[Fic: Hockey RPS] Let Life burn Down, and Dream it is not Death; Richards/Lundqvist; NC-17
*leaves box of tissues out*
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title from the poem, Anactoria by Algernon Charles Swinburne.
Warnings: mild dirty talk, fingering, barebacking, and a couple lines of Google translated Swedish and French.
Eighteenth in the Hide the Night-verse.
Let Life burn Down, and Dream it is not Death
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; mild hints of Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; NC-17
Goodbye ...
Let Life burn Down, and Dream it is not Death
Tampa looked exactly the same as he remembered.
There was a slight balmy breeze as Brad exited the airport. He glanced at his phone, the slight tug at his heart nearly had him re-dialling Hank's phone number. But there was no guarantee Hank would pick it up. He deserved this.
And, if Hank walked away when he was back in New York, Brad wouldn't blame him.
He glanced at his watch, before he unlocked the door on the rental car. Brad climbed in, and pulled out his phone one more time. He typed in a short message, and sat in the car for a good five minutes or so, thumb hovering over the 'send' button. Eventually, he swallowed his nerves, and hit send.
Brad set his phone aside before he started the engine, shifted gears, and made his way to the exit.
He navigated the Tampa streets with ease. Brad missed the sun kissing his cheeks, and hair.
And the company, part of his subconscious whispered to him.
Brad gritted his teeth, turned the volume up on the radio, and gripped the steering wheel harder.
"I didn't come here for that. I made my choice," he said through gritted teeth.
He turned his head towards the open window, breathing in Tampa's air in an effort to calm his thoughts.
Brad thinks there is a very slight smell of poplin in the air, but, sometimes the mind is tricky. Can make even the most unreal seem real.
At the next red light, Brad lets out a heavy sigh, and briefly presses his forehead against the steering wheel. He wonders how he'd gotten to this point in his life.
The car behind him beeps impatiently, jarring Brad from his thoughts. He presses a button on his phone, illuminating the screen.
His home screen blinks back at him.
No messages from Hank.
He supposes that was to be expected. Brad nudges the accelerator and breezes through the light.
It doesn't make his heart hurt any less though.
-x-
After his scheduled appointment with his notary, and lawyer, Brad had driven to his house on Davis Island. He had a few more hours to kill before he had to head back to the airport.
He was sitting at the table going through the documents, when his phone rang.
"Brad?"
His realtor's voice is faint on the other end of his phone.
"Hm?"
"You might need to make one more trip to Tampa."
Brad presses his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, as he stares out the French doors to the pool, before he thumbs through the folders and sheafs of paper on the table.
"I thought you could just overnight the documents to me."
Brad watched the sun's rays as they filtered through the doors, and across the hardwood floors. He was half-listening as his realtor rambled on about escrow, notarized documents, and land title transfers, when he heard the doorbell.
"I know you have a busy schedule, and we'll most likely be playing phone tag for a bit. I'll try to avoid having you fly back out here."
"Thanks." Brad is halfway down the hall, and eventually yanks his door open. "Yeah, no, thanks. We'll be in -"
The smell of poplin and finely milled soap reaches his nose, long before he registers who is standing on his doorstep.
"Vince …?" he whispers, before clicking his phone off.
Vince's eyelids flit briefly to Brad's face, before he slips past Brad and into the foyer. He looks around his surroundings appraisingly, before he turns back to look at Brad, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, his mouth twisted in a slightly crooked smile.
Brad thinks he's never seen Vince's eyes look that distant, or cold before. Maybe he was imagining things.
The coldness that is.
"It still looks the same as you left it," Vince says conversationally.
By now, Brad has shut the door, he leans casually against it, arms folded across his chest.
Vince crosses the floor to Brad, traces a hand down Brad's cheek, and tilts Brad's head up to his.
"You came back," he breathes against Brad's mouth. He covers his mouth with a fierce, bruising kiss. Vince hasn't shaved yet, so his stubble is coarse against Brad's chin.
Brad shivers despite himself, lifts an arm, his palm sliding over Vince's shoulder, before he lets his palm rest on Vince's chest. He breaks the kiss, and shoves at Vince's chest.
"I didn't come back for that," Brad chokes out. He runs a hand through his hair, bites his bottom lip and stares at the floor. "I meant what I said to you on the phone that night."
