( backdated )
It was a surprisingly early night for Hitch. The deli, for one reason or another, had been dead for at least a solid hour before closing, and there’d been none of the usual final rush before they locked their doors for the night. It was the kind of night that would’ve been perfect to slip a patrol into, really, but - as ******** petty and selfish as it seemed, no, as Hitch knew it was, he was just in no ******** mood tonight.
Nothing had triggered him into inaction or anything, or left him in a particularly sour mood. All things considered it could’ve been a much worse night. He just - there hadn’t been anything on the job front yet, even if he’d been pushing hard for something every ******** day, and it’d just been exhausting. Was it so bad to just want to lay at home for a night with his boyfriend and just ******** relax a little? Breathe for a few hours?
He stepped into their apartment with a heavy sigh of relief, carefully kicking off his stupid work shoes at the door, tugging his hair free of the confines of his hair tie and shaking it out. It took Hitch a minute to realize that Tolliver wasn’t lying in their bed like he usually was, but he didn’t have to wonder where his lover was for long - the sound of running water clued him in real fast.
With a sly grin, Hitch slunk for the bathroom door. Tired and a little melancholy? - no better cure for that then surprising the love of your life in a nice hot shower. So he thought as his fingertips came to rest on the knob.
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Alone in the apartment, Tolliver hadn’t done much more than just read. He’d spent the day before searching (secretly) for a new deejay job, though that hadn’t panned out to anything just yet. And he’d ridden a little more in the morning, sometimes taking Hitch out for a morning spin before work, now that he was getting used to being back on the bike.
But overall, it had been a rather quiet day.
Not that he minded this at all. Tolliver knew how stressful the days had been lately, especially with Hitch out of one job and trying desperately to find another. The market was slim and there seemed to be no way of managing to get a job unless you knew someone or had some sort of connections, and everything was proving fruitless and unhelpful.
He took a shower later than usual, Tolliver having gotten lost in his latest book. His clothes were piled neatly on the sink, draped over the side, and the water was warm and soothing on his skin, Tolliver closing his eyes against the spray of heat. It had been, not so surprisingly, a while since he had showered alone, and the door was shut, Hitch was away for quite a while, and now he was with his own thoughts.
Tolliver’s voice ebbed out of the shower, soft at first, but growing a little, the strains gentle and well practiced. No one was here, except himself.
(No one needed to hear him, anyway.)
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Hitch hadn’t even twisted the knob when he heard something, a softly singing voice (at first he could barely hear it over the running water) that was steadily growing louder. Frowning faintly, his fingers turned the knob - just barely, just enough to be able to open the door a crack. The fractured mirror, he could see from here, was fogged over with steam from the shower, and more clearly now, he could hear the voice with no music, and -
It was Tolliver.
The realization jolted him, his eyes widening and his breath was drawn in sharply, but quietly, between his teeth as he listened. Sure enough, there was no mistaking it. He’d never heard Tolliver’s voice like this before, except maybe hints and clues in his occasional playful sing-song tone; this was on a different level, and more than that, it was ******** beautiful. The notes flowed out of him so smoothly, so perfectly, and Hitch was for once completely dumbstruck.
He didn’t want to ruin this - he didn’t really want it to stop, and when the shock ebbed away, he was nothing short of captivated. Slowly, carefully, staying close to that crack in the door, he slid down into a crouch, arms resting on his knees, head tilted downwards, eyes closed as he just sat there and listened to him. Maybe it was sort of invasive, ******** sitting here and listening without telling him, but - he knew Tolliver. If he said a word, his lover would blush and get embarrassed and who knew if or when he’d get this kind of chance again?
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He didn’t hear the door open, Tolliver lost in the music. He hadn’t sung in so long that his voice felt rusty, a little hoarse from disuse, but the tone of it hadn’t changed all this time. It ebbed out into the steam from the shower, curling around him, until he was reaching the crescendo. His voice lifted, lilted out, and then eased back down again into the softer strains, gentle and sweet until he finished both the song and the shower.
The door was slid open, and he stepped carefully out, always wary of his leg. Tolliver buried his face into a towel and took a few minutes to just dry himself off, and then wrapped the towel around himself like a blanket over his shoulders. It was one of the oversized ones that he’d bought specifically for himself, and he felt very nice and comfortable in it.
