Fic: Orange Chicken - Complete
I.
Kurt Wallander hung up the phone and sat at his desk, staring blankly out the window at the bright and busy street below, the echo of Vanya’s angry voice still haunting his ears.
“All right, fine. Go on and suffer then - see if I care.”
He felt terrible for having put her off, and from her tone he suspected that she hadn’t entirely believed his excuse for not allowing her to come over this weekend and cook for him - although that may have just been a product of his own guilty conscience. And it wasn’t a complete fabrication; he really had been ill that entire week, and he really didn’t like being fussed over when he was sick. But since being completely honest with her wasn’t an option, he would just have to live with the gnawing guilt for now. He would try to make it up to her next weekend - maybe a night out with dinner and dancing might appease her.
A throbbing ache had taken up residence in his right temple and he rubbed at it distractedly. He just wanted to go home, order some food, drink a few beers, and go to sleep. But it was nearly five o’clock; Greg was coming in from London in less than an hour and he had to leave in a few minutes to pick him up. He sighed and had started straightening his desk when his colleague, Magnus Martinsson, popped his head in the door.
“Are you off, then?”
“Yes, trying to, anyway. Do me a favor - I’m having guests in from out of town this weekend. If anything comes up, unless it’s really urgent, make sure I’m the last one you call.” As he said this, Kurt wondered if he’d been right not to officially request time off. Nothing he could do about it now; hopefully anyone intent on murder or mayhem would have the decency to wait until at least Monday.
“Will do. There are a few things I need to go over with you on the Angstrom case.”
“Can they wait?”
“Sure, no problem. Enjoy your weekend.”
Kurt nodded absently as Martinsson turned and left.
This visit couldn’t have come at a better - or worse - time, Kurt thought as he resumed putting his files away. He desperately needed a break and he’d really been looking forward to seeing Greg again, but he was so run down he didn’t have much energy to entertain. The past two weeks had been hectic; his team was short-staffed due to Anne-Brit being on holiday, leaving him to track down a group of delinquent teens who were jumping migrant workers for sport, mostly on his own, all while fighting off a summer cold. The teens were in custody and were somebody else’s problem now, but the anxiety and headache they’d caused him still lingered.
On the one hand, it would be nice to be able to forget about work and relax for a few days, maybe take a day trip with Greg to the beach and get out into the fresh air.
On the other hand, there was the stress of lying to Vanya, the fear of getting caught, and of course, the persistent feelings of self-doubt and confusion over his relationship with Greg - a relationship that seemed to be continuing despite all reason and his best efforts at self-sabotage. He just needed to stop thinking about it all for a while. He powered down his computer and left the station without saying goodbye to anyone, and headed out to the train station in Malmö.
When Kurt pulled up, Greg was already there waiting with his small overnight bag lying on the pavement in front of him. Kurt was relieved he didn’t have to park and get out. The first few moments were always a bit awkward between them since he never knew if Greg expected an affectionate greeting or not, and he would have felt more pressure if he’d had to get out of the car. Thankfully, Greg didn’t push it; he simply got in with a smile, gave a friendly “hello,” and they were on their way back towards Ystad.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries and then fell silent. In the brief lull, Greg looked him up and down.
“You look a bit done in. Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” Kurt replied. “Just work…you know how it is.”
Greg nodded. “Yeah, work,” he said, turning back to watch the road again. “This week was a real bugger. I was lucky to get away myself.”
That was the nice thing about being with Greg - he did know exactly how it was. With him, Kurt didn’t have to explain everything or offer excuses, or worse, have to pretend he felt differently than he did to appease whomever he was with. His ex-wife, his daughter, and now Vanya…they couldn’t just simply let him be. But Greg understood, and he left Kurt in peace for the remainder of the drive, for which Kurt was thankful.
Once they arrived at the house, Greg dropped his bag in the bedroom and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Kurt grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and brought them out to the living room. He sat on the sofa and turned on the television, flipping through the channels to try and find some English language programming that wasn’t too obnoxious. Greg came out and joined him just as he settled on an old Premier League game.