Vince laughs. It sounds hollow. Like he thinks that will be enough to break Brad's resolve. In the past it might have been. But, things were different now. Had been different for quite some time now. "You can't say goodbye like that, Brad. I was heartbroken."
"You seem to have made it out of that conversation relatively unscathed," Brad returns, moving past Vince, and down the hall.
Vince catches up to Brad at the kitchen table. He slides an arm around Brad's waist, and turns him gently. "So why are you here? And why did you text me earlier saying we needed to talk."
Brad swallows around the lump in his throat, ignoring the hand Vince has pressed against the small of his back. He grips Vince's arm with his hand, lets their eyes meet, before he finally speaks.
"I put the house on the market."
Vince blinks, his grip on Brad's waist tightening. He laughs shakily, his eyes trained on Brad's. He waits a few seconds, hoping to see Brad's expression change, hoping Brad would start laughing, and tell him this was all just a bad joke. Brad's expression remains unchanged.
"You're serious?"
Brad is biting his bottom lip nervously. He is half-waiting for Vince to ask why, anything, really, but that doesn't happen. Instead, Vince does something completely unexpected. Although, Brad thinks, it really isn't all that unexpected. Then again, no one is expecting your best friend-turned lover of over a decade to deliver a right hook to your mouth.
Brad blinks stupidly at Vince, rubs his lip, where the pain is blossoming. He's almost surprised when he draws his hand back, and sees the blood on his fingertips. He looks back at Vince, looks long and hard at Vince's expression, before he punches Vince back, his fist connecting with Vince's lip. The red blossoms on Vince's lip almost immediately. It gives Brad a bit of smug satisfaction.
He instinctively draws his arms up when he sees Vince has recovered, and is reaching for him. Instead of punching him again, like Brad was half-expecting, Vince yanks on Brad's shirt front, and pulls him flush against him. Chest to thigh, and kisses him again.
Brad's cries are muffled, his lip still bloody. He smacks Vince's shoulder as Vince bites down on his lip, drawing a muffled, pain-fuelled moan from Brad.
When Vince finally pulls away, Brad can see where his blood has smeared across Vince's lips. "What the fuck was that about?"
Vince's body is tense, tight, and he eyes Brad silently. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
"We're never over. No matter how hard we've fought it, we always seem to end up back with the other." Vince runs his fingers through Brad's hair, tugs lightly on the strands. "Le cœur a ses raisons."
The heart has its reasons …
Brad stares up at Vince, completely unfazed as he says, "Except, we are. Over, that is." He steps out of Vince's arms, before all but shoving the documents into Vince's arms.
"We've been over for a long time, Vince. We've watched each other over the years come so close to fucking everything up. Watching, and doing everything wrong. We've been letting our whole relationship go wrong for close to two decades. And, I can't … I can't keep doing the wrong thing."
Brad stares at Vince, watches every emotion as it crosses Vince's face. But, it was true. They cannot go back to the way things were. They were trying so hard over the years to fix everything. To keep things the way they were. No matter how many times they had both left the other.
"You should have signed with Tampa," Vince whispers finally.
"It would have been too easy to avoid the inevitable," Brad says. "You made your choice, Vince. It's time to live with that choice."
"Like you're living with yours?"
"I have …" Brad bites his bottom lip in an attempt to stave off the tears. "I have gone over this moment over and over again in my head. No matter how many different situations I envision the end result is always the same." He offers Vince a small, apologetic smile. "This is self-destructive, Vince. And, there is only so many times a person can be destroyed, before they finally walk away, or crumble. I'm walking away."
"It's Henrik, isn't it?"
Brad swallows the lump in his throat. "He's part of it." He reaches a hand out, runs it down Vince's cheek. "But this is mostly me. It's time we let go. It's time we live. Even if it means we try to do it apart."
Vince doesn't say anything for the longest moment. He cannot take his eyes off of Brad, and he watches as he leans against the kitchen table for a long, long time. He watches as Brad's eyes blink, watches as an eerie sort of calm settles over them.
And, then the files are falling to the floor, and he is in Brad's space, his hands hot against Brad's neck, his mouth hot, as it moves over Brad's cheeks. Brad opens his mouth, his lips pressed to the shell of Vince's ear.
"Au revoir," Brad whispers over and over again, before Vince cups his face in his hands, and moves his mouth to cover Brad's in a kiss.