Pushing open the bathroom door, Tolliver turned towards the dresser -
-and promptly found Hitch sitting there, just outside the door. He jumped about a foot, nerves fraying, face heating as his heartbeat skittered crazily in his chest.
“Logan,” Tolliver gasped out, a hand to his chest. “What - what are you doing there, you scared me!”
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Music was no small thing for Hitch. It’d been a constant companion for him when no single person had been, barring his mother - and then she’d been gone too and it’d just been the two of them again, Logan and his music. Drums were his passion, what he was drawn to, what he could do and love doing - but he loved all of it. The twang of guitar strings. The plucking of bass strings. The melodies and lyrics of singers, seeping from their lips and coiling around his heart. No, Logan could not sing, he’d never been trained, and just didn’t have the ear or the voice for it. But he loved hearing it, loved the kinds of images and emotions it could inspire.
The voices and sounds of music had soothed him in ways people just couldn’t, or wouldn’t do, if that made any bit of ******** sense. No one got why he was angry? Pantera did. No one got why he was sad? Alice did. No one got why he felt nothing? Nirvana did. Things like that. They were there, always willing, and never judgemental. It was so easy to find himself in music and be moved by it, no explanations needed, just understanding at the push of a button.
This was no recording, obviously - but the same feeling was there. The warmth, the understanding, the emotion. It felt nourishing, especially now that his phone was shot and he had no means to fall back on his favorite songs anymore. He sat there and let Tolliver’s voice wash over him, and he thought to himself there was something beautiful about it being from the person he loved. Something more personal, more meaningful.
His eyes burned a little once the song ended, although for once, he hardly gave it a ******** second thought. Hitch thought to himself that maybe he ought to move, but he was grounded by the weight of what he’d just intruded on, and his legs didn’t want to move. Maybe in some ways he was hoping for another, even if the water was already shut off and he heard the rustling of a towel.
So sure enough, he was still there when Tolliver opened the door the rest of the way. He tensed a little, although he wasn’t sure why - maybe because he knew he’d invaded on something private, or maybe now that he was caught he began to feel a little stupidly ashamed of himself - either way, he glanced up through his bangs and answered simply, rather softly, “I didn’t know you could sing.”
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Tolliver froze.
For a few seconds, he just stared at Hitch in complete shock, a red flush slowly and steadily creeping its way onto his face. He felt ridiculous standing there in his towel, but he couldn’t make his feet move to actually walk away, Tolliver completely incapable of having a single coherent thought that would answer I didn’t know you could sing.
“That…” Tolliver croaked, and then stopped, his heart clambering in his chest, almost painful. He clutched at his towel, shifting his feet, and what was he supposed to say to that? His thoughts twisted together, confusion and color and sound all mingled together.
Finally he said, in a slightly trembling voice, soft and riddled with anxiety, barely above a whisper - though not necessarily at Hitch, or because of him -
“That’s because no one does. I’ve never - I’ve never told anyone, or - or shown anyone before.”
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Hitch sat still for a moment after Tolliver had stammered out his explanation, and it was hard to read his expression with his hair hanging, shaggy as ever, over his face. His lover’s reaction didn’t exactly surprise him. Everything about it, the cracking voice riddled with anxiousness and the blush, were so achingly, adoringly familiar to Hitch by this point in their relationship. He knew without touching him how fast his fiance’s heart must be beating.
Still. No one knew - he really had intruded on something personal.
(He was glad he had.)
Slowly, carefully, stiff from hours spent behind the deli counter, he eased himself to his feet. Even if Tolliver usually stood a little taller, it probably wasn’t the case now. How many times when nerves took hold did Tolliver shrink into himself, hunching and growing as small as he could?
“You should.” He bit at his piercing, looking down, and then at Tolliver again. His eyes were brighter than they should have been, and he was blinking furiously. “Tell people. Show people. - you should show me, “ if no one else. Maybe, selfishly, Hitch wanted to keep it for himself.
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He couldn’t tell if Hitch was upset with him for not telling him about his singing, irritated that he’d kept something from him, or just in one of his darker moods where everything was bad and he just needed to ride it out. Tolliver stood there, clutching his towel stupidly, water dripping down the side of his face, his damp hair fluffy and messy from where he’d attempted to dry it earlier.