“Ta,” Greg said, accepting the beer and sitting down next to him on the sofa.
The tense awkwardness between them continued as they drank and watched the game in silence. It was an annoying sort of tension, like a sneeze that refuses to come out. They both knew why Greg was there, yet they played at this “will we or won’t we” thing almost every time. Kurt fussed silently with his empty beer bottle for a few minutes before going into the kitchen to get another. When he returned, he noticed Greg casting a sidelong look at the drink in his hand.
“What?” Kurt’s tone was sharper than he’d intended. He certainly didn’t want to start an argument, but the disapproval he’d read on Greg’s face had mixed with the dull but steady ache in his head and shortened his temper considerably.
“Nothing,” Greg answered and shrugged. “It’s just…it’s not really good to drink so much on an empty stomach, is it?”
Kurt knew Greg was referring obliquely to the diabetes, even though they’d never spoken about it. He didn’t know how Greg might have worked it out, but he shouldn’t have been surprised - it’s not easy to hide things from a seasoned detective. The thought only deepened his irritation, but, for the sake of being a courteous host, he decided to let it go.
“Do you want to order some food, then?” he offered.
“Sure,” Greg said, brightening a bit. “What are we having?”
They settled on Chinese, and Kurt dug out a menu for a place nearby that delivered. Greg leaned in and looked over Kurt’s shoulder as they pored over the menu together, Kurt translating, until Greg finally decided on the Beef Lo Mein. When Kurt indicated he would have the Orange Chicken, Greg looked at him and frowned.
“Isn’t that a bit sweet?” he asked.
Kurt’s simmering irritation immediately boiled over into anger. “What is it to you?” he snapped.
“Look I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just…well, you need to watch your blood sugar, don’t you?”
“That’s none of your business,” Kurt replied hotly, “It’s for me to deal with.”
“Well that’s just the point,” Greg rejoined, his voice now rising to match Kurt’s angry tone. “You’re not dealing with it. If you were, I wouldn’t have had to say anything.”
Kurt bolted up from the sofa. “It’s not your concern, so just leave it. I don’t need to hear this from you.” He was shouting now, and could feel his face burning hot.
“Fine,” Greg shouted back, throwing a hand up and turning back to the game. “Forget it. Do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Fine,” Kurt responded through gritted teeth. He grabbed his mobile and the menu off the coffee table and stalked into the kitchen. After placing the order for the food, he busied himself tidying up and setting out plates and silverware with more banging of cupboards and slamming of drawers than was strictly necessary. He hated conflict, but more than that, he hated being told what to do. Greg was right of course; he’d been lax on his diet all week because he’d been so busy. Even so, if he tried to go back into the living room now he knew he’d just wind up saying things he’d regret and ruining the weekend even further than he’d done already. So he remained lurking in the kitchen until the ring at the door announced the arrival of dinner.
Both men were tense and quiet as they sat down to their meal. Kurt had grabbed another beer from the fridge; even as he set it down on the table in front of him he knew he’d done it more out of spite - daring Greg to say something about it - rather than because he’d really wanted another drink. Greg glanced up briefly, taking note, but said nothing. They ate in a strained sort of silence, the clink of forks on plates and the buzzing drone of the voices on the television in the background seemed loud and grating.
Kurt was sullenly chewing his food and avoiding all eye contact with his dinner companion when a hand and fork crept into his view, stabbed a bit of meat off his plate, and retreated. He looked up to see Greg grinning impishly at him through a mouthful of orange chicken.
“Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he said in response to Kurt’s glare.
“If you want some, take it out of the container,” Kurt scolded lightly, as if chastising a naughty but favored child. He picked up and plunked the take-away container closer to Greg.
"Don’t mind if I do.” Greg spilled some onto his plate, and Kurt put his head down and continued eating. He could feel Greg’s eyes on him, though, and after a few moments he reluctantly looked up and met his gaze.
“Sorry about before,” Greg said. “Didn’t mean to be such a nag.”
Kurt shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I was just being a bit irritable.”
“A bit?” Greg said, smiling broadly.
“Yes,” Kurt felt the corner of his mouth quirk in a half-smile. “Just a bit.”
