And Many Happy Tomorrows, Chapter 3 (Fic)

[paleogymnast]

Chapter 3:

Still later, after Jared and Jensen had retreated to their assigned guestroom and Mike had helped Chris into bed-which was a pretty big production since Chris wasn’t really getting around on his own yet and their bedroom was one of two in the partial second floor, Mike was still feeling a bit emotionally vulnerable and overwrought. A bit. Now that was a fucking understatement. He almost wanted to laugh at himself, but couldn’t. He knew there was a good reason for his breakdown earlier; he was just having trouble putting the reason into words.

As he was brushing his teeth, standing in front of the mirror, door to the bedroom half-closed so that he could see Chris out of the corner of his eye, but yet not aggravate his headache with the fluorescent light-the en suite bathroom was the primary reason why they had chosen that bedroom as their own-the words came to him, hitting with a wave of emotion so intense Mike dropped his toothbrush and had to grab the sink for support.

He carelessly spat toothpaste into the sink, his body shaking, sweating, it was all he could do not to heave and lose his dinner too. Like Jensen had said, they’d finally found out Chris was a mere mortal like the rest of them. Mike hadn’t realized it, but he’d been taking Chris-his love and support and guidance and brilliance and perfect timing and consideration and intelligence and ingenuity and everything else that made Chris and all-around awesome friend-for granted, without realizing it. Chris was just there, his rock. His soul mate. It was hard to remember what his life had been like before Chris scolded his way into it, reprimanding the hell out of Mike for smoking pot and snorting poppers around Jensen… and it was even harder to imagine what it would be like to go on living without Chris.

Maybe he was overreacting, but not really. That’s the terrifying thing with head injuries. One inch to the right, one ounce more impact and you’re brain dead or permanently altered-even his mind stuttered thinking of the word, of the consequences. That could have happened. He could be preparing for Chris’s fucking funeral right now instead of planning a wedding. Or he could be standing there, brittle and hollow and lost, waiting for a rumbling, argumentative demand that would never come, talking to cold-eyed, numb, jaded doctors trying to decide a “course of action” to treat his traumatic brain-injured spouse and help them live as “normal” a life as possible.

Fuck! he thought, realization felling him like an axe to a tree, dropping to his knees and resting his head against the cool porcelain of the pedestal sink, its white, monochrome surface making him think of sterile hospitals and starched bed sheets. “Fuck,” he repeated, aloud this time, voice shaking. He winced when he heard Chris sleepily ask him if he was ok, and called back-a hurried, unconvincing, “yeah.” He owed Chris an explanation, but first he needed to get his head on straight, or well whatever.

“I’m… I’ll be ok; just need a minute,” he said, as quietly as possible, needing Chris to hear him (because knowing Chris, if he thought Mike was hurt or in danger, he would come running, or stumbling, even if he was in no condition physically to do it), but not wanting his volume to cause Chris any pain.

He held his breath, tamping down on the nausea until it finally passed. Unsteadily, he pulled himself up and leaned against the sink, thankful it was sturdy enough to support his frame. Fumbling hands turned on the faucet, cupped water into his mouth; splashed it on his face. He swished and spit and tried to wash away the cloyingly sweet, minty toothpaste taste. Shit. He thought he’d worked through this at the hospital.

Obviously not. It took Jared having a breakdown to put Mike in touch-really, solidly in touch-with his fears and guilt.

He hated himself, almost, for taking Chris for granted, for getting the idea somewhere that Chris was the guy who would always be there, always be fine. He’d been doing exactly what Jared did, only somehow it felt worse-Chris was his lover, his partner, his fiancé… he should have treasured Chris more, not assumed he’d always be there to prop Mike up. But ever since Chris wormed his way into his life, that’s just what he’d done. He’d been the driving force behind every change and decision in Mike’s life. Chris was just that guy who made you think and made you want and gave you all the reasons to do the right thing. And he was so effortless about it. Somehow, some part of Mike had assumed Chris was really a part of him, imagined that there couldn’t possibly be a scenario in which he lived his life without Chris’s influence-sure, maybe if Mike fucked things up between them, if he managed to ruin their relationship, but that was all within his control, and Chris made him want to not screw up. This was a life without Chris where Mike had no control, no say; no possibility of reunion. It scared the hell out of him.

But he’d been wrong, so wrong, and the devastation in Jared’s eyes-the bare, naked, undiluted fear in his voice-had pushed Mike to see a glimpse of what he couldn’t allow himself to contemplate when Chris had been in the hospital: a world without Chris in it.

The shock of the realization that such a bleak, meaningless future was possible had had him crying on Jensen’s shoulder. And there was Jensen, the one friend who Mike had always known he had a real risk of losing, propping him up, giving Mike a shoulder to cry on. Understanding and accepting, never judging. It made sense though, now that he thought about it. Jensen was a lot more understanding of his own mortality than the rest of them, and in nearly losing himself, maybe Jensen had developed a better contemplation of his friends’ mortality, of the whole fragility of life.