His heart skittered in his chest as Hitch got to his feet, and he was right, even if Tolliver didn’t know what he was thinking; Tolliver was hunched over, curling in on himself, an automatic defense mechanism stemming from years of withdrawal. Hitch wasn’t touching him - in fact, he was just standing there, his voice low, and after a second he glanced up at his fiance.
The look on his face startled Tolliver. Hitch’s eyes were overbright and he kept blinking, teeth at his piercing the way he did when he was thinking hard about something. Tolliver stared at him, utterly taken aback by this unexpected reaction, his chest feeling tight.
“I - what?” he stammered, fingers wrapped around the edge of his towel. “You - are you...Logan, I’ve never - I’ve never sung in front...in front of anyone.”
And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to share it with Hitch, and he desperately hoped Hitch knew that, but singing had never been one of Tolliver’s obvious talents, something hidden away and tucked aside. Even Fritz had no idea, had never walked in on him while he was humming to himself or murmuring a tune under his breath.
“I…” said Tolliver, and then stopped, feeling idiotic.
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“I know.” He’d said as much already, after all, and Hitch believed him. Because it was Tolliver, Hitch wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t imagine Tolliver willingly performing in front of people, raising his voice to those beautiful pitches where people could see. “But you should, “ he repeated again, biting down on his piercing again and taking a tentative step closer.
He reached out and caught the corner of the towel, not tugging, but just holding the fabric between his fingers, rubbing it slowly between his thumb and forefinger. He was looking down now, still fidgeting with his piercing, the way he did when he was struggling to express something. “You should because it’s - your voice is beautiful, an’ - “
It did something to me. It meant something to me. I wish I’d known sooner. I want to hear it again. Even if I wasn’t supposed to hear it at all.
How was he supposed to say all that? - how could he begin to express something that couldn’t ******** be put into words?
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He couldn’t figure out Hitch’s reaction. He didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem upset. But there was an intensity there, something strong and powerful that was deep set in Hitch’s eyes, in every word he was struggling to say. And Tolliver didn’t understand it, didn’t know why his lover was looking at the floor and not him, his fingers curling around the towel.
“Logan…?” Tolliver said tentatively, and he stepped closer, a hand shifting free from under the towel to reach out and press against the side of Hitch’s face. A thumb smoothed over his cheek, warm and gentle and soothing as best as he could.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hoping the question wasn’t sounding pitiful or patronizing. “I’m - I’m sorry I didn’t...I never sang for you before, I didn’t...think, I…”
He trailed off, a worried look on his face.
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Hitch tilted his head into the touch, and closed his eyes as he tried to find the right words. No, no, don’t apologize. That’s not what I want. That’s - “I miss my music, “ and it started out simple like that, his voice catching just a little. “I can’t play until my hand’s - an’ I can’t listen to my - an’ - “
He bit the inside of his cheek hard. “I like - I loved your music - just now, I - I need music, an’ I - I’d like it if you - if you shared yours’ with me, “ and it sounded so ******** stupid when he said it like that. It didn’t ******** capture the gravity of what that’d done to him at all.
This was why he played music instead of ******** writing it, he just couldn’t - he could use words, notes, that were already there and make them his own, yeah. But he couldn’t make his own, couldn’t ever ******** get at what he was trying to say in a way that was meaningful. He couldn’t just up and bring other people into the world with his words like other people could, and it was frustrating. Beyond frustrating. Infuriating, sometimes.
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Something in Tolliver’s chest seemed to break away, and the pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together. With Hitch’s hand still injured and his previous phone completely dead, he’d lost all of his songs, couldn’t play his drums, and it was wearing on him, Tolliver could see now, could sense the frustration that rolled off of him in heavy waves. It made him feel ashamed that he hadn’t noticed before now, that he hadn’t seen just how painful it had been for him all this time.
His fingers rose up, delicate and gentle against his lover’s temple.
“Do you - you want me to sing for you?” Tolliver asked softly, and he’d never once, ever sung for anyone, but something told him that Hitch needed it, that he needed something to keep him going. His chest was a little tight, his heart beating very fast, but…
“I’ll sing for you, Logan,” he said quietly, and cupped Hitch’s face in the palm of his hand. “Just you.”