He took a deep breath and started to relax, feeling the tension between them slowly dissipate like water clearing from an unstopped drain. They finished up and Greg helped him clear the table. When that was done, they settled on the sofa again to watch an old episode of Top Gear, all the while a different sort of tension growing between them. Tentative touches led to exploratory kisses, and soon they were making their way towards the bedroom, fumbling with each other’s buttons and belt.
Kurt’s limbs felt heavy and his head still ached; he would have been fine with a quick mutual wank and then some sleep. But Greg’s voice in his ear - God, I want you - and Greg’s hips raised in greedy anticipation spurred him on. It’s why Greg had come all this way, after all; no sense in wasting such a rare opportunity. He gathered his strength and took what was offered - hard and fast and breathless. When he finally came he collapsed forward, panting heavily, completely spent. Vaguely aware of Greg finishing himself off beneath him, he felt a twinge of guilt for not having been more attentive to his partner.
Kurt rolled over and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His skin was slick with sweat even though the room was fairly cool, and he could feel his heart skipping erratically. He draped an arm over his face and swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry. The bed shifted beneath him as Greg got up and made his way to the bathroom to clean up. On his way back, Kurt stopped him before he could lie down again.
“Could you bring me a glass of water, please?” he asked, his voice sounding thick and gravelly to his own ears.
Greg nodded and ambled out into the kitchen, returning quickly and handing him a tall glass of water before clambering back into bed. Kurt polished it off in just a few gulps. He could feel his hand shaking a bit as he raised the glass to his lips, and hoped the darkness covered it.
“You feeling all right?” Greg asked.
“Fine, fine,” Kurt replied lightly, “Just not as in shape as I used to be.”
“Really? I thought you were looking fitter. Been exercising?”
Kurt smiled at that, then immediately cursed his vanity for being so pleased by Greg’s words.
“A little, here and there,” he replied. “Doctor’s orders.” While this was, technically, the truth, it hadn’t been his primary motivation to get moving and walk a mile or two every morning, and even to pick up the weights a few times a week. It was the prospect of being naked with Greg, who was fairly fit, and who also seemed fitter since their first encounter, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t as self-conscious about being with Vanya, but then with her there wasn’t that automatic impulse to compare himself with another male.
Vain and competitive, he thought. I really should have grown out of those things by now.
“In fact,” he continued aloud, “I thought we’d go on a bit of a beach hike tomorrow morning, before it gets too hot.”
“Sure, I’m game.”
Kurt rolled over and closed his eyes. He could feel Greg still propped up next to him, his stubbled chin pressing insistently against the back of Kurt’s shoulder.
“So, does all this mean you’ve forgiven me, then?” Kurt could hear the grin in Greg’s voice, and he smiled in spite of himself. He rolled over onto his back again, and Greg settled in beside him.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he answered with mock weariness. It simply wasn’t possible for him to remain angry with Greg, who was always so capable of appeasing him without being ingratiating or annoying. He berated himself for being unfairly harsh earlier. After all, Greg only said what he said because he cared, though Kurt really couldn’t imagine why.
“You keep coming back,” he said quietly. “Why do you keep coming back?”
The answer was swift and simple. “You keep having me.”
Kurt sighed and ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. “My daughter says I’m a difficult man to live with.”
“Good thing I don’t live with you then,” Greg joked. “You’re okay for a weekend here and there.” He paused, then, “Do you think you’re difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I tend to disappoint people.”
Greg pulled away to peer at him in the dark, brow furrowed. “You really believe that?”
“It is a demonstrable fact.”
Greg gazed at him for a moment before settling back down. He ran a hand lazily through the hair on Kurt’s chest, briefly tracing the smooth line of the scar there.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
Kurt nodded. “Please.”
“Really? I get to start a sentence with, ‘Do you know what your problem is?’ and you won’t get angry?”
Kurt laughed “Yes, but just this once.”
