Just Want You Back for Good, Part II
Ed's ribs are aching when he wakes up. He moans and touches his face, wondering where his glasses are. Everything is fuzzy, and when he realizes that he's not lying on a mattress or the floor but someone else's warm, sleeping body, he should be startled. After a few moments of mindless nuzzling, he is. This isn't a dream, it's real, and it's Corbett he's nuzzling.
He curses and pushes himself up. Corbett stirs beneath him, and Ed can't see his facial expression without his glasses, but he would bet that he's pleased, happy, and Ed's stomach pitches as he launches himself to the floor and lands there hard, hissing at the sting in his tailbone.
"Ed," Corbett says as Ed crawls back to his own sleeping bag and feels around on the floor until he finds his glasses.
"What the fuck!" Ed says, shoving them on. He glares at Corbett, who is sitting up now, looking like the tenderhearted, loyal puppy that he is. His innocence only infuriates Ed further.
"I - I think you sleepwalked," Corbett says. His blush is rising, darkening from pink to red on his cheeks. "But - but I wasn't sure, so I didn't, um, want to push you away. You were so - needy, I -"
"Don't - don't call me needy!" Ed says, wincing and holding up his hands. He feels violated, not by Corbett but but himself, and by what's happened to both of them, a thing that's changed everything for the worse, turned the world on its side. "Where the fuck is Harry?"
"He's probably in Maggie's room," Corbett says. His voice is soft and wounded, and as Ed's panic fades he feels guilty for his reaction. It's not like Corbett pulled him onto the couch, though that's kind of how it feels, like Corbett has been magnetized by something only Dean or Sam could explain, and Ed can't keep himself clear of it.
"I - I'm sorry," Ed says. "I'm just a little confused. I don't remember - climbing on to you."
"Yeah. Well. You seemed a little out of it."
Ed doesn't know what to say. He turns away from Corbett and scratches at his elbow, wanting to run away. This is not him. He doesn't want to be with Corbett, and definitely didn't let himself wonder, last night in the kitchen, what it would be like to be Corbett's boyfriend, to put his chin on Corbett's shoulder and kiss his neck while he sliced the Rice Krispie treats into neat squares.
"Just - I'm sorry," Ed says again. "I hope I didn't - try to - do anything to you."
"No," Corbett says, very quietly. "You just sort of, um. Cuddled me. It - it wasn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me." He smiles nervously.
"Shit, well." Ed winces. He can't seem to bring himself to look at Corbett directly, doesn't want to see those sad golden retriever eyes. "I didn't mean to do that. I was - dreaming, and - it's been hard for me, everything that happened -"
"Ed." Corbett's voice cracks, which is like a punch in Ed's gut, and he lets himself look at Corbett fully for a moment. "Please," Corbett says. He's hugging his elbows, looking like the saddest thing in the world. "Just tell me what happened, how I died in that illusion. Help me understand - because - I - I keep thinking that you really care about me, and, um. I don't want to think that if it's not true."
"I do care about you," Ed says, and Corbett's face brightens, the creases at the corners of his eyes softening. "As a friend," Ed blurts. "That's all. I just - I - maybe you should get Harry to tell you how you died - how we thought you died."
"I don't want Harry to tell me."
"Why not?" Ed asks, barking the question, and Corbett actually flinches. Ed groans, annoyed with Corbett, and with himself.
"Because," Corbett says. "I don't think Harry, or Spruce, or even Maggie saw it the same way you did. You seem so much more affected."
"Only because I planned the whole fucking thing!" Ed says, close to shouting. He can't believe how worked up he's getting, especially since he actually got a full night's sleep for once. But the fact that he was able to sleep only because he was using Corbett's body as a bed isn't exactly comforting in the aftermath.
"There's something you're not telling me," Corbett says. He actually looks angry, and Ed feels betrayed. Corbett isn't supposed to get angry. He's supposed to serve baked goods and smile like a good sport when Harry picks on him, and be glad for everything he gets from Ed, whether it's half-asleep clutching or lies about what happened in the Morton house. Realizing that this is still the way he feels, no matter how sharply he barks at Harry when he doesn't thank Corbett for passing out sodas, Ed is too disgusted with himself to even look at Corbett, and he heads for the stairs with a groan.