Mike wanted to kick himself for not understanding sooner. He wanted to scream at the universe for letting Chris get hurt. But most of all, he was just so goddamn thankful that Chris was still here, that he was living in this world with a wedding in his future, with many sunny days filled with Chris’s laughter, smile, and twinkling blue eyes, and not that other world in which he was alone and lost. He’d just have to be a lot more appreciative of Chris from now on…

He pushed his mind to let go of the what-ifs, splashing water against his face again and again as if it could rinse the images from his mind and wash them down the drain. At last, he turned off the water; tried to ground himself until finally he was able to crack a small smile in the bathroom mirror, his mind leaving behind the tormenting path he’d been on and taking a trip down memory lane instead.

When he’d met Chris, he was that crazy, over-the-top, party-hearty guy. The one who always had a wild story (or two or three) to tell about everything he did, wherever he went. It wasn’t just pulling pranks and being hyper and goofing off and knowing how to have a good time-he was, did, enjoyed all of that now. No, Mike before Chris was a man of excess. He fucked around. He surrounded himself with hot chicks to keep up appearances. He drank and smoked weed, and did poppers and E and pretty much any party drug someone threw his way.

Mike realized now, that back then he’d been taking his own eccentricity and goofiness, inflating it to legendary proportions, and wrapping himself up in it like it was Teflon-coated body armor. As long as he was that guy, he was in control; no one could hurt him, nothing could stick to him. If he got caught, well that would be him doing something crazy and stupid because he was drunk, high, and hyper. He hadn’t been miserable-Mike had been relatively lucky; he hadn’t been rejected by his parents or faced routine harassment in college like Chris, and he hadn’t been bashed or had someone try to blackmail him out of the closet like Jensen-but Mike hadn’t been happy, either.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, taking in the droplets of water rolling off his face, the mussed hair, the too-dark circles under his eyes. Sure, he was five years older than he’d been when he met Chris, and right now he was pretty freaking run down, but he honestly thought he didn’t look five years older. It was as if Chris’s presence, companionship, influence, had eased the stresses of his life. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to his greatly diminished alcohol and drug intake-he did still get shit-faced drunk from time to time, and he had a joint every now and then, but the drinking was strictly at parties (which were fewer and much farther between) and the pot was strictly for occasional stress relief-but it was much more than that.

First, Chris had given Mike a reason to not need the armor, and then Chris had taught Mike everything else, starting with how to take care of himself. When they got over the fighting (once Mike understood the why behind Chris’s apparent hatred of him, he felt like the worst kind of lowly idiot for having offered Jensen E six months after he’d tried to kill himself with it. Being around Jensen all the time meant using less, and befriending Chris made him start to feel like he didn’t need to be high so often.

Shortly after their friendship had started its quick-and-inevitable slide to flirting and then dating, they’d hit another roadblock. And for a while there, Mike thought his chances of ever having sex with Chris were pretty much nil, after Chris found out Mike hadn’t been tested in two-and-a-half (almost three) years. So, Mike got tested, and much to his relief, was negative, and it turned out that hurdle wasn’t so insurmountable after all. Taking care of himself, figuring out what he wanted, strengthened his budding relationship with Chris, and so Mike had started to change without realizing it.

And being around Chris-let alone loving him-was like getting a 24/7 master course in how to be a loyal, caring, supportive, wise, strong friend. Mike had been a good friend to his chosen family before he knew Chris, but after? It felt like he learned how to do everything better. Chris was just there for everyone with the prefect blend of knowledge and humor and calm backed up with a scary dose of assertiveness.

It wasn’t like Chris was perfect. He could be down right impossible to live with at times-cynical, a little too eager to jump to the worst possible conclusion, not always good at taking his own advice. But Chris knew he had problems, and he was receptive to being called on his shit, just as long as the person pointing out his faults didn’t mind if he flung some shit back their way.

More than that, Chris and Mike worked as a couple because while Chris provided the much-needed grounding and honesty, Mike brought the levity and playfulness that Chris was sometimes lacking. Sure, Chris could party with the best of ‘em, and genuinely did have a good, relatively care-free time spending time with fans, fellow musicians, and the like. But now, Chris was starting to lighten up a bit in his personal life, actually letting go and relaxing (and not just using humor as a tool to defuse tense situations).

“Mike?” Chris’s pained and annoyed voice called from the bedroom. “Did you fall in? Come out here, or I’m coming in there.” There was a pause followed by a moan and the rustling of covers. “Your over-thinking is making my headache worse,” Chris complained.

Mike splashed the water over his face one more time, pulling the hand towel from its ring-shaped holder to pat his face and hands dry. “I’m coming. Just hold on,” he said. Mike was trying to keep the tremors out of his voice, but knew Chris could hear right through it. It wasn’t like Chris wouldn’t figure it out. He’d get one look at Mike’s newly puffy eyes and want to talk.

Without further hesitation, Mike returned the towel to its rack and slipped out of the bathroom, approaching the bed in tentative, quiet steps, peeling off his clothes as he went along.