“Right, so, do you know what your problem is?” Greg chuckled, but his voice quickly became low and serious. “You suffer needlessly. You put yourself through the wringer because you care so much about everyone and everything, but you don’t take care of yourself. I saw that in you the first night we met. That caring - it’s your great strength, and I can’t tell you how much I admire it, but it’ll tear you up if you let it. Also,” he added as an afterthought, and Kurt could just see the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk, “you have some serious control issues.”
Kurt nodded thoughtfully and chuckled. “Yes, that I’ll easily admit to.”
“Yeah, a lead inspector with control issues,” Greg continued. “You’re a fucking cliché, you are. How did you ever manage being a junior officer and having to take orders all the time from everyone?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Kurt replied. “I got in trouble enough times for going off on my own. It’s a wonder I ever made it to Inspector, or that I’m even still alive.”
They fell back into silence for a bit, until Greg’s hand on his chest stilled.
“Give yourself a break, will you?” he said, softly. “I’m not expecting anything, so you don’t have to worry about disappointing me. Just relax, all right?”
“I’ll try,” Kurt said, and placed a kiss on Greg’s brow.
He felt himself warming up to Greg more and more; every visit chipped away at his defenses, and he wondered where that would lead.
Nowhere good, probably.
If he kept seeing Greg like this, it was only a matter of time before things became too messy to ignore. Sooner or later he’d be forced to make a choice, and being with Vanya would undoubtedly be the easier road to travel in the long run. But the thought of cutting Greg loose made his stomach clench; he wasn’t ready to give up their growing friendship and the (usually) fantastic sex. Not yet, anyway.
He lay awake for some time, still feeling awful from having overindulged on beer and carbs. His head throbbed ever more painfully and his heart still fluttered uncomfortably in his chest - he’d need to take a piss soon as well. It was his own pigheadedness that was to blame, of course, and he cursed himself silently for it. Soon he could hear Greg snoring softly beside him. Trying not to wake him, Kurt gingerly left the bed and made his way to the bathroom. He relieved himself, then took a few aspirin and downed another glass of water. Leaning over the sink, he peered into the mirror at his haggard face and vowed not to overdo it again tomorrow.
****
(Part II)
Kurt Wallander hung up the phone and sat at his desk, staring blankly out the window at the bright and busy street below, the echo of Vanya’s angry voice still haunting his ears.
“All right, fine. Go on and suffer then - see if I care.”
He felt terrible for having put her off, and from her tone he suspected that she hadn’t entirely believed his excuse for not allowing her to come over this weekend and cook for him - although that may have just been a product of his own guilty conscience. And it wasn’t a complete fabrication; he really had been ill that entire week, and he really didn’t like being fussed over when he was sick. But since being completely honest with her wasn’t an option, he would just have to live with the gnawing guilt for now. He would try to make it up to her next weekend - maybe a night out with dinner and dancing might appease her.
A throbbing ache had taken up residence in his right temple and he rubbed at it distractedly. He just wanted to go home, order some food, drink a few beers, and go to sleep. But it was nearly five o’clock; Greg was coming in from London in less than an hour and he had to leave in a few minutes to pick him up. He sighed and had started straightening his desk when his colleague, Magnus Martinsson, popped his head in the door.
“Are you off, then?”
“Yes, trying to, anyway. Do me a favor - I’m having guests in from out of town this weekend. If anything comes up, unless it’s really urgent, make sure I’m the last one you call.” As he said this, Kurt wondered if he’d been right not to officially request time off. Nothing he could do about it now; hopefully anyone intent on murder or mayhem would have the decency to wait until at least Monday.
“Will do. There are a few things I need to go over with you on the Angstrom case.”
“Can they wait?”
“Sure, no problem. Enjoy your weekend.”
Kurt nodded absently as Martinsson turned and left.
This visit couldn’t have come at a better - or worse - time, Kurt thought as he resumed putting his files away. He desperately needed a break and he’d really been looking forward to seeing Greg again, but he was so run down he didn’t have much energy to entertain. The past two weeks had been hectic; his team was short-staffed due to Anne-Brit being on holiday, leaving him to track down a group of delinquent teens who were jumping migrant workers for sport, mostly on his own, all while fighting off a summer cold. The teens were in custody and were somebody else’s problem now, but the anxiety and headache they’d caused him still lingered.