"I've got to go take a shower," he says. "I'll - I'll see you upstairs for breakfast." He pauses in the doorway, his back to the room. "Just - I'm sorry I did that. It won't happen again."
He jogs up the stairs, and then up to the second floor. He's headed for his bedroom to get his robe and towel when Harry creeps out of Maggie's room, closing the door very quietly behind him. Ed clears his throat and Harry gasps, jumping out of his skin.
"Jesus, Ed!" he says in a whispered hiss. "I thought you were your dad."
"You'd better be glad I'm not," Ed says. "He'd throw you out the window if he knew."
"No shit!" Harry says, glowering at him. "What - what are you doing up here? Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"
"Don't fucking ask me that," Ed says. He shoves around Harry and heads for his room, but Harry grabs his arm.
"Hey!" Harry says. "What is going on with you? Where's Corbett? Did something happen?"
"Did something happen? What the fuck kind of question is that?"
He must have a terrifying expression on his face, because Harry actually looks scared for a moment. He releases Ed's arm and shakes his head.
"Ed, you need help," he says. "Let me give you Dr. Bederman's number."
"You know, what, Harry? Fuck Dr. Bederman, and fuck you. You think you know everything all of a sudden, just because my sister is giving you the time of day now? It's called post-traumatic stress disorder, man. She'll get over it."
"Fuck you!" Harry says, too loud, but Ed doesn't care now if Harry is caught up here. His heart is slamming, and he feels like he's still dreaming, like none of this will produce real consequences.
"You're the one with a post-traumatic stress disorder!" Harry says. "Moping around like Corbett really did die in that house - guess what, Ed? He didn't! Fucking accept it already, and that now you have to deal with the fact that he's still here, and you said those things to him, or what you thought was him, and you fucking - meant them in some fucked up way, you cried, Ed, we all saw you -"
"Hey!" Ed's mother pokes her head out of the master bedroom at the end of the hall and narrows her eyes at them. "What is the matter with you two? Be quiet!"
"Sorry, Mrs. Z," Harry says, and Ed's mother groans before slamming the door again. Harry pouts for a moment, toeing the carpet.
"So now I guess everyone in this family hates me, except for Maggie," he says, muttering.
"Yeah, I guess so." Ed will never forgive Harry for that comment about him crying at the Morton house. What was he supposed to do, confronting Corbett's ghost, knowing he had to lie about loving him to save him? What is he supposed to do now, knowing that doing so broke the spell Daggett had cast on the house, and broke Daggett himself, making the apparition of Corbett that Daggett had created suddenly strong enough to tear him to pieces? What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?
Harry is giving him a wounded look, but Ed doesn't care. He pushes around him and into the bathroom, to hell with his robe and towel. He turns the shower on and makes the water very hot, climbs in and stands under it like a zombie, letting his glasses fog up. Something's got to give. He can't keep living this way, obsessed with what happened, obsessed with Corbett, but not the way Corbett wants him to be. He can't keep letting his jealousy of what Harry and Maggie found in each other that night tear his longest friendship to shreds. He needs to find a job. Get some real sleep, go on a date. And not with Corbett. No - hell no. That's not what he wants, his hand on Corbett's thigh in a movie theater, Corbett's adoring smile beaming at him from across the table at a restaurant, Corbett all around him in the backseat of that Land Rover, their breath fogging the windows. Fuck no, fuck no. This is not him, it's the post-traumatic stress disorder talking, it's nothing.
After his shower, during which he almost forgets to use actual soap and shampoo, he dresses and heads downstairs. His parents are up, his mother doing the crossword at the table and his father cooking pancakes. Corbett is there, too, with bed hair and flannel pajama pants, a white t-shirt that looks brand new. Corbett gives Ed a sad little look and then ducks his eyes away. Ed just stands in the doorway awkwardly until both of his parents are staring at him.