They break apart a few moment's later. Vince has his forehead pressed to Brad's, his eyes screwed shut, as he lets his hands rest on Brad's shoulders. He swallows heavily then, but he can't form words. They stand like that for a while, before Brad finally pulls away from him. He bends to retrieve the files, before he glances at his watch.
"I have to get back to the airport."
Wordlessly, Brad walks Vince to the door and out to his car. He watches Vince as he stands by his open door for a long moment. Brad wants to shake him, yell at him. Say something. Anything!
They both don't speak.
-x-
Brad lets himself into Hank's apartment with the spare key Hank had given him. He shuts the door quietly behind him, disarms the alarm, and stands for a few moments in the entrance, staring at the darkness surrounding him. Listens as the sounds of New York wash over him. He makes his way down the hall towards the bedroom.
Brad watches as Hank sleeps. He is sleeping in the middle of the bed, and Brad smiles as he remembers Hank always sleeps like this when he is not there.
Hank stirs as Brad's weight shifts the bed. The lights from outside filter dully inside the room, and Brad can see as Hank looks at him with his steady, unwavering crystalline-like eyes.
"You're back," Hank says, his voice raspy, and sleep-tinged. He pulls himself into a sitting position then, and blinks as Brad flicks on the nightstand light.
He puts his hands on the side of Hank's face, pulls him towards him, and rests his forehead against Hank's. Brad swallows heavily.
"Hank, I have to tell you something."
Hank is still, looking at him, unblinking. He runs a hand through his hair, and Brad takes that as a sign he is listening.
"I went to Tampa to put my house on the market."
"That's it?"
Brad chews on his bottom lip. "I saw Vince."
"I see."
Brad reaches his arms out then, slides them around his neck. "I won't lie to you and tell you part of me went to Tampa to see Vince, you deserve better than that. I thought it would be easier, y'know? Saying goodbye. But, it wasn't. God, Hank, I just … I couldn't … I couldn't keep it together. What we had was self-destructive, and just … it was …"
"Shh, Brad. I know, I get it." Hank curls Brad against his chest, kisses Brad's hair, listens as Brad mumbles nonsensical words against his neck. "It was the only thing you knew for almost two decades. I get it. I know. Jag älskar dig."
"Je ne te mérite pas. Ce n'est pas vrai … I just … it's … I ended it …"
Hank kisses him then, and his arms are around him, holding him close. The simple embrace chasing any remnants of Vince, of their shared past away. It's just the two of them.
Brad barely registers the coolness in the air until Hank's warm hands are on his skin. Hank's hands are under his shirt, his slightly calloused palms are warm against his flesh. He strips Brad's clothes away, and lets Brad clumsily remove his shirt. Hank puts his mouth on Brad's shoulder, follows the curve of his shoulder down, his tongue hot against his skin as he licks.
Brad shivers, and shifts closer in Hank's embrace.
"Cold?" Hank murmurs. His mouth pressed to Brad's chest.
"It's fine," Brad whispers.
Hank kisses him then, his mouth hot and demanding against Brad's. His palms are like fire. Brad swears his skin is shaking. He half-thinks he might overheat.
"Brad," Hank groans, as Brad shifts above him, straddling his hips, his free hand pressing against the front of Hank's briefs.
"Take them off," Brad whispers against Hank's mouth. "Please, Hank. Let me feel you."
Hank pushes Brad off him briefly as he undresses, and drags Brad down so they are naked between the sheets. He watches as Brad reaches a hand out to trace a line down his jaw.
"I don't deserve you," Brad whispers. His breath comes in short bursts as Hank presses him against the bed.
His body is warm, and hard. Hank's hair falls into his eyes; Brad brushes it aside as he leans in, pressing his lips to Hank's.
Brad has his hands tangled in Hank's hair as Hank slides his palms over the muscles in his stomach. Hank's mouth follows where his hands have touched Brad, before he brushes his fingers against Brad's lips, his blue eyes darkening in arousal as Brad's tongue licks at the digits.
Brad arches off the bed as Hank reaches between his legs and sinks his fingers in up to the knuckle.
"Hank, fuck. Please."
Brad draws his knees up, whimpers unintelligible words as Hank fucks him open with his fingers. Eventually, Hank kisses Brad's knee and reaches into his nightstand drawer. He drips the lube over his fingers, before he nudges his fingers back inside, feeling as Brad trembles around his fingers. He varies his strokes, watches as Brad bites down on his bottom lip, buries his face into the crook of his shoulder.