While Mike was in the bathroom, Chris had managed to shift himself into the middle of the bed, blue-clad pillows from both sides of the bed stuffed into a messy pile behind his back, neck, and head. His good arm was wrapped around his ribs, as it had so often been since his accident. Before heading to the bathroom to clean up, Mike had stripped Chris down to his boxers and helped him pull on a fresh t-shirt. Chris was still clothed, but his legs were spread wide, right knee bent to provide better access, putting his bulging package on display. Despite his injuries, he looked positively… wanton.

“Chris?” Mike asked, surprise shaking off some of his maudlin mood. “You know, when the doctor said you needed to take it easy, rest, and limit your activity-especially strenuous activity-I’m pretty sure sex was included on the list.”

“Just want you to blow me, but we’ll get back to that,” Chris said, matter-of-factly, “First, you’re going to tell me what’s going on. What’s wrong, baby?”

Now clad only in boxers, Mike dropped to his hands and knees on the foot of the bed, and crawled up the bed to curl around Chris’s good side, the silkiness of the summer-weight duvet a soothing contrast to the sharp edges of his mood. Chris held his good arm wide, allowing Mike to settle in, resting his head carefully on Chris’s chest, ear pressed firmly above Chris’s heartbeat.

Chris wrapped his arm around Mike and pulled him close giving him as tight a hug as he could manage. He didn’t speak, and Mike knew that was Chris’s way of giving him time. If he stayed silent long enough, Chris would prod, but he never jumped in with questions, always gave Mike the opportunity to make the first move.

Mike let out a long, shaky sigh. He could feel more tears forming, the tingling prickle behind his eyes, the itchy dampness of tears welling and spilling slowly over his lower lids. He squinted, tried to blink them away, but they didn’t stop. He’d probably cried more in the last three days than he had in the last ten years. “Jared’s right, you know. We… I was taking you for granted. Forgot you weren’t invincible. Now, I can’t stop thinking about how much worse it could have been. I could…. This could be your funeral instead of our wedding. I don’t know…” The words tumbled out, murmured into Chris’s chest, the sound getting lost in the strong and steady thump of Chris’s heart, like secrets whispered to a howling wind.

Chris squeezed him tighter, rubbing his hand up and down Mike’s arm. “Stop it,” he ordered. “Just, stop thinking about the what-ifs. Think about how lucky we are instead,” he murmured.

The words made Mike sniffle harder. “I can’t believe it took this long for us to get married. If you had died…”

“Shhhh,” Chris soothed.

Mike shook his head, craning his neck to lift off of Chris’s chest and meet his eye. Chris’s eyes were damp too. “No, it’s important that I say it. If anything ever happens to you-or to me-I need to be your husband, need you to be mine. I couldn’t imagine losing you and not having had that. It…”

“I know,” Chris said, holding his gaze, blue eyes bright and serious, “that’s why I want us to get married now, I can’t wait any longer.”

Mike leaned up further, straining his neck to meet Chris’s lips in a kiss. It was damp and salty, but chaste, reaffirming. “Almost makes me want to run off and elope right now,” Mike said, pulling away, and settling back down against Chris’s chest, his head now tucked a little higher, against Chris’s neck, the warm, live skin, soft against his cheek, the faint hint of stubble a conjuring images and feelings of home, love, safe.

“Yeah, me too, but I wanna do this right, in front of family and friends with flowers and a cake and all that. We deserve it. We owe it to ourselves, otherwise, I’d be stuffing you in the car and driving us to the airport right now,” Chris said, a chuckle in his voice.

“That’s good that we’re waiting, ‘cause there’s no way you could drive, right now,” Mike retorted.

Chris lowered his voice, turning his head just slightly to whisper into Mike’s ear, “But I’d do it for you.”

Mike pressed his lips to Chris’s jaw, overwhelmed and filled with gratitude. “I know you would; thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, how ‘bout that blowjob?” Chris asked impatiently.

Mike pulled back, “You can’t be serious?” he exclaimed; knowing Chris he probably was.

“Just a blowjob,” he whined. “I miss you; it’s been weeks since we’ve made love, and we were supposed to get to have all this time together, and now I’m hurt, but I promise, I’ll just lay there, make you do all the work. It won’t be too strenuous,” Chris pleaded, pulling Mike in for another kiss, lips parting eagerly to allow Mike’s tongue to twine with his. Soon they were both panting, finding themselves in each other, seeking reassurance through the connection.

As Mike’s lower lip finally slipped free from Chris’s eager, gently nibbling teeth, Mike protested again, “But you’re hurt and we have guests. Jared and Jensen are in the next room, and I’m pretty sure they could hear us through the wall, not to mention Allie and Danni are directly under our room. You really wanna face Danni after she’s heard us fucking? And Tom and Jamie are here, and it just wouldn’t feel right.” Chris’s offer was tempting, very tempting, but no amount of temptation would lure him to do anything that might put Chris in danger. So, if resorting to ridiculous protestations of impropriety was what it would take to get Chris to stop tempting him, so be it.