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Hitch slowly, carefully looked up at Tolliver, and he thought that maybe because his lover was who he was, maybe he’d gotten the message after all. “If you’re okay with it, “ because he knew what he wanted, and as badly as he wanted it, he didn’t exactly want to force Tolliver into it either. “I know I wasn’t supposed to hear, but - “ But I loved it. Did he really need to say it out loud? Hitch’s expressions, the way he looked at Tolliver with too bright eyes, didn’t that say enough?
“I’d like that, if you did, “ I’d love it, please don’t ever stop. Amazing how much words could vary from meaning to intent. He blinked again and nuzzled into that palm, and in his own way, looked exhausted - whether it was from work, stress, or just that there were so few ways before Tolliver’s body and the bottom of a bottle of bourbon to seek any kind of solace.
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“I’m okay with it,” Tolliver said quickly, because although he was nervous, although he couldn’t stop the anxiety from rising in his throat, Hitch’s well being was much more important. He could see the tiredness in his lover’s face, the strain of life taking its toll on him the more that time passed. The dark circles under his eyes, the simple weariness that was etched everywhere made his chest ache.
“I will,” said Tolliver softly, and he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lover’s temple. “Just...just lemme get dressed, okay? And you can sit on the couch, I’ll be ready in a minute.”
There was no point in going anywhere else to change, Hitch had certainly seen it all before. Tolliver ruffled the towel through his hair again before disappearing into the bathroom momentarily to hang it up. He padded out a second later and moved to the dresser, Tolliver tugging out his favorite at-home outfit - a pair of Hitch’s boxers and one of Hitch’s shirts, because selfishly he liked feeling like he belonged with them.
He shook his hair out of his face, ignoring the waves of nerves settling through him, and turned back to Hitch, Tolliver’s expression quite gentle, in spite of his anxiety
“You all right?” he asked softly.
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That kiss warmed him in ways few things could, and gave him enough to be able to half-smile at Tolliver then, and even crack half a joke: “Why? - you singin’ naked is probably the best thing I can imagine, “ and it was lame as ********, but it was an attempt. (Even if he totally wasn’t kidding, it actually would be the best thing.)
Still, he gave no protests. He just flopped right down on the couch and watch his lover through half-lidded eyes as Tolliver bustled around, putting the towel away and getting his pajamas together - and if you asked him, yeah, those boxers and those t-shirts really did belong on his lover’s body. He could barely imagine a time now that they hadn’t.
The sudden attention made his cheeks burn, instinctively, shrugging his shoulders with a too-quick, “Yeah.” Then, like he caught himself, the red darkened and he fidgeted, winding his fingers together. “I mean - “ Honesty. He promised to try and be honest, didn’t he? Even if it was tough. “No? - I don’t ********’ know - I’m just tired, s’all, I guess.” His tongue flicked out over his piercing, trying to find the right words. “Sorry, just - hearin’ you just now - it was really - it did somethin’.” And that was still, somewhat pathetically, the best way he had to describe it.
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He blushed furiously at the idea of singing naked, Tolliver shooting a look over his shoulder at his lover as he pulled on Hitch’s clothes. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel comfortable being clothesless in front of Hitch - it would be stupid to not feel comfortable now, after all this time - but singing was already something that made him feel open and vulnerable. No need to add to that, at least not now. Maybe later.
Maybe.
He knew before Hitch had even said the automatic yeah that he really wasn’t okay. Tolliver waited patiently for his lover to continue, his eyes full of concern, not pity, or frustration, though his heart was aching for the fact that he was looking at him in such a sad way. The weariness was settled over him, and Tolliver felt his heart skip a beat.
He gave a little nod and then padded over to the couch. Tolliver sat down beside Hitch, and then, gently, reached out and touched the side of his face, knuckles tenderly sliding down his cheek. He leaned and kissed his temple, and then pressed a hand to the side of his head, Tolliver’s other hand patting his legs.
“Lie down,” he said softly. “It’ll be all right.”