"Oh, Jesus shit, Hank," he breathes, his hands fisted in the sheets, his cock leaking and sticky, as he continues to whimper and come apart around Hank's fingers.
Brad gasps out Hank's name as he comes, and Hank strokes him through it, before he slowly slips his fingers from Brad.
Hank kisses Brad at the exact moment he slides into him. Brad makes a muffled sound against Hank's lips as he moves against him. Hank moves slow, like he is trying to draw this out as long as possible. His breath comes in slow, steady pants as he thrusts against Brad. Brad digs his fingernails into Hank's shoulder blades, as his back arches against Hank.
Brad almost doesn't dare to breathe, his eyes never leaving Hank's, his head spinning. Hank presses his palm against Brad's chest, before he leans in, his mouth hovering over Brad's ear.
"Don't forget to breathe, Bradley."
And, oh God, just hearing Hank's voice against his skin was enough to make Brad forget his name. His thoughts are all consumed with Hank. He is everywhere.
Brad comes again, shocking himself as he gasps and bucks his hips up against Hank. He groans as his come spatters his stomach, and Hank's bare chest. "God, Hank." He pulls Hank down against him, moving with him, hearing as Hank breathes his name over and over again. Until, finally, he presses Brad down into the mattress and comes.
Night rages on around them in the aftermath. Hank sleeps curled on his side, facing Brad. Brad can't help but watch the way the moonlight plays across Hank's forehead and cheeks. He leans in, presses a kiss to Hank's forehead, inhales deeply, before he sighs in contentment.
"Je t'aime," he whispers.
He is close to dozing off, when his phone buzzes. Brad checks his texts.
I'm not ready to see you this happy.
Brad bites his bottom lip as his eyes glance over Vince's text. He presses another button.
Are you sure you want to delete this message?
His thumb hovers over the 'yes, I'm sure' button for a few moments, before he finally hits 'delete'.
Your message has been deleted.
-x-
→ Jag älskar dig - I love you
→ Je ne te mérite pas. - I don't deserve you
→ Ce n'est pas vrai - This is not real
→ Je t'aime - I love you
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title from the poem, Anactoria by Algernon Charles Swinburne.
Warnings: mild dirty talk, fingering, barebacking, and a couple lines of Google translated Swedish and French.
Eighteenth in the Hide the Night-verse.
Let Life burn Down, and Dream it is not Death
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; mild hints of Brad Richards/Vince Lecavalier; NC-17
Goodbye ...
Let Life burn Down, and Dream it is not Death
Tampa looked exactly the same as he remembered.
There was a slight balmy breeze as Brad exited the airport. He glanced at his phone, the slight tug at his heart nearly had him re-dialling Hank's phone number. But there was no guarantee Hank would pick it up. He deserved this.
And, if Hank walked away when he was back in New York, Brad wouldn't blame him.
He glanced at his watch, before he unlocked the door on the rental car. Brad climbed in, and pulled out his phone one more time. He typed in a short message, and sat in the car for a good five minutes or so, thumb hovering over the 'send' button. Eventually, he swallowed his nerves, and hit send.
Brad set his phone aside before he started the engine, shifted gears, and made his way to the exit.
He navigated the Tampa streets with ease. Brad missed the sun kissing his cheeks, and hair.
And the company, part of his subconscious whispered to him.
Brad gritted his teeth, turned the volume up on the radio, and gripped the steering wheel harder.
"I didn't come here for that. I made my choice," he said through gritted teeth.
He turned his head towards the open window, breathing in Tampa's air in an effort to calm his thoughts.
Brad thinks there is a very slight smell of poplin in the air, but, sometimes the mind is tricky. Can make even the most unreal seem real.
At the next red light, Brad lets out a heavy sigh, and briefly presses his forehead against the steering wheel. He wonders how he'd gotten to this point in his life.
The car behind him beeps impatiently, jarring Brad from his thoughts. He presses a button on his phone, illuminating the screen.
His home screen blinks back at him.
No messages from Hank.
He supposes that was to be expected. Brad nudges the accelerator and breezes through the light.
It doesn't make his heart hurt any less though.
-x-
After his scheduled appointment with his notary, and lawyer, Brad had driven to his house on Davis Island. He had a few more hours to kill before he had to head back to the airport.