On the one hand, it would be nice to be able to forget about work and relax for a few days, maybe take a day trip with Greg to the beach and get out into the fresh air.
On the other hand, there was the stress of lying to Vanya, the fear of getting caught, and of course, the persistent feelings of self-doubt and confusion over his relationship with Greg - a relationship that seemed to be continuing despite all reason and his best efforts at self-sabotage. He just needed to stop thinking about it all for a while. He powered down his computer and left the station without saying goodbye to anyone, and headed out to the train station in Malmö.
When Kurt pulled up, Greg was already there waiting with his small overnight bag lying on the pavement in front of him. Kurt was relieved he didn’t have to park and get out. The first few moments were always a bit awkward between them since he never knew if Greg expected an affectionate greeting or not, and he would have felt more pressure if he’d had to get out of the car. Thankfully, Greg didn’t push it; he simply got in with a smile, gave a friendly “hello,” and they were on their way back towards Ystad.
They exchanged the usual pleasantries and then fell silent. In the brief lull, Greg looked him up and down.
“You look a bit done in. Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” Kurt replied. “Just work…you know how it is.”
Greg nodded. “Yeah, work,” he said, turning back to watch the road again. “This week was a real bugger. I was lucky to get away myself.”
That was the nice thing about being with Greg - he did know exactly how it was. With him, Kurt didn’t have to explain everything or offer excuses, or worse, have to pretend he felt differently than he did to appease whomever he was with. His ex-wife, his daughter, and now Vanya…they couldn’t just simply let him be. But Greg understood, and he left Kurt in peace for the remainder of the drive, for which Kurt was thankful.
Once they arrived at the house, Greg dropped his bag in the bedroom and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Kurt grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and brought them out to the living room. He sat on the sofa and turned on the television, flipping through the channels to try and find some English language programming that wasn’t too obnoxious. Greg came out and joined him just as he settled on an old Premier League game.
“Ta,” Greg said, accepting the beer and sitting down next to him on the sofa.
The tense awkwardness between them continued as they drank and watched the game in silence. It was an annoying sort of tension, like a sneeze that refuses to come out. They both knew why Greg was there, yet they played at this “will we or won’t we” thing almost every time. Kurt fussed silently with his empty beer bottle for a few minutes before going into the kitchen to get another. When he returned, he noticed Greg casting a sidelong look at the drink in his hand.
“What?” Kurt’s tone was sharper than he’d intended. He certainly didn’t want to start an argument, but the disapproval he’d read on Greg’s face had mixed with the dull but steady ache in his head and shortened his temper considerably.
“Nothing,” Greg answered and shrugged. “It’s just…it’s not really good to drink so much on an empty stomach, is it?”
Kurt knew Greg was referring obliquely to the diabetes, even though they’d never spoken about it. He didn’t know how Greg might have worked it out, but he shouldn’t have been surprised - it’s not easy to hide things from a seasoned detective. The thought only deepened his irritation, but, for the sake of being a courteous host, he decided to let it go.
“Do you want to order some food, then?” he offered.
“Sure,” Greg said, brightening a bit. “What are we having?”
They settled on Chinese, and Kurt dug out a menu for a place nearby that delivered. Greg leaned in and looked over Kurt’s shoulder as they pored over the menu together, Kurt translating, until Greg finally decided on the Beef Lo Mein. When Kurt indicated he would have the Orange Chicken, Greg looked at him and frowned.
“Isn’t that a bit sweet?” he asked.
Kurt’s simmering irritation immediately boiled over into anger. “What is it to you?” he snapped.
“Look I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just…well, you need to watch your blood sugar, don’t you?”
“That’s none of your business,” Kurt replied hotly, “It’s for me to deal with.”
“Well that’s just the point,” Greg rejoined, his voice now rising to match Kurt’s angry tone. “You’re not dealing with it. If you were, I wouldn’t have had to say anything.”
Kurt bolted up from the sofa. “It’s not your concern, so just leave it. I don’t need to hear this from you.” He was shouting now, and could feel his face burning hot.