"Everything alright, buddy?" his father says. "Your mom told me Harry stormed out of here pretty early. Did you two have some kind of fight?"
"No." Ed doesn't want to talk about it with his parents, who never approved of Harry because of the white trash family he comes from. As much as Harry can infuriate Ed, he's always moved to defend him when his parents criticize him, and it's no different now. He feels like shit for what he said to Harry about Maggie, and stands in front of the open refrigerator for a long time, not sure what he's looking for.
"Eddie, are you coming down with something?" his mother asks.
"No." He's already hopelessly infected, and there's no cure. He eyes the beers, then goes for the orange juice.
"Corbett, were you comfortable sleeping in the basement?" Ed's mother asks. "It can get chilly down there."
"Oh, I was fine," Corbett says. "Ed gave me plenty of blankets."
Ed cringes, wondering if Corbett is counting Ed himself among these blankets. He sits down beside Corbett at the table, still perversely pleased to be close to him, to see the healthy glow of the tanned skin on his arm as it rests on the table beside Ed's. He's got to get over this soon or he's never going to recover. Fuck: maybe he should see Dr. Bederman.
Maggie comes downstairs yawning and kisses their father on the cheek before forking up some pancakes. She doesn't seem angry with Ed, so Harry must not have told her what he said in the hallway. He feels so bad about it now that his stomach aches, and he doesn't have an appetite.
"So, what's everybody got planned for today?" Ed's father asks when he sits down with his own pancakes. Ed's father is a lawyer, but not the flashy, lovable sort that Corbett would be, charming the jury with his sincere smiles. Ed's father mostly just helps people write their wills.
"I've got class at noon," Maggie says. "Then me and - uh, me and my friend are going to a movie."
"I think I'm going to look for a job," Corbett says. "The college I went to has a career center for alumni."
"That's a great idea!" Ed's mother says. "Eddie, why don't you go with him?"
"Uh, 'cause I'm not an alumni." Ed was in college for a few years, but he never really cared about any of the subjects as much as he cared about ghost hunting, and Harry couldn't afford school, so he was all for Ed dropping out to help him found the Ghostfacers.
"You don't have to tell anyone that!" his mother says. "Just shadow Corbett, maybe you'll get a lead."
"Yeah, I could help you," Corbett says. "If I use my student ID, you can search through their listings."
"Actually, I've got too much stuff to do here at headquarters," Ed says. The last thing he needs is to spend all day with Corbett, after what happened last night. "You know, for the new investigation."
"Like what?" Maggie asks, making a face, and Ed shoots her an irritated look. Sometimes she's on his side when it comes to eschewing all over responsibilities in favor of ghost hunting, and sometimes she turns on him.
"Eddie, will you please give it a rest?" his father says. "It was one thing when you had the job at Kinko's -"
"Like it will be that hard for me to get another retail copy shop job when I need to," Ed says. "I've got some money saved up - will everyone just leave me alone, please? I'm an adult, aren't I?"
"God, Ed," Maggie mutters while his parents stare at him, both of them seemingly at a loss. "How much longer are you going to have your period?"
"Maggie!" their mother says.
"Sorry, Mom, but he's so moody that it's bordering on multiple personality disorder."
"It's my fault," Corbett says, and Ed gapes at him, his heart dropping into his stomach. Corbett gives him a pathetic look, eyebrows slanting.
"I did something reckless on our last Ghostfacers mission," Corbett says. "It was totally my fault, but Ed blamed himself, 'cause - 'cause he's our leader. And he's upset about it, but he shouldn't be, 'cause I'm fine, and I don't blame him for my - my dumb misstep. Nobody does."
Ed is stunned into silence, still staring at Corbett with his mouth open. He wants to throw his plate of pancakes to the floor and demand that Corbett stop being so self-sacrificing, but finally he just looks over at his parents, who are both frowning slightly, waiting for further explanation.
