually only when he was contemplating a life without ballet, which wasn’t a common thought for Colin, but more a passing fancy. Very much a ‘what if’ sort of idle daydream. “But I don’t know that I’d change anything, even if I could do it over.”
His memories and experiences - good and bad - were important to him; which was why Björn would be correct thinking that such intimate things still existed, that Colin kept them safely. Talking the strongman into being filmed had been a sterling moment, one among many favored memories - some less risqué than others.
Björn’s commentary grew smoother, less stunted. It was almost as though he were relearning how to hold a conversation with another person. How lonely, if it’s true. “Sometimes I think I should buy stock in soy, I eat so much of it.” It was nice to hear that Björn’s eating habits still fell in line with his own, it would make it easier to cook without having to make something special - though he would have done it without complaint. Colin tapped the band of his messenger bag and slipped into the kitchen while opening it, reminded by the gentle prompt. “I remember the look of horror you gave me when you realized I didn’t eat meat. So shocked…” From the bag, resting on the countertop, came a middling box that would likely seem familiar as it contained packets of Swiss Miss hot cocoa, a small bag of marshmallow, a package of Oreos and a cucumber…most of which he could have put away without help, but since Björn was there, Colin made use of him, asking that he put the blue printed box up in the cupboard over the fridge.
“Honestly?” Once things were put up he hopped up on his counter and leaned forward to pull Björn between his knees, reaching further to catch and pull the untidy braid over one shoulder. “I didn’t really have plans for today. Lay in bed, eat Oreos. Watch some movies… maybe do a little pole work.” Perhaps he should have asked permission first, but he was undoing Björn’s braid and finger-combing the blond strands like he had any right to be doing so, as he had many times before they’d broken up. “I took up pole dancing with a few friends, for fun.”
“Yep. We’re doing the Nutcracker on the main stage…and the Steadfast Tin Soldier on the smaller one. I’d almost rather to the Tin Soldier, since it’s a totally new show and I’ve never done it before…but the Nutcracker prince is my role.” Green eyes drank in the sharp angles of the strongman’s face, committing those changes to memory for when he wasn’t there. “You should know,” Should remember, “I like an audience.”
Could he wrap his hand in the slowly coming undone braid and pull Björn closer? How bad an idea was it, to do that, to bring the blond in and steal a kiss? Would that make him bolt, stammering apologies and saying how bad an idea this had been? Without knowing, the danseur wasn’t willing to risk it, so he left space between them that Björn could cross if he were brave enough to. Otherwise, he was fine with the hard chill of the counter seeping through his jeans, the warmth of that big body close, the slide of Björn’s hair through his fingers. “You’re not taking care of your hair like you should. It’ll get brittle.” Of course, Colin couldn’t know that the strongman wasn’t actually taking care of himself as he should, let alone his hair.
When Colin pulled to between his counter-sitting knees, Björn came without complaint. There was no hitch at all until his own pelvis rested against the counter and habit-born instinct drew his paws to the danseur’s knees, and slid them up in a stroking pet to rest on Colin’s hips. It was a motion, a pet, performed countless times before when Colin was seated up on something. It was a pet and hand placement that was intimate, appreciative, and wholly inappropriate for an ex. Björn’s eyes widened and he hovered the hands off after a breath. His brow furrowed with worry, searching Colin’s expression and eyes for offense or disapproval.