Chris reached up-gingerly-with injured hand and pressed a finger to Mike’s lips. “Nice try, but it’s not going to work.”

“Chris-” Mike started again.

“No,” Chris insisted more firmly. He smiled, dipping the tip of his finger into Mike’s mouth, where Mike sucked it willingly, just as Chris knew he would. “I’m not asking you to fuck me. I’ll just lay here and be still and quiet- at least as still and quiet as I can be,” he rushed when Mike opened his mouth to protest yet again. “As for our guests, you know that Danni and Allie haven’t seen each other for weeks; they’ve probably been going at it since they went to bed-I heard Allie moaning when you helped me up the stairs. Jenny and Jay would not be offended, and considering how upset Jared was, they’re probably fucking too. Tom and Jamie aren’t going to hear us, and if they do, well,” he shrugged his good shoulder, “it’s our house. I was hurt. We’ve both been under a lot of stress. We’re getting married in a few weeks. They’ll get it.”

Mike still wasn’t convinced. “I know you’re horny-”

“This isn’t about being horny,” Chris retorted, “well not mostly. I’m not so hurt I can’t get myself off.” He paused, his expression sobered. “This is about us being together. You and me. I’ve missed you; need you. Besides, the endorphins will ease the pain and help me sleep, so it’s even medically beneficial.” Chris’s stony mask of seriousness broke into a devious smirk.

“Urgh,” Mike groaned, of course Chris knew exactly what arguments to use to win him over. “Ok, but you’ve got to promise me, you’ll lie still and let me do all the work,” he murmured against Chris’s lips.

“Promise,” Chris said, kissing him.

“And I’m just going to suck you. No rimming,” Mike said, shaking his head, “if I venture beyond your balls we won’t stop there, and I’ll wind up hurting you, and I’m not going to do that.” He pressed feather-light, gentle kisses to the tip of Chris’s nose, each cheek, and his forehead (careful to avoid the bandage), before turning attention to Chris’s earlobe, licking and nipping and sucking the tender flesh into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, biting, laving it with his tongue.

“Aaaah, ok,” Chris agreed, exasperated, moaning, and squirming slightly underneath Mike, “but if you continue like that, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stay still.

“Ok,” Mike sighed, releasing Chris’s earlobe and pressing his lips against Chris’s jaw.

“And be gentle,” Chris remarked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I mean, I know you will, but…”

“You’re still healing, babe, I know. Are you sure you want me to do this, we can just make out and go to sleep,” Mike suggested. It was so typical of Chris to beg and plead and protest, and only when he’d won try to talk himself out of what he wanted. Mike knew Chris wouldn’t have asked if Chris wasn’t confident he’d be able to handle it, but if Chris was feeing uncertain, he certainly didn’t want to pressure him.

“Just go slow, at least at first, I’ll let you know if anything hurts,” Chris agreed with a smile.

“Want your shirt off?” Mike asked, slipping out from under Chris’s arms, and climbing to his hands and knees between Chris’s spread legs, the coolness of the duvet a sharp contrast to Chris’s warm skin.

“Uh,” Chris thought, “that might be more trouble than it’s worth, you can just hike it up if it’s in the way,” he said with a coy smile.

“Ok,” Mike agreed. “Boxers?”

“Off, definitely,” Chris laughed. “Yours too, he added, a wicked twinkle in his eye.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to do any work,” Mike protested even as he slipped the shorts down his hips, over his ass, and kicked them away.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look, or touch,” Chris replied devilishly. “I mean, I miss you,” he said more seriously.

Mike rolled his eyes, “Ok, you can look, and touch,” he held up his finger in warning, “but if you try to do too much, I’m going to go put on sweatpants and the blowjob’s off.”

“You wouldn’t!” Chris said, sounding scandalized.

“I would.” Mike leaned down for another kiss. “Now, can you lift your hips a little?”

Chris levered up with his bent leg to carefully boost his hips enough that Mike could slip the silky-soft boxers over his hips. “You wouldn’t put on sweats ‘cause it’s too hot,” he countered.

“Maybe not, but I’m still withholding oral sex if you try to do too much,” Mike said, meeting his eye.

They fumbled for a moment, trying to get Chris’s shorts off the rest of the way while his legs were still spread and Mike was kneeling between them. In the end, Mike slipped backwards on the bed, pulling the offending garment with him while Chris closed his thighs. The sight that greeted Mike was breathtaking. He was bent flat over his knees, head hovering over Chris’s ankles with a perfect, unobstructed line of sight on Chris’s erection. His fiancé’s balls were low and full; shaved with just hint of stubble (probably since Chris wasn’t quite up to shaving at the moment), with Chris’s shaft long and hard rising in a graceful arc towards his belly. Unable to resist, he slid forward up Chris’s legs, straddling him as he went, and extended his tongue to trace a figure eight over Chris’s balls and slowly, reverently up his shaft towards the head, pausing to dip his tongue into the slit and then swirling it gracefully around the crown.