"Yeah," Ed says. "Yeah, I - I'm just dealing with some. Stuff." He gets up from the table and goes to the sink, sweat gathering on his upper lip. He can feel the stares of his family against his back, and he knows that Corbett is looking down at his plate shyly, pushing syrup around with his fork.
"Well - what exactly happened on this mission?" Ed's father asked.
"Nothing, Dad, it totally wasn't a big deal," Maggie says, her voice high and tight. "Corbett just stepped on, you know, a rotten old board and almost fell through the floor, but he was totally okay. Ed, um. Ed caught him and pulled up."
Ed turns to give Maggie a look, not sure if he's trying to communicate betrayal or gratitude. He does want Corbett to know that he saved the day, but he doesn't want him to know how.
"Eddie, this is crazy!" his mother says, tossing her fork down. "You've got to stop running around like a little boy, looking for ghosts. Poor Corbett could have been badly hurt."
"No, Mrs. Zeddmore, please, it really was my fault," Corbett says. "Ed told us not to go to the second floor, that it was too dangerous, but, but I wanted to impress everybody. So I wandered off by myself." He sneaks a look at Ed.
"Even so," Ed's father says. "Enough really is enough, Ed."
"Great," Ed mutters. "I guess I'll just go downstairs and dismantle our headquarters, then."
"Ed, no!" Maggie says. "You guys - lay off of him! You don't the stuff we've seen." Her voice shakes a little, and Ed knows she's thinking of the Morton house.
"I just don't understand it," Ed's father is saying as Ed storms out of the kitchen. He heads for the basement, slamming the door shut behind him. The Ghostfacers headquarters, with its peeling old posters and familiar damp basement smell, used to be his sanctuary. Now, all he sees are Corbett's things: the rumpled bedclothes on the couch and his deodorant and toothbrush placed neatly on the sink in the little attached bathroom. The clothes Corbett wore yesterday are folded on the arm of the couch and the new ones he bought are stacked up on top of the shopping bag they came in. Ed stares for awhile, and goes to his computer when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He can tell by the weight of them that they're Corbett's; he's even bigger than Ed's dad.
"Hey," Corbett says when he reaches the basement, lingering at the foot of the stairs. Ed doesn't turn to look at him.
"Hey."
"Um, I. Just wanted to make sure you don't want to come with me, to the career center."
"No, Corbett. Go, find a career, have fun. I'll just be here, childishly perusing a thing that doesn't exist."
"Ed, God. You don't have to convince me that ghosts exist. One fucking - grabbed me and dragged me through a hell house. I, I - still have the bruises."
Ed whirls around, his whole world view shaken by the idea that the thing that made him watch Corbett die countless times actually left bruises on the real Corbett's body.
"What?" he says, stuttering. "You - you never told us you had bruises."
"Maybe I was embarrassed," Corbett says. "To complain about something like this when you guys thought I'd died. But, yeah. I've just been wearing long-sleeved shirts, to hide them. They've mostly faded now, but you can still see them, kind of."
He walks over to Ed and turns his arms over showing Ed the faint green-yellow hand prints around his elbows. Ed reaches out to touch them and then draws his hand back.
"Jesus, Corbett," he says. "Is - are there more?"
"Yeah." Corbett sighs and lifts up his shirt. Ed curses when he sees the bruises around Corbett's hips, and waist, evidence that he was bodily dragged somewhere. They're worse than the ones on his arms, still dark. Ed's hands begin to shake, and he looks up at Corbett, who seems so sad about this, about having to show Ed something that will make him feel more guilty.
"Better than getting murdered for real, right?" he says with a little smile.
"Fuck, you must have been so scared," Ed says. He wants to put his face against the perfect flat of Corbett's stomach, but only because - well, he doesn't know why. He just does, and he knows there must be some very complicated, trauma-related reason, though all he can come up with is Comfort, not even sure if he'd be comforting Corbett or himself.
