[fic] When The Night Wakes Him
Another one of those, "been-sitting-on-my-hard-drive-for-oh-so-long-stories". Hope you enjoy.
Title: When The Night Wakes Him
Author: creepy_crawly
Rating: Ooh, R
Characters/Those Involved: Ole-Kristian Tollefson/Dan Fritsche
Warnings: Hockey. Slash. Previous non-con. Angst.
Disclaimer:Ha. This is 1.056 words of pure Bee-Ess.
Summary: When the night wakes him, he will be ready.
Sometimes, Ole will sit up in the middle of the night, chest heaving, heart racing, eyes wide and skin sweaty. The moonlight pouring in through the eternally open window will not calm him, nor will Danny’s soft mumbles of, “w’swron’, ba’y?” The cool air of their eternally-drafty bedroom will make him shiver, but that will be the only reaction Danny can get out of him.
He will sit and stare out the window, staring out at the trees bathed in pale moonlight, taking deep, shuddering breaths and waiting for his heart to slow down. He will ignore Danny and his quiet words, his soft breaths, his worried eyes. He will ignore everything but the pounding of his heart and the throbbing of his veins, the chill of cold sweat, the burn of tears and lack of breath.
Some nights, when it’s really bad, Ole will lurch out of bed, one hand on his stomach and the other over his mouth. Danny will sit up to the sound of retching and gagging. He will rub a tired hand over sleep-hazed eyes, sigh, and swing his legs out of bed. He will walk slowly to the bathroom, and there rub Ole’s back as he throws up, one hand combing sleepily through his hair.
“Come on, beautiful,” Danny will whisper when he’s done, when all that’s left in his stomach is air. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”
And Ole will lean against his strong body, tired and scared and trembling. Tears and snot will streak his face, and the strong burn of stomach acid will lacerate his sore throat. His mouth will still taste of vomit, and his head will be pounding.
Tired, concerned, Danny will fill the glass beside the sink with water, and then sit down on the step into the bathtub. He will cradle Ole’s shaking body against his own, and help him take small sips of the water as he waits for the water to run hot. When it finally does, he will soak a washcloth, and then set aside the cup of water. He will murmur soothing things to the still-scared Ole, gently stroking his face with the warm washcloth, cleaning his face and soothing him all in one.
When Ole starts to look more together, soul and body one once more, Danny will guide the washcloth down his pale body, tracing the smooth flow of muscles down his chest, mapping the strength that lies beneath his skin. He will wipe away ice-cold sweat, wipe away fear and nightmares, wipe away remembered tears and blood and cum.
Ole will relax into his touch slowly, centimeter after centimeter of skin slowly stopping the twitching-shaking-trembling, nerve after nerve slowly ceasing the rapid-fire panic, leaning back into Danny’s body. He will look away as Danny cleans him off, letting the other man remove every trace of that long-ago violation.
“You’re mine, you know,” Danny will say quietly, hand still moving slowly over his body, now getting rid of the hand-shaped bruises on thin hips. “All mine,” he will continue, whispering into Ole-Kristian’s soft hair, “and I will never let them get you. I’m very selfish.”
Face pressed against Danny’s powerful thighs, Ole will maybe sorta kinda half-smile, taking comfort in the strength of his lover’s words. He will remember to move his legs so that Danny can reach them with the washcloth, so that every inch of him will be as clean as possible. He will never risk taking that taint back to bed with them. In bed, it’s supposed to by Danny and Ole, only love and laughter and mind-blowing sex and TV on Saturday mornings and banana pancakes on Sunday mornings between them.
When he’s washed every inch of Ole clean, Danny will carefully stand them both up, dropping the washcloth back into the tub. He will reach over and flush the toilet, and then gently guide Ole towards the sink and his toothbrush. “Brush your teeth, baby,” he will whisper against his shoulder, arms around that strong chest. “You gonna be okay without me?”
And Ole will nod slightly, reaching out slowly with one shaking hand to pick up his toothbrush. As the other goes slowly after the toothpaste, Danny will kiss his shoulder softly and then slip away, going to the bedroom to change the sheets. While he strips the nightmare-memory-men from the bed, Ole will carefully brush his mouth clean of their taint and the taste of bile, watching himself in the mirror for any hint of the marks that faded all those years ago.
Danny will come back in when he’s completely changed the linens on the bed-sheets, pillows and pillowcases, blankets, all of it. The old ones will be gone, not just in the hamper. Danny will have carried them all the way into the laundry room, and in the morning, he will have them washing before Ole even wakes up, and will wash them all day, not removing them until Ole’s asleep in their bed once more.
Danny will slip his arms back around Ole, pulling him back against his body, letting him feel all the hard lines of muscle, his heart beating in his chest, the ring through his navel. “Better?” he will ask gently, watching Ole’s eyes in the mirror.
Ole will nod. “Tired,” he will murmur, watching them together.
“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Danny will answer, as if this is the first time in the night that they are moving towards that particular article of furniture. He will walk them over towards Ole’s side of their bed, and then kiss him warmly. Ole will wrap his arms around Danny, tangling his hands in his hair and giving as good as he gets. He will then let his lover lay him down and tuck him in, and wait patiently as Danny slides in next to him. When they are together again, Ole will curl against Danny like a kitten against its mother.
Danny will hold him, Ole’s head under his chin, his feet planted flat against his shins. He will wrap his arms tightly around his Norwegian lover, pressing the knobs of his spine into that straight line that runs down his body, moulding his shape to fit against the curve of Ole’s body.