Chris gasped, a little whimpering moan. Mike froze, fearing he’d hurt Chris, but Chris groaned out, “Oh. Mike… feel so good.” Chris’s voice breathy and light and filled with pleasure.

Confident he wasn’t causing any harm, Mike continued his trek up his fiancé’s body, releasing his dick to brush light kisses on Chris’s hips. Lifting Chris’s t-shirt, mindful of his broken ribs, Mike continued on his path, pausing to lap at Chris’s navel-earning more grateful moans-moving on to press loving nips up the uninjured side of Chris’s ribs, trying to screen out the mottled rainbow of colors on the other side of his torso.

Mike now had Chris’s tee tucked up under his armpits, as his tongue traced a path up Chris’s sternum before detouring first right, then left, to circle and suckle his nipples. Sinking his teeth into the dusky bud, Mike looked up and caught Chris’s eye; his gaze was filled with lust and want, good arm reaching up and behind him to grasp the headboard, a pleased grin spread across his face. If things were different-if Chris wasn’t hurt and they didn’t have a house full of guests to avoid interrupting-Mike would be suggesting digging out the restraints about now, but instead, he just pressed his teeth together a little harder, earning a pleased moan for his efforts. He released Chris’s now-hard, erect nipple and massaged it with skilled fingers.

“Slide up here; wanna touch you,” Chris panted.

Mike searched his fiancé’s face for any sign of pain. Aside from the slight wince, suggesting Chris still had a headache, he saw none. With an affirmative nod, he pushed himself up, placing his hands in the pillows on either side of Chris, supporting most of his weight on his arMs. He lowered himself slightly so they could kiss, a long, lazy, tangle of tongues and teeth and lips.

Chris took the opportunity to slip both hands between their bodies, brushing the back of his injured hand against one of Mike’s nipples while squeezing and teasing and twisting the other with his good hand. “Wanna lick,” he mumbled into Mike’s lips.

Reluctantly, Mike pushed himself up and leaned forward so his chest was more or less mashed up in Chris’s face, his ass now hovering just in front of Chris’s straining erection… It was tempting-very, very tempting-but he resisted. His efforts were rewarded with a messy, enthusiastic tongue laving.  Chris’s technique wasn’t as precise and scientific as usual, hinting at the painkillers’ and concussion’s lingering effects, but as Chris pecked and nibbled his way across Mike’s chest from shoulder to shoulder and then lapped and sucked at his nipples, Mike was not in the mood to complain.

Mike was so lost in the feeling of Chris’s warm, soft lips and flexible tongue against his skin, reveling in the sense of home-safe-right-whole they provided that he gasped with surprise, when Chris’s hand closed around his cock, thumb sweeping over the head to spread pre-come around and down. Mike keened as Chris stroked, his hand loose and slow at first, then tightening, quickening, with an added twist on every third stroke. Mike let himself float, forehead pressed against the headboard, sweat making the wood slick against his temple. It was relaxing and life-affirming in a way nothing else had been-not talking to Chris in the hospital, not hearing from the doctors that he’d be ok, not even taking him home-only the feel of Chris warm, live, awake against him, underneath him, breath panting, heart beating, hand dancing up and down on Mike’s dick was enough to drive the message home. Chris was ok. They were together. All was right in the world.

Eventually, he felt Chris tiring, his hand stuttering just a little, breath sounding more panting. Mike wanted to kick himself for letting Chris exert himself so much, but he resisted, instead, he slipped his hand around Chris’s and together they stroked Mike to completion.  It didn’t take much, he was so close already-once, twice, three times, and the warm rush was gathering in his belly and spreading out explosively, toes curling, back arching, head flung back as he panted out his release. “Love you, love you, love you,” he murmured as Chris milked the last of his come.

Mike’s first instinct was to collapse against Chris, but he remembered in time that was a bad idea. So, instead, he disentangled his hand from Chris’s, which Chris promptly grabbed and pulled to his lips, tongue flicking out and licking off Mike’s come, sucking each finger into his mouth, slurping at the palm, until Mike’s hand was clean. Only then did Mike return his hand to the bed and slowly, satedly push his body back down the bed, still hovering over Chris. He leaned in for a sloppy, salty kiss.

“Mmm, you taste good,” Chris murmured when Mike pulled away. “Now my turn,” he looked up with teasing, devilish eyes, looking tired, but much more at peace and less pained than he had even ten minutes earlier. “How ‘bout that blowjob you promised me?”

Mike scoffed and rolled his eyes at Chris’s demand. “Manipulative,” Mike whined. “You know I can’t say ‘no’ to you when I’m all post-orgasmic,” he complained, trying to sound genuinely upset, but he was pretty sure his relieved smile gave away his true feelings. He leaned over again and pressed his lips gently to Chris’s, mouth opening slowly, tongue twisting and chasing and dueling with Chris’s until they were both panting. He pulled back, resting his forehead against Chris’s shoulder and asked, “Are you really sure you’re up for this?” He cringed immediately at his choice of words.