"Yeah," Corbett says. "I was scared. I'm kinda proud of myself for not wetting my pants, actually. It was pretty bad." He puts his shirt back down and shrugs. "I'm - I'm gonna get dressed and head out." He seems to be waiting for Ed to say something more, and when he doesn't, Corbett gathers his things and heads into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later, wearing a nice pair of gray slacks and a thin blue sweater. He's combed his hair, and Ed can smell his freshly applied spray-on deodorant. He'll have no trouble finding work. Everyone who interviews him will see him like Ed and Harry did: perfect, perfect for the job.
"So," Corbett says. "See ya."
"You know, you should probably go to a doctor," Ed says, feeling panicked, the way he always does when Corbett goes away. "To check for internal bleeding and stuff. You're not still sore, are you?"
Corbett laughs a little, sadly. He shrugs.
"Nah," he says. "Later, Ed."
Ed spends another hour on the computer, staring blankly, not really seeing anything, even when he switches from ghost-related websites to anime porn. When the screen starts to burn his eyes he takes his glasses off, slumps over to the sofa, and buries his face in the pillow. It smells like Corbett, and like the memory of the good sleep he had here with him last night. He's out like a light in minutes.
*
After sleeping most of the day away, Ed is groggy by the time Corbett and Maggie return from their more productive adventures. He finds them upstairs in the living room, watching a house remodeling show and laughing, having commentary about a redesigned kitchen. Ed considers going right for the beer, but it's only three o'clock, so he gets some iced green tea instead, and flops down onto the couch between Maggie and Corbett.
"Are you sick?" Maggie asks, touching the back of her hand to Ed's forehead.
"Probably," Ed says. He gulps tea, and Corbett laughs a little.
"You do look kind of pale," he says. Ed resents the comment, particularly coming from Corbett, who is perpetually sun-kissed.
"How'd the job search go?" he asks.
"Fine. I mostly just worked on my resume with one of the counselors. I had a heck of a time explaining Ghostfacers to her, and my internship."
"You can list me as a reference," Ed says, and Corbett grins.
"Thanks."
They spend a couple of hours there on the couch, just staring at the television, none of them saying much. It's kind of cozy, the sort of simple thing they all need after what they went through together, and Ed feels guilty knowing that Harry isn't here because of him, particularly because Maggie is still being nice to him, meaning that Harry hasn't told her the details of their fight. He looks over at her as the credits roll on yet another dull little house-flipping show and smirks when he sees that she's curled up against the arm of the couch, asleep.
"I wonder if she and Harry are - doing what they're doing - just to avoid sleeping," Ed says. He looks over at Corbett. "You're not having nightmares, are you?"
Corbett tries a crooked smile, but just ends up looking queasy. He nods.
"Yeah," he says. "I am."
"Me, too - I mean. You know that's why I did that last night, right? 'Cause of a nightmare. Sleepwalking. That kind of shit."
"That kind of shit," Corbett repeats, speaking softly. "Yeah."
Ed clears his throat and looks back to the television. Suddenly he can't even handle watching something about old houses, and he changes the channel to sports highlights, expecting Corbett to be enthralled. He looks over during the first commercial break and snorts out a laugh when he sees that Corbett has fallen asleep, too, his head tipped back onto the couch cushions and a pillow hugged against his chest, his lips parted slightly. He wonders how well Corbett slept last night, with Ed squirming on top of him, confusing him, murmuring his name like a madman. Well, he'll get a full night's sleep tonight, nightmares permitting. Ed certainly won't be staying down in the basement again. Worst idea ever. He tries not to stare at Corbett's neck, his smooth skin and the bump of his pulse, the way the hollow of his throat is particularly exposed with his head tipped back like that. Ed feels like a vampire, but he can't make himself look away.
Everybody is a little drowsy during dinner, including Ed's parents, who make some remarks on current events that only Corbett is polite enough to respond to. Ed drinks three beers and ignores his mother's pointed looks, then heads down to the basement, remembering that it's been turned into Corbett's room only when he arrives there and sees that at some point Corbett neatened the sheets and pillows on the couch. He turns around to leave, not sure what he was going to do down in the basement, anyway, and almost crashes into Corbett's chest.