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No matter what kind of mood he was in, at least he’d know on some level things would be okay when he could see Tolliver like that, blushing furiously, and find himself smiling back, warmed a little from the inside like he’d taken a sip of something hot and soothing.
Do you even know what you do for me?
On either cheek, there would be scars waiting - one side yielding one, and the other four - and they were still the same angry red that they’d be for a long while yet, raised slightly above his untouched, freckled skin. He sighed softly at the gentle touches and the fleeting kiss to his temple, and again, he offered no word of protest. With a brief glance to meet Tolliver’s eyes, grateful and adoring and apologetic all at once, he slowly laid down in his lover’s lap, arms folded beneath his head, eyes half-closed.
Nothing will be alright though. He didn’t have the heart to say it out loud. He didn’t have the strength to banish it to the far recesses of his mind where it belonged, either.
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He didn’t mind the scars. They were as a part of Hitch as the rest of him was now, and Tolliver ran his fingers gently over them, tracing the lines tenderly in the same sort of gentle fashion that Hitch often did with the burn marks on his leg. His eyes showed nothing but love, and he shifted slightly in his seat, letting Hitch lay down. Once he was there, his fingers smoothed tenderly through Hitch’s hair, brushing at his temple.
There was nothing but silence for a while. Tolliver was regaining the courage to start singing again, his chest tight, his heart beating very fast against his ribs.
And then, softly, he finally opened his mouth and began to sing.
It started off quiet at first and slowly ebbed a little higher, though Tolliver’s voice remained soft and sweet the entire time, his fingers never ceasing in their movements in Hitch’s hair.
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What a fitting ********’ song, was all Hitch could think to himself as he laid there, eyes half-closed and drowning in the sound of his lover’s voice. And it worked; it did to him what it had before, washing over him and soothing him. It didn’t take any of it away, because nothing really could, but…
It made him feel loved. Comforted. Wanted, most of all, hearing something so close to Tolliver’s own feelings put to music like that, and if there was something Logan Hitchcock desperately needed to be, it was that. Simply wanted, desired, needed. And Tolliver did make him feel like that, always, and here he was putting it into words and music for him when he’d never done it before and -
Logan Hitchcock was also a man that liked to pretend he was not emotional. If anyone in the world knew how untrue this was, it was Tolliver. And music did things to him mere words just didn’t hold a candle to. (Maybe that’s part of why words came so hard to him - music always said it so much better than mere words could.) Which was why, as he laid there, his eyes grew hot again, and even as he smiled some of that liquid heat seeped from his eyes and onto Tolliver’s thigh.
And he was okay.
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It felt strange, to be singing aloud. Tolliver was so incredibly used to not singing, to hiding, that he felt like this was opening up a part of himself that was terribly vulnerable, something raw and fragile. His voice remained soft throughout the entirety of the song, but Tolliver’s hand smoothed gently through his lover’s hair, tender gestures that spoke of love and adoration without words.
He could feel a dampness against his leg. Tolliver kept singing, but his hand dipped lower, fingers brushing affectionately at the corners of his lover’s eyes without saying or doing a single thing other than that and continuing his song. It was very quiet in the apartment, the world shrinking down to just the two of them.
And then slowly, gently, his song was easing down, ebbing away and the last strains of it slipped into silence, Tolliver’s heart beating slow and rhythmically in his chest.
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When it ended, although Hitch wished it hadn’t, he slowly rolled over onto his back, head still in his lover’s lap, and stared up at him through still-damp eyes. He was grinning now, though, a soft sort of half-smile. He reached up and brushed his fingertips along Tolliver’s cheek, and almost didn’t want to say anything; he was half-afraid he’d ruin the moment, somehow ******** up the bit of peace he’d coaxed from his lover’s hidden talent.
“I love you.”
His fingers grazed the edge of his fiance’s jaw.
“You’re - amazin’, y’know.”
Those were the best words he had, and they were not nearly enough.
“Your ********’ voice, it’s - I never heard anythin’ like it. - I mean in a good way, I - I love it.”
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He had lifted his hand a little when Hitch had moved, then settled it back down in his lover’s hair. He traced his fingers over his temple, and then turned his head into Hitch’s touch, nuzzling against the fingers at his cheek. His free hand lifted, and he caught Hitch’s hand in his, turned, and pressed his lips lovingly to his palm, and then to his wrist where he could feel the pulse fluttering beneath.