(No upset or disapproval, just a pleased and welcoming sound that came with a slowly spreading flush to his cheeks as had happened so many times before. The gesture was familiar and welcome; setting him back to dozens of times this had happened before, when he'd put his palms flat against Björn's chest or biceps and slid them up to his shoulders or around his neck and gone for a kiss. It wasn't appropriate for an ex…but it their circumstances weren't typical. Maybe it was appropriate for them, regardless of their estranged relationship. And clearly, Björn was unused to tender affection - which he could provide. Would provide, if allowed. )
Not troubled. That sound- that was pleasure once. And color rushes with his smile. There was just disapproval at the state of his hair. Slowly, Björn’s hands relaxed again, returning to the bend between hip and muscular thighs. This is nice. Relax. He’s relaxed. “It is trouble of hard water. “
The campground probably was hard water. The gym wasn’t, as his usual spot for grooming. At least he was able to shave regularly between the two. Well-groomed, but not well-kept. Stress then? Probably. It affects physical health as anything else. I eat to survive and fuel only what is necessary, but it isn’t enjoyment. I do not sleep deeply. Don’t think about it. Here is not there. Here is Colin, being...kind and not crying. Calm. It is calm space and safe. I can be Björn here. I am not Titan here. “Maybe it will need cut back. If it gets worse, off. That would be strange. “
He watched Colin’s fingers at work. The whole of the braid took a little longer to unplait than it had in the beginning. It spoke of all the past times, as a symbol of a day being over with and not going out again. He wore his hair down only at day’s end, so that the length didn’t catch or tangle dangerously. That struck a thought and note in Björn’s mind- why was Colin so specifically unbraiding his hair if he was only there for the few hours usually involved in visiting someone for the holiday dinner (dinner happening or no)? It would need to be plaited again when he left in the evening? Unless. Already low tones spoke softly into the space between them, uncertain of hope or fear or ruining the peace, “Am I...staying the night?”
When Björn seemed to relax, Colin’s smile widened; the disappointment he’d felt when they’d started away had been acute. “And probably cheap shampoo.” Knowing how ragged the strongman looked, it would only have made sense that his investment in the physical had gone down. He’d done it for a bit himself, but had gotten beyond it and took better care with such things again. Several people working to unstopped him had certainly helped - too bad Björn didn’t have someone like Quenton or Aleksy to force the issue as they’d done with him. “There are things you can leave-in, that might help.” Björn with short hair? Definitely strange. “I can’t really imagine you with short hair.”
Un-plaiting Björn’s hair really hadn’t come as any specific thought, just something he felt needed. A compulsion aided by deft fingers well practiced in the motions; thoughtless and automatic enough that he could contemplate what to fix for dinner. Pasta was possible, he kept plenty on hand, or a frittata… Could just reheat the leek and potato soup, with toast… Thoughts of dinner and the simple comfort of being close as they were had him distracted so when Björn spoke quietly it took him a moment to catch it, to look up from his work.
Was he staying the night? The danseur’s hands stilled, action and thought falling into place quickly: of course Björn would ask. He’d done nothing but make a wordless invitation with the fussing over long blond hair; further realization hit that unconsciously, he’d planned to make the invitation. “I’d like if you did.”
Certainly he could have gone after dinner, gotten food and a few hours company…his hair brushed and rebraided. But wasn’t it a better idea to stay and rest, if he had no where to go? Generous as Colin might be, he could admit to himself that wanting Björn to stay was a very selfish thing; it would mean more touches, more of those sad eyes, maybe lighting up with laughter. Wanted by the danseur and likely needed by the strongman, he solidified his plan to do what he needed to keep Björn there.
“Won’t you stay?”
‘I’d like—’
‘Won’t you—’
Björn leaned down, in, towards Colin so that forehead touched forehead and closed his own eyes. The words made the world dizzy. The touch and proximity felt electric. Heartbeat felt loud and plain, as though the danseur should be able to see the lifting from expansions and contractions through his ribcage and pectorals. His knees bent, pressing all of his thighs and the joints against the counter as though for more solid purchase against the wave of relief, euphoria, and dropping out of his stomach all at once. His breath shook on its intake. “Yes.”
The whole of the apartment had closed down, leaving the existing world to all of four feet on any side of them, so far as the strongman could tell. He could smell Colin’s hygiene products for skin and hair clearly- parts pineapple and earl grey tea that finished in something like cedar musk. It was fresh, not clinging. He stayed that way for a count of breaths only, but it felt like a slow eternity of a year that turned by. The mistake of being so close, even so short of time, came apparent as his jeans grew notedly less comfortable as much as the counter against the fore of his hips. This positioning had been the start of many evenings in the past. Or mornings- a break with Colin sitting on top of a wall after part of their jog, which ended up behind the wall in the hedges; the building ledge of the roof of the DCBC with the danseur’s eyes reflecting city lights and stars down at him as he kissed down a heaving, anticipating washboard. Björn lifted his face, forehead away from forehead, and pressed his lips against the crown of curls. “I’ll gladly stay. Thank you. “
The words sounded husky. He moved his hands off Colin’s hips to grip the counter instead. He didn’t move back though, as though the counter could really conceal much. Conversation. Talk. This was going somewhere not there. “Which movies did you want to watch? We should move to your couch, ja?”