“Just sleep, baby,” he will whisper.
And sleep, Ole will.
Title: When The Night Wakes Him
Author: creepy_crawly
Rating: Ooh, R
Characters/Those Involved: Ole-Kristian Tollefson/Dan Fritsche
Warnings: Hockey. Slash. Previous non-con. Angst.
Disclaimer:Ha. This is 1.056 words of pure Bee-Ess.
Summary: When the night wakes him, he will be ready.
Sometimes, Ole will sit up in the middle of the night, chest heaving, heart racing, eyes wide and skin sweaty. The moonlight pouring in through the eternally open window will not calm him, nor will Danny’s soft mumbles of, “w’swron’, ba’y?” The cool air of their eternally-drafty bedroom will make him shiver, but that will be the only reaction Danny can get out of him.
He will sit and stare out the window, staring out at the trees bathed in pale moonlight, taking deep, shuddering breaths and waiting for his heart to slow down. He will ignore Danny and his quiet words, his soft breaths, his worried eyes. He will ignore everything but the pounding of his heart and the throbbing of his veins, the chill of cold sweat, the burn of tears and lack of breath.
Some nights, when it’s really bad, Ole will lurch out of bed, one hand on his stomach and the other over his mouth. Danny will sit up to the sound of retching and gagging. He will rub a tired hand over sleep-hazed eyes, sigh, and swing his legs out of bed. He will walk slowly to the bathroom, and there rub Ole’s back as he throws up, one hand combing sleepily through his hair.
“Come on, beautiful,” Danny will whisper when he’s done, when all that’s left in his stomach is air. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”
And Ole will lean against his strong body, tired and scared and trembling. Tears and snot will streak his face, and the strong burn of stomach acid will lacerate his sore throat. His mouth will still taste of vomit, and his head will be pounding.
Tired, concerned, Danny will fill the glass beside the sink with water, and then sit down on the step into the bathtub. He will cradle Ole’s shaking body against his own, and help him take small sips of the water as he waits for the water to run hot. When it finally does, he will soak a washcloth, and then set aside the cup of water. He will murmur soothing things to the still-scared Ole, gently stroking his face with the warm washcloth, cleaning his face and soothing him all in one.
When Ole starts to look more together, soul and body one once more, Danny will guide the washcloth down his pale body, tracing the smooth flow of muscles down his chest, mapping the strength that lies beneath his skin. He will wipe away ice-cold sweat, wipe away fear and nightmares, wipe away remembered tears and blood and cum.
Ole will relax into his touch slowly, centimeter after centimeter of skin slowly stopping the twitching-shaking-trembling, nerve after nerve slowly ceasing the rapid-fire panic, leaning back into Danny’s body. He will look away as Danny cleans him off, letting the other man remove every trace of that long-ago violation.
“You’re mine, you know,” Danny will say quietly, hand still moving slowly over his body, now getting rid of the hand-shaped bruises on thin hips. “All mine,” he will continue, whispering into Ole-Kristian’s soft hair, “and I will never let them get you. I’m very selfish.”
Face pressed against Danny’s powerful thighs, Ole will maybe sorta kinda half-smile, taking comfort in the strength of his lover’s words. He will remember to move his legs so that Danny can reach them with the washcloth, so that every inch of him will be as clean as possible. He will never risk taking that taint back to bed with them. In bed, it’s supposed to by Danny and Ole, only love and laughter and mind-blowing sex and TV on Saturday mornings and banana pancakes on Sunday mornings between them.
When he’s washed every inch of Ole clean, Danny will carefully stand them both up, dropping the washcloth back into the tub. He will reach over and flush the toilet, and then gently guide Ole towards the sink and his toothbrush. “Brush your teeth, baby,” he will whisper against his shoulder, arms around that strong chest. “You gonna be okay without me?”
And Ole will nod slightly, reaching out slowly with one shaking hand to pick up his toothbrush. As the other goes slowly after the toothpaste, Danny will kiss his shoulder softly and then slip away, going to the bedroom to change the sheets. While he strips the nightmare-memory-men from the bed, Ole will carefully brush his mouth clean of their taint and the taste of bile, watching himself in the mirror for any hint of the marks that faded all those years ago.
Danny will come back in when he’s completely changed the linens on the bed-sheets, pillows and pillowcases, blankets, all of it. The old ones will be gone, not just in the hamper. Danny will have carried them all the way into the laundry room, and in the morning, he will have them washing before Ole even wakes up, and will wash them all day, not removing them until Ole’s asleep in their bed once more.
Danny will slip his arms back around Ole, pulling him back against his body, letting him feel all the hard lines of muscle, his heart beating in his chest, the ring through his navel. “Better?” he will ask gently, watching Ole’s eyes in the mirror.
Ole will nod. “Tired,” he will murmur, watching them together.
“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Danny will answer, as if this is the first time in the night that they are moving towards that particular article of furniture. He will walk them over towards Ole’s side of their bed, and then kiss him warmly. Ole will wrap his arms around Danny, tangling his hands in his hair and giving as good as he gets. He will then let his lover lay him down and tuck him in, and wait patiently as Danny slides in next to him. When they are together again, Ole will curl against Danny like a kitten against its mother.
Danny will hold him, Ole’s head under his chin, his feet planted flat against his shins. He will wrap his arms tightly around his Norwegian lover, pressing the knobs of his spine into that straight line that runs down his body, moulding his shape to fit against the curve of Ole’s body.
“Just sleep, baby,” he will whisper.
And sleep, Ole will.