The affection made him smile tenderly, eyes half lidded. Tolliver kissed each of Hitch’s fingertips, soft fluttering things.
“I love you,” he said softly, pressing his nose into Hitch’s hand. The blush was high and heavy on his cheeks, suffusing his face, but he pushed past the anxiety and just gave a little nod, trying not to automatically refute the compliment.
His lips skimmed over Hitch’s knuckles.
“I…” said Tolliver quietly. “I’ve never really….considered myself a singer, really, it was just...just something I sort of did on my own, I just sort of...tucked it away, you know.”
His smile was gentle.
“But...now it’s shared with you, right..?”
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Hitch let his eyes slide shut, if only for a minute, loving the warm softness of Tolliver’s fingers and the fleeting heat of his lips with those kisses. And he did love him. He loved Tolliver St. James more than he could say, wanted to repeat it back at he said it, the hint of coolness to the tip of his lover’s nose as it pressed against his palm. His lover’s cheeks were red, bright and vibrant and inviting more of that warmth Hitch never knew he’d needed so much until Tolliver.
His knuckles, none of them were smooth and flawless like they should have been. The ones on the hand that’d punched the mirror were the most visibly damaged (although healed, the lasting marks of that day lingered on), but all the knuckles had some degree of scarring, and that had nothing to do with demon women or Eurydike.
“Tucked away… “ he said it almost dreamily, his eyes now half-lidded as he stared back up at his fiance, smiling a fond, almost secretive smile. “My hidden gem, then, “ and he tilted his head, enough to be able to press his cheek and part of his nose against his lover’s lower stomach. He nuzzled in there, just a bit, and the fingers of his free hand had fallen to curl in the fabric of that flannel.
“My lil’ bird - I told you not to hide from me, “ he half-purred, chuckling deep in his throat. “I’m glad you shared this with me, babe, even if it was an accident, I - I wanna share everythin’ with you, y’know - the good stuff, the bad, the lil’ stuff, the big - all of it - “ Hypocrite. How many of those things did he offer without giving any of them back?
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He kept up the small, sweet ministrations, idly kissing patches of skin across Hitch’s hand. He lingered a little on the scars, gentle and adoring, and then kept moving, sweeping soft kisses across his fingers and his palm and the back of his hand and wrist. Eagch one said the same thing without words - each one was just another declaration of love and adoration for Logan Hitchcock.
His blush deepened somewhat, his stomach fluttering where Hitch was nuzzling, but it was such an endearing gesture that it made him smile, Tolliver’s other hand sweeping over his lover’s hair.
“Just yours,” he said, and then got a little flustered, because it was true - from their second meeting, Hitch had told him not to hide, and it had always been a thing, always been constant ever since. A reminder not to shelter himself away or withdraw, but to open himself and his heart up to another human being, to Hitch, because Hitch loved him.
Tolliver’s fingers drifted over his fiance’s forehead.
“Old habits are hard to break,” he said softly. “You too, though - you know you can tell me anything, regardless.”
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“Mine, “ and he repeated that with a hint of a heat, a touch of his more typical possessive snarls, his fingers curling in Tolliver’s grasp to briefly clutch at his.
His face burned a little when his lover called him on his hypocrisy, not that it wasn’t totally warranted or anything. Still. This was the first person who’d even gotten close enough to see it in the first place. Even if it embarrassed him, he was still a little glad for it. “I’m tryin’, “ and he was, and he faltered a lot, and there was still a lot left unsaid, but - “I’m really tryin’. I, uh… “
Hitch’s face burned a little more intensely. “Sorry, too. I mean, like - I’ve kinda been sorta - “ Back and forth? A ******** mess on and off? “ - all over the ********’ place.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t been before. Just since Tolliver had come home when he shouldn’t have, or maybe it’d been since that first time when Tolliver had first called him on his s**t and Hitch had broken down - since then, it’d just been harder to hide it. It wasn’t new, but it was more and more visible, and the lack of a ******** job didn’t exactly ******** help. “Like I got weird before. I should’ve just asked or somethin’ instead of bein’ all - m’sorry, lil’ bird.”
