“The cars can stand watch.”Declan toed the door shut behind them.“Keep an eye out for stray cats.”
Antonio offered him a small smile and the gentle drag of his fingers through Declan’s hair, steady once again.
“You’ve gotta make your peace with that cat, man.You make Aisling choose, I’m not sure you’d win.”
“My attempts to reconcile with the creature resulted in destroyed jeans.Puck chose to hate me.I didn’t make that decision.”
Talking and smiling and petting as if all were right with the world.Like nothing had changed.Everything, as Antonio would say, was fine.
“I’m gonna grab us some beers.You hungry?”
Declan’s arm tightened reflexively,activelyclinging.Dramatic.This was on him, he ought not be the one needing to cling.
“No food for me.A drink would be nice.”
It only took a moment, from there.Declan loitered, unwilling to step away, when Antonio went to the kitchen.Only the bar between them.Antonio took a moment by the fridge, door open.Breathing, thank the voids and stars and everything in between.
Thank everything, too, for Antonio, the center of his awareness.The tangle of his emotions, his love and his hurt.A soul wound because of what he’d done.ForDeclan.
Declan hadn’t meant for any of it.But he should have predicted it, somehow.He was a creature of inevitabilities.
Beers in hand, Antonio dropped to the couch, pulled Declan down with him, and out of his quickly spiraling thoughts.It was heart-breakingly comfortable, the now-familiar position of Declan’s back to the arm of the couch and his legs across Antonio’s lap.
Antonio opened Declan’s bottle and offered it to him.For a long moment, they sat in silence, Antonio’s hand resting on his knee and Declan taking slow, shallow sips.
“Jesus Christ, Murderpunk,” Antonio said into the quiet.“Fuck.”
“Aye.Well put.”Declan rested his temple against the back of the couch, pressed his legs down to Antonio’s thighs.As close to a squeeze as he could manage in the moment.“A thanks feels callous, but I worry a condolence may come across as patronizing.I simply….I am sorry, Antonio, for what you had to do to save me.”
“I…” Antonio took a pull of his beer, hand tight on Declan’s knee.“I thought I was gonna lose you.Again.Fuck, Murderpunk, I was so damned scared I was gonna lose you.”
Scorching heat and metal gone muted, but at least Antonio spoke of it.Better this ache than stoic silence or terrified clinging, unable to speak.
He stroked the back of Antonio’s neck and shoulder, reaching as far as he could without toppling over.Antonio leaned into the touch with a soft sigh.
Declan loved him so much.
“You were right to warn me off forgoing my defenses as you did.Kylan did what should have been impossible, but leave it to a bloody qilin to bridge that gap.I underestimated them both.”
“You’re not doing that again.Kesk and Veroni or any of their minions come after you, challenge you, whatever, you don’t hold back.I don’t care how fucking confident you are.”
Harsh words in a hurt tone, love and need and sorrow braided through, punctuated with another squeeze.
“I feared Nimai would continue to refuse without the handicap, and if the attacks persisted… Nimai has a reputation with humans.”It wasn’t enough, and Declan knew it.“I’ll not do it again.I swear it.If I hadn’t–”
“They’re the ones who fucked around.Cheated.If they’ll cheat, so will anyone else who tries.I don’t want you throwing away half your weapons before the fight starts.”
Admonishment, and still Antonio leaned into his touch.Allowed Declan to run gentle nails through his hair, over the soft skin of his neck and shoulder and arm.Touch and touch and touch, no matter how far he had to lean.He’d magic the floor clean if he dropped the bloody bottle.
“I offered you centuries and I intend to ensure they happen.My word on it, Antonio.I’ll not leave you.”
“Thanks.”Quiet words, his fingers drumming lightly on Declan’s knee.“Goes both ways, you know.Said I’d have your back.Gonna.Nothing changes that.”
“I know.I trust you.Even if you feel me unsure at times, that’s by my own cracks.Not because I doubtyou.You’ve seen me at a few of my worsts, and still reached for me.You’ve had me, each time.”
The offered jumper.Confronting Calloway.Pulling Declan from the brink and Reece and“not fucking happening.”Kindness after kindness, starting from the first time he called Declan “murder punk.”Lowercase, back then.A descriptor rather than a name.
“Few of my worst too.Hell of a couple weeks, yeah?C’mere.”