“Oh, I’m up for it, all right,” Chris teased meaningfully, “but yeah, I’m sure it’s ok. Endorphins, remember? All good relaxation and nice pain relief… plus I get to be with you,” Chris whispered, very gently patting Mike’s back, awe in his voice.

“Ok, then,” Mike agreed, giving Chris a tiny nod before slinking back down Chris’s body, tongue flicking out to lap at the hollow at the base of his neck, trailing across Chris’s chest to pause briefly at each nipple, just a little swirling tease of tongue and a light nip before he continued tracing a path down Chris’s body. They’d had enough foreplay. Mike was relaxed and happy, but he needed to be closer to Chris right now damnit, and the fastest way to do that, given their current restrictions, was to lick his way down to Chris’s cock and get down to business.

Mike flattened out his tongue as he followed Chris’s happy trail down, down, until his chin brushed the head of Chris’s cock. Mike looked up at Chris, loving the wanton, blissed-out expression on his face. He lowered his eyes, and his mouth, and returned his attention to Chris’s erection, licking around the crown, making quick little jabs into the slit, tongue greeted with the salty-bitter-good taste of pre-come that said ‘Chris’ and ‘home’ and ‘mine’ to his brain.

Chris moaned with pleasure, shifting under Mike as much as his injuries would allow.

Mike looked up again, earning a frustrated scoff. “When I said I didn’t want you doing any work, I was serious,” Mike said, the annoyance in his voice only half faked; he didn’t want Chris hurting himself, after all. “So, stay still,” he grumbled, laying his arm flat against Chris’s hips and swooping own on Chris’s dick.

“Oh baby, that’s what I wanted, yeah,” Chris moaned. “I like it when you’re pushy.”

Mike chuckled against Chris’s cock, earning an appreciative moan. I’m not doing this right if you can still form complete sentences, he thought, focusing all his attention to bringing Chris as much pleasure as possible. He opened his throat and took Chris farther in, swallowing when he felt Chris’s head in the back of his throat. Mike hollowed his cheeks, covered his teeth, and sucked and bobbed his head, three, four, five times, earning increasingly incoherent grunts and mumbles for his efforts. He pulled back up with a pop, pressing his lips to the crown and blowing gently across it, feeling Chris shiver under him.

Eager to keep Chris on his toes, Mike dipped down again, circling the base with his tongue, while rolling Chris’s balls in his hand.

Chris moaned again, more incoherent still, and Mike grinned. For the first time since the on-set accident, Chris actually sounded relaxed, completely distracted; pain free. Forcing the looming ghost of fear from his mind, he focused on the positive. Mike was amazed and pleased that he had done that; he had brought Chris out of the pain.

Mike replaced his hand with his mouth, sucking first one ball then the other, enveloping them with the moist warmth of his mouth, teasing Chris’s sac with his teeth just the slightest bit, bringing Chris to the edge of pleasure-pain, but no farther. Mike didn’t want to risk causing Chris any bad pain, and with the injuries and the drugs, he wasn’t really sure where Chris’s tipping point was. So he satisfied himself with lavishing as much attention as he could with his tongue and lips, finally letting Chris’s balls slip from his lips and pressing delicate, feathery kisses across the heated skin.

Slipping his free hand around the base of Chris’s spit-lubricated shaft, he began stroking while slipping his mouth back over the head. He bobbed for a while, head and hand in perfect synchronicity, making sure every inch of Chris’s cock was stimulated, pleased, increasing the speed and pressure incrementally determined to drive his fiancé slowly mad before sending him over the edge. Mike could hear Chris getting closer, his moans rising in pitch and breaking off into breathy, clipped gasps, as Chris’s balls pulled up tight. Mike let go, and opened his throat, sinking down, taking all of Chris in, humming with pleasure and anticipation. That was all it took one deep-throated bob, and Chris was shooting down Mike’s throat, his body tense underneath, every muscle clenched as he let out a long, gasping sigh. Mike swallowed, milking Chris dry, pulling off slowly, only letting Chris slip free from his lips when he was nearly soft.

Mike was panting; Chris was panting; and their eyes met, so much crossing unspoken between them, it nearly overwhelmed Mike. He could feel tears coming to his eyes again, this time, from the relief of knowing that Chris was alright, that they were ok, that while life had been scary, they were still together, going to pull through, keep on going. It’s reassuring and it’s real and it’s completely overwhelming. Every time Mike thinks he can’t possibly learn anything more about their relationship, their connection with each other, he’s proved wrong. It’s thrilling and it’s great, but also terrifying. He means everything to Chris, and Chris means everything to him… and sometimes an act as simple, crude, and everyday as a blow job can have profound meaning. Mike didn’t realize it, but he’s been looking for a sign from Chris that Chris will really be ok, and the happily exhausted, pleased, awe-struck, completely in-love, orgasmic grin that’s on Chris’s face is it.

“I’m ok, Mike,” Chris says, pulling Mike out of his reverie. “And I’m going to get better. We’re good.”