“Fine,” Greg shouted back, throwing a hand up and turning back to the game. “Forget it. Do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Fine,” Kurt responded through gritted teeth. He grabbed his mobile and the menu off the coffee table and stalked into the kitchen. After placing the order for the food, he busied himself tidying up and setting out plates and silverware with more banging of cupboards and slamming of drawers than was strictly necessary. He hated conflict, but more than that, he hated being told what to do. Greg was right of course; he’d been lax on his diet all week because he’d been so busy. Even so, if he tried to go back into the living room now he knew he’d just wind up saying things he’d regret and ruining the weekend even further than he’d done already. So he remained lurking in the kitchen until the ring at the door announced the arrival of dinner.
Both men were tense and quiet as they sat down to their meal. Kurt had grabbed another beer from the fridge; even as he set it down on the table in front of him he knew he’d done it more out of spite - daring Greg to say something about it - rather than because he’d really wanted another drink. Greg glanced up briefly, taking note, but said nothing. They ate in a strained sort of silence, the clink of forks on plates and the buzzing drone of the voices on the television in the background seemed loud and grating.
Kurt was sullenly chewing his food and avoiding all eye contact with his dinner companion when a hand and fork crept into his view, stabbed a bit of meat off his plate, and retreated. He looked up to see Greg grinning impishly at him through a mouthful of orange chicken.
“Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he said in response to Kurt’s glare.
“If you want some, take it out of the container,” Kurt scolded lightly, as if chastising a naughty but favored child. He picked up and plunked the take-away container closer to Greg.
"Don’t mind if I do.” Greg spilled some onto his plate, and Kurt put his head down and continued eating. He could feel Greg’s eyes on him, though, and after a few moments he reluctantly looked up and met his gaze.
“Sorry about before,” Greg said. “Didn’t mean to be such a nag.”
Kurt shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I was just being a bit irritable.”
“A bit?” Greg said, smiling broadly.
“Yes,” Kurt felt the corner of his mouth quirk in a half-smile. “Just a bit.”
He took a deep breath and started to relax, feeling the tension between them slowly dissipate like water clearing from an unstopped drain. They finished up and Greg helped him clear the table. When that was done, they settled on the sofa again to watch an old episode of Top Gear, all the while a different sort of tension growing between them. Tentative touches led to exploratory kisses, and soon they were making their way towards the bedroom, fumbling with each other’s buttons and belt.
Kurt’s limbs felt heavy and his head still ached; he would have been fine with a quick mutual wank and then some sleep. But Greg’s voice in his ear - God, I want you - and Greg’s hips raised in greedy anticipation spurred him on. It’s why Greg had come all this way, after all; no sense in wasting such a rare opportunity. He gathered his strength and took what was offered - hard and fast and breathless. When he finally came he collapsed forward, panting heavily, completely spent. Vaguely aware of Greg finishing himself off beneath him, he felt a twinge of guilt for not having been more attentive to his partner.
Kurt rolled over and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His skin was slick with sweat even though the room was fairly cool, and he could feel his heart skipping erratically. He draped an arm over his face and swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry. The bed shifted beneath him as Greg got up and made his way to the bathroom to clean up. On his way back, Kurt stopped him before he could lie down again.
“Could you bring me a glass of water, please?” he asked, his voice sounding thick and gravelly to his own ears.
Greg nodded and ambled out into the kitchen, returning quickly and handing him a tall glass of water before clambering back into bed. Kurt polished it off in just a few gulps. He could feel his hand shaking a bit as he raised the glass to his lips, and hoped the darkness covered it.
“You feeling all right?” Greg asked.
“Fine, fine,” Kurt replied lightly, “Just not as in shape as I used to be.”
“Really? I thought you were looking fitter. Been exercising?”
Kurt smiled at that, then immediately cursed his vanity for being so pleased by Greg’s words.