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The possessiveness, as always, brought a sense of heat and pleasure rushing through Tolliver. He held tightly to Hitch’s fingers and gave a wordless nod, because he was Hitch’s. He was Hitch’s and he was no one else’s, other than himself. His heart and the rest of him was solely the man’s currently lying in his lap, looking at up at him with such intensity in his eyes.
“I know,” said Tolliver gently, and smiled reassuringly down at him. His fingers smoothed over Hitch’s temple again. “I know you’re trying, Logan.”
He would have kissed his brow, had he been able to reach, but as it was, Tolliver settled for softly kissing Hitch’s fingers again. He hummed against them, the smallest traces of that musicality in the sound, and let his fingers drift down to the side of Hitch’s neck, gently stroking before they moved back to his face, tracing the scars with tender, feather light touches.
“It’s just a work in progress,” said Tolliver softly. “I don’t expect you to immediately be able to let go of what you’re so used to; things like that don’t happen overnight.” As already clearly evidenced by everything they had gone through so far.
“I’m patient,” Tolliver said with a smile. “I’ll wait for you.”
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Hitch loved being passionate with Tolliver, more than anything. He loved kissing him, touching him, tasting him, ******** him - there wasn’t a single goddamn thing with Tolliver he didn’t love and hunger for. Right now, it was this. It was the soft music of his voice, his understanding, the light brushes of his fingers. He reached up and snatched his lover’s fingers with his free hand, drawing the back to his lips as though he were kissing royalty.
In a way, he was. It was tacky as ********, but Tolliver sure meant more to him than any of the supposed princes or princesses, like the one Celsus was pining after in his own way. Tolliver was both more tangible and more ethereal for being here and present and in the presence of someone like this, loving a person like Logan unconditionally in spite of it all.
“I know I keep sayin’ I love you - but - “ He kept the back of Tolliver’s hand pressed to his lips as he smiled, and it reached his eyes. “I love you. I ain’t never loved anythin’ more than I do you. I know I say it a lot, an’ I don’t wanna make it lose it’s shine, but - it’s all I got. You’re all I got. An’ I don’t want nothin’ else.”
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The kiss to his hand made him flush, as usual, but there was a smile on Tolliver’s face, a little bashful, but sweet and adoring. He curled his fingers in his lover’s grasp, holding securely for a moment before he shifted them, sliding his fingers with Hitch’s and twining them together. It was little gestures like these that made him feel incredibly warm and comfortable, incredibly loved.
His heartbeat quickened at the words, something in his chest fluttering.
“I’ve never...loved anyone more than I love you, either,” said Tolliver softly. “I’v e never loved anything more than I’ve loved you, Logan Hitchcock.”
His voice was almost achingly tender, and embarrassingly, his eyes were over bright already, Tolliver blinking rapidly to try and dispel some of the wetness gathering at the corners.
“Tell me every day that you love me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me every hour, every minute, every second, because that’s how much I love you. Every second of every day is how much I love you, and you, Logan, you’re all I ever want or ever need.”
He bit his lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to appear.
“My husband,” he said quietly. “You’ll be my husband, my dearest Logan.”
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Ditto.
All of it. The spoken and the unspoken. Every inch of him, every fiber, every bit of him that there was and would be echoed Tolliver’s feelings down to the last. With his free hand, Hitch reached up to brush his fingertips against the corners of his lover’s eyes, while with the other he squeezed Tolliver’s fingers, stroking his thumb slowly with his own.
“I love you.”
He nuzzled against his stomach again.
“I love you.”
He kissed the skin there, sighing against it.
“I ********’ love you. The more I see, the more I ********’ do, I - I love you baby. I love you.”
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He tilted his head automatically into the touch to his eyes, the dampness lingering on Hitch’s fingertips. Tolliver kept their interlaced fingers together and just relished the feel of them, the gentleness of his lover, the sweetness and the beauty of this man in his lap. The nuzzling kisses to his stomach, as well as the sigh, made Tolliver squirm a little, a flush of happiness decorating his cheeks, and his free hand cradled Hitch’s hair as he leaned over.
“I love you, Logan,” Tolliver breathed. “Now, and forever.”
And it would always, always be true.
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