Chris motioned with his hand for Mike to join him by the headboard, and Mike immediately complied, nearly knocking himself off the bed as he disentangled himself from Chris’s legs and crawled up the bed to share in a breathless kiss.

“Damn, baby, that was fine,” Chris said, stretching the last word out into three syllables, letting out a satisfied sigh as Mike pulled away.

Mike stroked the back of his hand against Chris’s cheek, sniffing back the tears that came to his eyes. “Glad you liked it,” he said. The, glad you’re ok, transmitted in silence.

“Thank you,” Chris said sincerely. “I really do feel a lot better now,” he smiled shifting as much as he could manage on the pillows.

“I know,” Mike nodded, catching Chris’s hand and squeezing it, “I saw you actually relax there for a little bit, haven’t seen that since…”

“I’m ok,” Chris reassured again, smiling at Mike.

Mike looked down at Chris, propped on pillows in the middle of the bed, shirt still tucked up under his armpits, lying on top of the covers. “What do you say I go get a wash cloth and clean us up, help you get under the covers, so we can sleep?” Mike asked.

“Sounds fabulous,” Chris yawned. He blinked a few times, “Damn, that orgasm was better than I expected, I’m all sleepy now,” he smiled.

Mike chuckled, relief mixed with amusement. “Glad you had a good orgasm, mine was nice too,” he shot back, eyes taking on a devious glint. “Ok, guess I’d better-” he gestured towards the bathroom.

Chris nodded as Mike stood. “Love how you take care of me, clean us both up,” Chris practically purred.

Mike scoffed, as he made his way across to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. Sure, he was the one to clean them up, or at least get the supplies for it, after any sort of sex, but that had more to do with Chris being a sleepy, lazy bastard post orgasm than Mike having a deep-seated need to take care of Chris… or did it? Huh, well that was certainly interesting. Mike hadn’t realized just how much he got a thrill out of being able to do the little things for Chris-it seemed like a sign that he was actually sharing his life with someone. The realization made him smile and he felt like he was floating on a warm, fuzzy cloud.

“Alright, lazybones,” Mike teased as he emerged, moistened cloth in hand. “Let’s get unsticky and get to sleep.” His sentence was punctuated with a yawn. “I really do love taking care of you, Chris,” he added with a more serious smile.

“I know,” Chris yawned back. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mike replied, pressing another kiss to the crown of Mike’s head before wiping at their hands and cocks and stomachs until all traces of come were gone. “Want your boxers?” he asked Chris, as he spied their underwear in a tangled heap just off the end of the bed.

“Nah,” Chris said, making a little abortive movement that suggested he remembered this time that shaking his head was a bad idea. “Wanna feel you close,” he said, making grabby hands at Mike.

“Ok,” Mike agreed, looking down at the bed. “Baby, why didn’t you let me throw back the covers before?” he asked, wondering how he was going to get sleepy, drugged up, concussed Chris under the covers now that he was lying in the middle of the bed.

Chris looked sheepish, “‘Cause I didn’t want you trying to make excuses and going to bed,” he admitted. “I think I’m good to get up, if you help me,” he added, sliding his body carefully sideways trying not to move his head any more than absolutely necessary. When he had slid to the edge of the bed closest to Mike, he looked up, “Help me?” he asked.

“Sure thing, babe,” Mike said, crouching down, and wrapping is arms around Chris, rolling Chris onto him, and lifting him to a stand. Chris gave out a little grunt of pain, but it wasn’t as bad as the grunts he’d made earlier when Mike was more-or-less carrying him up the stairs, so he figured the drugs-and orgasm-were helping. When Chris was balanced against his shoulder, Mike reached one long arm over to un-stack the pillows and flip back the covers. “There you go,” he said to Chris, helping to lower Chris back down to a sitting and then lying position, and then sliding him across the mattress so that Mike would be able to lay next to his uninjured right side.

“Thanks,” Chris said, sleepy voice full of gratitude, eyes closed.

Mike scooted around to the bottom of the bed, pausing to look at his boxers, debating whether or not to put them on.

“Leave ‘em,” Chris yawned.

Mike looked up, dropping the boxers back to the floor. Chris’s eyes were still closed.

“Want you naked,” Chris answered.

Mike snorted at Chris’s uncanny ability to sense what he was thinking, and quickly slipped into bed, wrapping his arms around the love of his life. Within minutes he was drifting off to sleep dreaming of wedding invitations and rings and Chris.

~~~

The next day went by in a blur. Dave and Steve were both coming from LA and both managed to arrive on the same flight. Danneel and Allie volunteered to pick them up from the airport in their rental, leaving Mike home to care for Chris. Much to Mike’s relief Jared and Jensen were overeager to help out with Chris-who was still too loopy to take care of himself, much less help entertain guests or put any more serious thought into the wedding planning. With Jared and Jensen entertaining Tom and Jaime, Mike was able to relax enough to eat breakfast and find and set up the air mattress Dave and Steve could flip for (whoever lost was getting the couch). Then it was a whirlwind of trying to get lunch ready, and calling a half-dozen more family members who needed to be notified about the wedding date, and giving Chris more meds. Mike was starting to understand why Chris found cleaning so relaxing, at no point that morning had Mike’s mind been more clear than when he was getting the air mattress ready.