He was sitting at the table going through the documents, when his phone rang.
"Brad?"
His realtor's voice is faint on the other end of his phone.
"Hm?"
"You might need to make one more trip to Tampa."
Brad presses his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, as he stares out the French doors to the pool, before he thumbs through the folders and sheafs of paper on the table.
"I thought you could just overnight the documents to me."
Brad watched the sun's rays as they filtered through the doors, and across the hardwood floors. He was half-listening as his realtor rambled on about escrow, notarized documents, and land title transfers, when he heard the doorbell.
"I know you have a busy schedule, and we'll most likely be playing phone tag for a bit. I'll try to avoid having you fly back out here."
"Thanks." Brad is halfway down the hall, and eventually yanks his door open. "Yeah, no, thanks. We'll be in -"
The smell of poplin and finely milled soap reaches his nose, long before he registers who is standing on his doorstep.
"Vince …?" he whispers, before clicking his phone off.
Vince's eyelids flit briefly to Brad's face, before he slips past Brad and into the foyer. He looks around his surroundings appraisingly, before he turns back to look at Brad, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, his mouth twisted in a slightly crooked smile.
Brad thinks he's never seen Vince's eyes look that distant, or cold before. Maybe he was imagining things.
The coldness that is.
"It still looks the same as you left it," Vince says conversationally.
By now, Brad has shut the door, he leans casually against it, arms folded across his chest.
Vince crosses the floor to Brad, traces a hand down Brad's cheek, and tilts Brad's head up to his.
"You came back," he breathes against Brad's mouth. He covers his mouth with a fierce, bruising kiss. Vince hasn't shaved yet, so his stubble is coarse against Brad's chin.
Brad shivers despite himself, lifts an arm, his palm sliding over Vince's shoulder, before he lets his palm rest on Vince's chest. He breaks the kiss, and shoves at Vince's chest.
"I didn't come back for that," Brad chokes out. He runs a hand through his hair, bites his bottom lip and stares at the floor. "I meant what I said to you on the phone that night."
Vince laughs. It sounds hollow. Like he thinks that will be enough to break Brad's resolve. In the past it might have been. But, things were different now. Had been different for quite some time now. "You can't say goodbye like that, Brad. I was heartbroken."
"You seem to have made it out of that conversation relatively unscathed," Brad returns, moving past Vince, and down the hall.
Vince catches up to Brad at the kitchen table. He slides an arm around Brad's waist, and turns him gently. "So why are you here? And why did you text me earlier saying we needed to talk."
Brad swallows around the lump in his throat, ignoring the hand Vince has pressed against the small of his back. He grips Vince's arm with his hand, lets their eyes meet, before he finally speaks.
"I put the house on the market."
Vince blinks, his grip on Brad's waist tightening. He laughs shakily, his eyes trained on Brad's. He waits a few seconds, hoping to see Brad's expression change, hoping Brad would start laughing, and tell him this was all just a bad joke. Brad's expression remains unchanged.
"You're serious?"
Brad is biting his bottom lip nervously. He is half-waiting for Vince to ask why, anything, really, but that doesn't happen. Instead, Vince does something completely unexpected. Although, Brad thinks, it really isn't all that unexpected. Then again, no one is expecting your best friend-turned lover of over a decade to deliver a right hook to your mouth.
Brad blinks stupidly at Vince, rubs his lip, where the pain is blossoming. He's almost surprised when he draws his hand back, and sees the blood on his fingertips. He looks back at Vince, looks long and hard at Vince's expression, before he punches Vince back, his fist connecting with Vince's lip. The red blossoms on Vince's lip almost immediately. It gives Brad a bit of smug satisfaction.
He instinctively draws his arms up when he sees Vince has recovered, and is reaching for him. Instead of punching him again, like Brad was half-expecting, Vince yanks on Brad's shirt front, and pulls him flush against him. Chest to thigh, and kisses him again.
Brad's cries are muffled, his lip still bloody. He smacks Vince's shoulder as Vince bites down on his lip, drawing a muffled, pain-fuelled moan from Brad.
When Vince finally pulls away, Brad can see where his blood has smeared across Vince's lips. "What the fuck was that about?"
Vince's body is tense, tight, and he eyes Brad silently. "A reminder."
"Of what?"