"Sorry," Corbett says, laughing. He seems nervous, and stuffs his hands into his back pockets.
"Don't worry," Ed says. "I'm not going to sleep down here tonight. Just - I was just - I have to look something up on the computer."
"I wasn't worried," Corbett says. "I was thinking, um - do you want to take some pictures of those bruises I showed you? For evidence, or whatever."
"God, no, Corbett," Ed says, and he feels bad when Corbett looks kind of crushed, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I mean, thanks for offering, but it's kind of morbid, yeah? That's - that's a weird thing for me to be concerned with, considering my, um, profession, but - this is - it's too personal. Or something? And anyway, it's not like we can prove that you got the bruises from a ghost."
"True," Corbett says. He shrugs. "Well. I'm gonna take a shower. I didn't get one this morning."
"Right, uh. I'll go."
"You don't have to."
"No, I - do. Bye."
Ed takes the stairs two at a time, not even wanting to be on the same floor with Corbett when he starts undressing. He goes up to his room and shuts himself inside, pacing a little, feeling heavy, wishing he hadn't had those beers. He needs to start setting things right, and makes a mental list: stop thinking about Corbett, figure out what to do with your life, find a part-time job in the meantime, fix things with your best friend. He grabs his phone from his desk and drops onto his bed with a groan, bringing up the text messaging screen.
Hey, he types, in a text message to Harry. Sorry I was a douche. M says I'm on my period. Ha ha. Maybe?
He puts his phone on his stomach and watches it rise and fall. He should probably add 'get back in shape' to his to-do list. Maybe he could work out with Corbett. But no, that - that would be bad.
His phone buzzes and he picks it up, opening a new message from Harry, encouraged by the prompt response.
I talked about this with Dr. B Harry says. He agrees that you should make an appt. ASAP.
Ed groans and tosses his phone onto his bedside table. Ever since Harry's parents got divorced when he were in sixth grade, he's had to hear about the wonderful Dr. Bederman, Harry's surrogate father. Ed thinks their relationship is kind of unhealthy. He rolls onto his side and hugs his pillow, thinking about what Harry and Maggie's wedding would be like. Harry would probably want Dr. Bederman to officiate. Ed's parents would be sour-faced, and Harry's redneck uncles would insist on shooting off fireworks. Ed would be the best man, and Corbett - Corbett would bring Rice Krispie squares for the reception, in a glass baking pan, covered with decorative cellophane wrap.
Ed sinks into a dream about this, a nice change of pace from his usual nightmares. In the dream, Harry wears a white tux to the wedding, and Maggie's wedding gown is giant and fluffy, like the dress Glenda the good witch wore in The Wizard of Oz. They both look very happy, and even Ed's parents are being good sports. Ed accounts for everybody that he included in his daydream as he slipped into sleep, even the redneck uncles, who are lining the wedding aisle with fireworks, ready to light them as soon as Dr. Bederman pronounces Harry and Maggie husband and wife. The only one he can't find is Corbett.
"Hey," he whispers to Harry after he's kissed Maggie. "Harry - where's Corbett? Didn't you invite him?" Ed will take it personally if Harry didn't. Harry frowns and scoffs.
"Ed," he says. "Corbett is dead."
In an instant, Ed is transported back to the hellish darkness of the Morton house, Corbett standing before him, stuck in his death echo, choking on his own blood, his eyes bugging out as his throat is punctured, blood soaking the front of his shirt. Maggie, Harry, and Spruce are all behind Ed, shouting at him, telling him to fix this, to save Corbett, to tell him what he needs to hear, but Ed can't make his voice work, and Corbett just keeps dying, and dying, and dying again.
There's no clear delineation between Ed's dream and the waking world, and he doesn't have a real thought process, except that he has to get to Corbett right now, Corbett isn't safe, he needs Ed's help. As he makes his way down the stairs to the first floor and then to the basement, he half-thinks he's headed down into Daggett's bomb shelter to collect Corbett's lifeless body, his face hot and wet with tears like it was when he did this at the Morton house, everything dark, all his hope gone.