“A little, here and there,” he replied. “Doctor’s orders.” While this was, technically, the truth, it hadn’t been his primary motivation to get moving and walk a mile or two every morning, and even to pick up the weights a few times a week. It was the prospect of being naked with Greg, who was fairly fit, and who also seemed fitter since their first encounter, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t as self-conscious about being with Vanya, but then with her there wasn’t that automatic impulse to compare himself with another male.
Vain and competitive, he thought. I really should have grown out of those things by now.
“In fact,” he continued aloud, “I thought we’d go on a bit of a beach hike tomorrow morning, before it gets too hot.”
“Sure, I’m game.”
Kurt rolled over and closed his eyes. He could feel Greg still propped up next to him, his stubbled chin pressing insistently against the back of Kurt’s shoulder.
“So, does all this mean you’ve forgiven me, then?” Kurt could hear the grin in Greg’s voice, and he smiled in spite of himself. He rolled over onto his back again, and Greg settled in beside him.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he answered with mock weariness. It simply wasn’t possible for him to remain angry with Greg, who was always so capable of appeasing him without being ingratiating or annoying. He berated himself for being unfairly harsh earlier. After all, Greg only said what he said because he cared, though Kurt really couldn’t imagine why.
“You keep coming back,” he said quietly. “Why do you keep coming back?”
The answer was swift and simple. “You keep having me.”
Kurt sighed and ran his fingers through Greg’s hair. “My daughter says I’m a difficult man to live with.”
“Good thing I don’t live with you then,” Greg joked. “You’re okay for a weekend here and there.” He paused, then, “Do you think you’re difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I tend to disappoint people.”
Greg pulled away to peer at him in the dark, brow furrowed. “You really believe that?”
“It is a demonstrable fact.”
Greg gazed at him for a moment before settling back down. He ran a hand lazily through the hair on Kurt’s chest, briefly tracing the smooth line of the scar there.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
Kurt nodded. “Please.”
“Really? I get to start a sentence with, ‘Do you know what your problem is?’ and you won’t get angry?”
Kurt laughed “Yes, but just this once.”
“Right, so, do you know what your problem is?” Greg chuckled, but his voice quickly became low and serious. “You suffer needlessly. You put yourself through the wringer because you care so much about everyone and everything, but you don’t take care of yourself. I saw that in you the first night we met. That caring - it’s your great strength, and I can’t tell you how much I admire it, but it’ll tear you up if you let it. Also,” he added as an afterthought, and Kurt could just see the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk, “you have some serious control issues.”
Kurt nodded thoughtfully and chuckled. “Yes, that I’ll easily admit to.”
“Yeah, a lead inspector with control issues,” Greg continued. “You’re a fucking cliché, you are. How did you ever manage being a junior officer and having to take orders all the time from everyone?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Kurt replied. “I got in trouble enough times for going off on my own. It’s a wonder I ever made it to Inspector, or that I’m even still alive.”
They fell back into silence for a bit, until Greg’s hand on his chest stilled.
“Give yourself a break, will you?” he said, softly. “I’m not expecting anything, so you don’t have to worry about disappointing me. Just relax, all right?”
“I’ll try,” Kurt said, and placed a kiss on Greg’s brow.
He felt himself warming up to Greg more and more; every visit chipped away at his defenses, and he wondered where that would lead.
Nowhere good, probably.
If he kept seeing Greg like this, it was only a matter of time before things became too messy to ignore. Sooner or later he’d be forced to make a choice, and being with Vanya would undoubtedly be the easier road to travel in the long run. But the thought of cutting Greg loose made his stomach clench; he wasn’t ready to give up their growing friendship and the (usually) fantastic sex. Not yet, anyway.
He lay awake for some time, still feeling awful from having overindulged on beer and carbs. His head throbbed ever more painfully and his heart still fluttered uncomfortably in his chest - he’d need to take a piss soon as well. It was his own pigheadedness that was to blame, of course, and he cursed himself silently for it. Soon he could hear Greg snoring softly beside him. Trying not to wake him, Kurt gingerly left the bed and made his way to the bathroom. He relieved himself, then took a few aspirin and downed another glass of water. Leaning over the sink, he peered into the mirror at his haggard face and vowed not to overdo it again tomorrow.
****
(Part II)