Whatever reaction he’d expected from Björn, it had not been the way he seemed to fold inward, the way he bent to touch their foreheads and spoke one word so raw and full of emotion that set the danseur’s stomach twisting, rather than the fluttering it had been doing from the moment he’d brought Björn into his apartment. Closeness so achingly familiar he couldn’t help his reaction, couldn’t help letting his hands rest on broad shoulders and fingers pressed to grip, to hold; flashes of memory had the danseur flushing down the back of his neck, his body responding in kind as though there hadn’t been months of separation.
His heart’s going so fast…that we can do this to each other still. Precious little imagination was required to see where this could lead, but then the strongman was husking out another acceptance and even thanks, and those big, warm hands were no longer framing his hips. Disappointment caused his mouth to turn down at the corners momentarily, but Colin pushed the sensation aside and gave the blond a look that had often led to interesting situations in the past. An expression of mischief and daring, peeking from curls - one that often meant trouble. I missed you too. Not one to allow a chance to slip through his fingers, Colin let his arms slide around Björn’s neck in a hug, pulling them close just after the suggestion to move to the couch and pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear.
i]The couch, this counter. The floor…wherever you want me. “I hadn’t decided yet.” Words in whisper against loose hair and fabric; he had missed this - even just hugging Björn was good. Old habits died hard….especially when one didn’t want them to die. Did Björn honestly think things would be any less tense, less charged when they were on the couch together? Colin wouldn’t disabuse him of that notion, but nor was he going to let go.
“Is that what you want to do?” There were so many choices…like staying there and making out. Or finding something to eat, if he were hungry. Or other things that Colin’s brain wasn’t really interested in at the moment.
Widened eyes blinked back at the look from sweeter days further a year back- nine months apart and each meeting with Colin had been tears, pain, and wiser moves on his own part to keep physical contact limited to maintain as much. But now hands slid on him, drew him near, wrapped securely along his neck and shoulders. Starved nerves soaked in the oxytocin that came, as much as consideration fled further on wings from the soft kiss. Björn’s reply was a turn of his own face to press a likewise kiss to the thin skin behind Colin’s ear plug.
It was the start- the scent there stronger and he didn’t back. Kissed Colin’s neck again, then drew back only enough to press his lips again at the corner of the danseur’s jaw before the same gauge. A word finally came back to mind, “No.”
“That is not.” He backed enough again so that the end of his nose touched the end of Colin’s. What exactly was wanted remained unformed, vague behind instinct and the want of still more contact, it’s luxury of trust and safety that Colin held like a cup. “What did...you want? To do.”
That look he wears. He is about trouble. I miss his trouble. His demands. His smile and breath against my mouth. What trouble is he daring now? Björn shifted forward to test if it was a kiss to his lips.
When he wasn’t pushed away as he’d been on other occasions, Colin’s pulse quickened. Björn even responded in kind, which really just meant the danseur was even further unlikely to let go; each kiss given set nerves alight and added anticipation.
‘No’ Colin let out a breath he hadn’t known held, looking into familiar blue eyes for a hint of what was being thought - Björn was usually an open book and didn’t seem like he’d be backing away, trying to keep the danseur from touching him this time. What do I want to do? Isn’t it obvious? Maybe not, after all this time.
It was on the tip of his tongue, to give a provocative - but simple - answer, a low and husky ‘you, of course’, but the strongman was leaning in and the blond chose to let action speak where words might’ve stood. Colin’s mouth met Björn’s for a kiss, fingers tangling in long, loose hair to hold him close; there was nothing of hesitance and much of welcome in the way he angled his head, his mouth, the way he tried to pull Björn in, the pressure of knees on either side, an ankle hooked around the back of one thigh.
“You.” He’d drawn back for a breath, to murmur against Björn’s mouth what he’d thought to say before, “Here or anywhere.”
---AND THAT’S IT CHILDREN. FADE TO BLACK, FINITO---