"Corbett?" he cries as he stumbles through the dark in the basement, even the computer's screensaver dark now, in hibernation mode. He chokes on a sob, anticipating the cold, dead weight of Corbett's body, the sick punchline that he's been fearing ever since he found Corbett alive and confused in that bomb shelter, too good to really be true, too good to last.
"Ed?" Corbett says softly, from somewhere in the darkness, and Ed hiccups another sob as he feels his way toward him, finding Corbett's blanketed legs, his heaving chest - oh, he's breathing, he's alive, it's still true, still real. Ed dumps himself onto the couch, onto Corbett, and crawls up to feel his arms, his shoulders, and finally his neck, Ed's hand trembling as he takes a careful inventory of it. No blood, no scars, just a strong pulse and warm skin, goosebumps rising over it.
"Corbett," Ed says, exhaling his name with relief as he presses his face to Corbett's cheek. He can feel Corbett's breath, the quick, surprised pace of it, and then Corbett's hands on his waist, holding him as if he's not sure if he wants to throw Ed off of him or pull him closer.
"Oh, fuck, you're okay, you're okay," Ed moans, chanting out his relief as he spills himself down onto Corbett, letting his tense muscles relax, rubbing his face all over Corbett's neck.
"Ed." Corbett sounds a little wounded, probably still scared from being dragged down here to the bomb shelter by that ghost, and why wouldn't he be? What happened to him was so awful, but Ed will protect him now, he'll stay here and hold him all night long if he has to. "Ed, you can't - please - oh."
It just seems like the right thing to do, licking into the hollow of Corbett's miraculously unharmed throat, and he tastes so good that Ed does it again, and again, lapping at him as his eyes fall shut and he begins to sink back into sleep, into good dreams or no dreams at all, no more nightmares now that Corbett is here. Corbett's pulse pumps against the tip of Ed's tongue, and the skin over the hollow of his throat is so soft and almost delicate, so sacred, Ed could lick at it for hours.
"Shit, Ed," Corbett whispers, and suddenly his arms go tightly around Ed's back, squeezing him close. "Shit, yeah, that's - Ed, oh. Are you even awake?"
"Mmm, yeah," Ed says, moving up a bit, to lick over Corbett's bobbing Adam's apple. "Corbett, ah. So perfect, you're perfect, never gonna let anyone hurt you."
"Fuck," Corbett says. He pets Ed's hair, and that feels good, too; Corbett has big hands. Ed hums happily at the thought, shifts to get more comfortable, and falls asleep like he's a stone that's been dropped into a warm pool of water, sinking fast.
He doesn't dream anything, just sleeps, knowing that Corbett is close, surrounded by the smell of skin and the warmth of his body, their chests pushing together as they breathe against each other. He feels like he's sunbathing, sleeping poolside with the ocean nearby, like there's never, ever been real darkness anywhere, just the soft thrill of this comfort, human contact that feels like pure sunlight. He sleeps for a long time, fighting consciousness at least twice. When he wakes up, he's pressed between the couch cushions and the shelter of Corbett's body, his leg pushed through Corbett's thighs and Corbett's leg hooked over his hip. He rejects rational thought for as long as he can, nuzzling at Corbett's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Corbett moans softly and pulls him in closer. Ed wants to stay, wants to pretend he's still asleep, but he can't.
He extricates himself from Corbett's arms, trying not to look at him, fighting the urge to linger. He's got morning wood, but it's going away quickly as he realizes what he did. He's out of control, out of his mind. He stumbles over Corbett and heads for the stairs, bumping into the side of the couch and wishing he had his glasses.
"Ed?" Corbett says, sounding sleepy and soft, the smallness of his voice dragging at the pit of Ed's stomach. Ed hurries up the stairs without looking back.
Maybe Corbett will convince himself that he dreamed the whole thing, too.
*
Part III