"We're never over. No matter how hard we've fought it, we always seem to end up back with the other." Vince runs his fingers through Brad's hair, tugs lightly on the strands. "Le cœur a ses raisons."
The heart has its reasons …
Brad stares up at Vince, completely unfazed as he says, "Except, we are. Over, that is." He steps out of Vince's arms, before all but shoving the documents into Vince's arms.
"We've been over for a long time, Vince. We've watched each other over the years come so close to fucking everything up. Watching, and doing everything wrong. We've been letting our whole relationship go wrong for close to two decades. And, I can't … I can't keep doing the wrong thing."
Brad stares at Vince, watches every emotion as it crosses Vince's face. But, it was true. They cannot go back to the way things were. They were trying so hard over the years to fix everything. To keep things the way they were. No matter how many times they had both left the other.
"You should have signed with Tampa," Vince whispers finally.
"It would have been too easy to avoid the inevitable," Brad says. "You made your choice, Vince. It's time to live with that choice."
"Like you're living with yours?"
"I have …" Brad bites his bottom lip in an attempt to stave off the tears. "I have gone over this moment over and over again in my head. No matter how many different situations I envision the end result is always the same." He offers Vince a small, apologetic smile. "This is self-destructive, Vince. And, there is only so many times a person can be destroyed, before they finally walk away, or crumble. I'm walking away."
"It's Henrik, isn't it?"
Brad swallows the lump in his throat. "He's part of it." He reaches a hand out, runs it down Vince's cheek. "But this is mostly me. It's time we let go. It's time we live. Even if it means we try to do it apart."
Vince doesn't say anything for the longest moment. He cannot take his eyes off of Brad, and he watches as he leans against the kitchen table for a long, long time. He watches as Brad's eyes blink, watches as an eerie sort of calm settles over them.
And, then the files are falling to the floor, and he is in Brad's space, his hands hot against Brad's neck, his mouth hot, as it moves over Brad's cheeks. Brad opens his mouth, his lips pressed to the shell of Vince's ear.
"Au revoir," Brad whispers over and over again, before Vince cups his face in his hands, and moves his mouth to cover Brad's in a kiss.
They break apart a few moment's later. Vince has his forehead pressed to Brad's, his eyes screwed shut, as he lets his hands rest on Brad's shoulders. He swallows heavily then, but he can't form words. They stand like that for a while, before Brad finally pulls away from him. He bends to retrieve the files, before he glances at his watch.
"I have to get back to the airport."
Wordlessly, Brad walks Vince to the door and out to his car. He watches Vince as he stands by his open door for a long moment. Brad wants to shake him, yell at him. Say something. Anything!
They both don't speak.
-x-
Brad lets himself into Hank's apartment with the spare key Hank had given him. He shuts the door quietly behind him, disarms the alarm, and stands for a few moments in the entrance, staring at the darkness surrounding him. Listens as the sounds of New York wash over him. He makes his way down the hall towards the bedroom.
Brad watches as Hank sleeps. He is sleeping in the middle of the bed, and Brad smiles as he remembers Hank always sleeps like this when he is not there.
Hank stirs as Brad's weight shifts the bed. The lights from outside filter dully inside the room, and Brad can see as Hank looks at him with his steady, unwavering crystalline-like eyes.
"You're back," Hank says, his voice raspy, and sleep-tinged. He pulls himself into a sitting position then, and blinks as Brad flicks on the nightstand light.
He puts his hands on the side of Hank's face, pulls him towards him, and rests his forehead against Hank's. Brad swallows heavily.
"Hank, I have to tell you something."
Hank is still, looking at him, unblinking. He runs a hand through his hair, and Brad takes that as a sign he is listening.
"I went to Tampa to put my house on the market."
"That's it?"
Brad chews on his bottom lip. "I saw Vince."
"I see."
Brad reaches his arms out then, slides them around his neck. "I won't lie to you and tell you part of me went to Tampa to see Vince, you deserve better than that. I thought it would be easier, y'know? Saying goodbye. But, it wasn't. God, Hank, I just … I couldn't … I couldn't keep it together. What we had was self-destructive, and just … it was …"
"Shh, Brad. I know, I get it." Hank curls Brad against his chest, kisses Brad's hair, listens as Brad mumbles nonsensical words against his neck. "It was the only thing you knew for almost two decades. I get it. I know. Jag älskar dig."
"Je ne te mérite pas. Ce n'est pas vrai … I just … it's … I ended it …"
Hank kisses him then, and his arms are around him, holding him close. The simple embrace chasing any remnants of Vince, of their shared past away. It's just the two of them.
Brad barely registers the coolness in the air until Hank's warm hands are on his skin. Hank's hands are under his shirt, his slightly calloused palms are warm against his flesh. He strips Brad's clothes away, and lets Brad clumsily remove his shirt. Hank puts his mouth on Brad's shoulder, follows the curve of his shoulder down, his tongue hot against his skin as he licks.
Brad shivers, and shifts closer in Hank's embrace.
"Cold?" Hank murmurs. His mouth pressed to Brad's chest.
"It's fine," Brad whispers.
Hank kisses him then, his mouth hot and demanding against Brad's. His palms are like fire. Brad swears his skin is shaking. He half-thinks he might overheat.
"Brad," Hank groans, as Brad shifts above him, straddling his hips, his free hand pressing against the front of Hank's briefs.
"Take them off," Brad whispers against Hank's mouth. "Please, Hank. Let me feel you."
Hank pushes Brad off him briefly as he undresses, and drags Brad down so they are naked between the sheets. He watches as Brad reaches a hand out to trace a line down his jaw.
"I don't deserve you," Brad whispers. His breath comes in short bursts as Hank presses him against the bed.
His body is warm, and hard. Hank's hair falls into his eyes; Brad brushes it aside as he leans in, pressing his lips to Hank's.
Brad has his hands tangled in Hank's hair as Hank slides his palms over the muscles in his stomach. Hank's mouth follows where his hands have touched Brad, before he brushes his fingers against Brad's lips, his blue eyes darkening in arousal as Brad's tongue licks at the digits.
Brad arches off the bed as Hank reaches between his legs and sinks his fingers in up to the knuckle.
"Hank, fuck. Please."
Brad draws his knees up, whimpers unintelligible words as Hank fucks him open with his fingers. Eventually, Hank kisses Brad's knee and reaches into his nightstand drawer. He drips the lube over his fingers, before he nudges his fingers back inside, feeling as Brad trembles around his fingers. He varies his strokes, watches as Brad bites down on his bottom lip, buries his face into the crook of his shoulder.
"Oh, Jesus shit, Hank," he breathes, his hands fisted in the sheets, his cock leaking and sticky, as he continues to whimper and come apart around Hank's fingers.
Brad gasps out Hank's name as he comes, and Hank strokes him through it, before he slowly slips his fingers from Brad.
Hank kisses Brad at the exact moment he slides into him. Brad makes a muffled sound against Hank's lips as he moves against him. Hank moves slow, like he is trying to draw this out as long as possible. His breath comes in slow, steady pants as he thrusts against Brad. Brad digs his fingernails into Hank's shoulder blades, as his back arches against Hank.
Brad almost doesn't dare to breathe, his eyes never leaving Hank's, his head spinning. Hank presses his palm against Brad's chest, before he leans in, his mouth hovering over Brad's ear.
"Don't forget to breathe, Bradley."
And, oh God, just hearing Hank's voice against his skin was enough to make Brad forget his name. His thoughts are all consumed with Hank. He is everywhere.
Brad comes again, shocking himself as he gasps and bucks his hips up against Hank. He groans as his come spatters his stomach, and Hank's bare chest. "God, Hank." He pulls Hank down against him, moving with him, hearing as Hank breathes his name over and over again. Until, finally, he presses Brad down into the mattress and comes.
Night rages on around them in the aftermath. Hank sleeps curled on his side, facing Brad. Brad can't help but watch the way the moonlight plays across Hank's forehead and cheeks. He leans in, presses a kiss to Hank's forehead, inhales deeply, before he sighs in contentment.
"Je t'aime," he whispers.
He is close to dozing off, when his phone buzzes. Brad checks his texts.
I'm not ready to see you this happy.
Brad bites his bottom lip as his eyes glance over Vince's text. He presses another button.
Are you sure you want to delete this message?
His thumb hovers over the 'yes, I'm sure' button for a few moments, before he finally hits 'delete'.
Your message has been deleted.
-x-
→ Jag älskar dig - I love you
→ Je ne te mérite pas. - I don't deserve you
→ Ce n'est pas vrai - This is not real
→ Je t'aime - I love you