~~~

“Hey, man, I thought you said you were going to take care of yourself?” the familiar voice cut through the haze of drugs and pain in Chris’s head.

He slowly came back to himself, opening his eyes to the-thankfully-dim light and took in his surroundings. He was curled up against a pile of pillows on the couch in the living room. It didn’t feel that late, but the light was dim, and oh, that was probably because someone had pulled all the shades. The blurry image of someone-probably whoever had spoken-was standing over him, looking down on the couch. Dave, his brain finally supplied. “Dave,” he croaked out loud. “Didn’t think you could make it. Isn’t Jaime due, like any minute?” Chris was pleased, amazed really at how normal his sentences had sounded. The most frustrating thing about his condition at the moment was knowing that he sounded spacey, crazy, loopy, or just plain not making any sense, and not being able to do anything about it.

“Nah, she’s still got about a month left,” Dave said, voice a mixture of amusement and relief as he plopped down onto something-the ottoman-so he was more or less on eye level with Chris. “She’s due about the time you guys have set your wedding date.”

Chris paled, “Oh shit; didn’t think of that. You have to be there, need you to be one of my best men. But you can’t miss your kid being born.” Ok, that sounded needy and maybe a little greedy, but Chris didn’t have a very good lid on his emotions between the narcotics and the concussion. He hoped he hadn’t offended Dave.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there. Unless Jamie’s in labor or looking like she’s gonna go into it any second, I’ll figure out a way to be there. Wouldn’t miss it,” Dave added, voice cracking.

Chris didn’t really understand. He saw Dave tearing up and sliding forward on the ottoman, but it was like there was a time delay between what he saw and what he understood, so Chris was quite surprised when Dave had knelt down next to the couch, slipping his arms around Chris’s shoulders in the closest approximation of a hug Chris’s battered body could take. “I was so fucking scared when Mike called and said you were hurt. Don’t do that to yourself. It’s OK to use a double sometimes. I wanna find your fucking stunt guy and kick-”

“Whoa, Dave, stand down,” Chris managed, David’s desperation drawing out the caregiver in Chris and helping to snap through the drug-induced fog. “It wasn’t the stunt coordinator’s fault. Wasn’t the effects guys’ fault either. The set called over yesterday morning. They checked it out it was a faulty explosive that somehow slipped past the inspection at the factory. No one on the crew screwed up, I just got a little unlucky, that’s all.” He tried to put as much reassurance into his tone as possible, but knew he still sounded more like an exhausted, grouchy kitten than his usual self.

Dave let out a long sigh. “I’m still worried about you. I know you like to think you’re Jason Bourne, but promise me you’ll take it a little easy?” He caught Chris’s eye, hurt puppy dog expression worthy of Jared at his most earnest making it impossible for Chris to disagree.

“Yes, I’ll be more careful, and I’ll take it easy,” he agreed.

“Sounds like you’re not going to have much of a choice about that,” Steve’s voice said from somewhere behind Chris.

“Steve, why are you behind me?” Chris asked, realizing after he’d spoken that it sounded kind of stupid. He was on the couch which was in the middle of the room. Steve was probably standing behind him.

Dave shot him a worried glance, so Chris burrowed further into his pile of pillows and tried to hide.

“Just the drugs talking,” Mike’s voice reassured from somewhere else in the room. Chris didn’t want to think too hard about where it was coming from.

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said, sounding sheepish and walking into Chris’s field of vision. Now Steve was standing next to and slightly behind where Dave was still kneeling.

“Hey, Steve, thanks for coming,” Chris managed.

“No problem, you just get better, ok?” Steve answered voice relaxed, his laid-back attitude a breath of fresh air.

“What do you mean he’s not going to have much of a choice?” Dave asked, rocking back on his heels and looking up at Steve.

“Oh,” Steve said, sheepishly, flopping down on the ottoman that Dave had vacated. “Mike told me they were making Chris take two weeks off from shooting. He’s gotta let his head get all healed up and have x-rays show the ribs are healing properly before he can go back to filming. Seems they don’t trust Chris here to rest up enough otherwise,” Steve added, sending Chris a disapproving glare.

Oh right, he should have known Steve would be worried about that. He’d been up in Portland several times over the summer to play with the band, and he’d seen Chris playing shows exhausted, under slept, bruised, and generally beat up. It wasn’t that Chris hadn’t been taking care of himself, he could just be a little enthusiastic about Eliot, and sometimes he got a little carried away.

“Wow, those really are good meds,” Dave chuckled, squeezing Chris’s hand.

“Huh? D’I just say that aloud or somethin’?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed.

“Ugh!” Chris groaned. It was going to be another long day. Of visitors and best friends. But also of him being loopy and incoherent and spitting out whatever random thought came to mind. Of doing his best to allay his friends fears. Of planning his wedding to the love of his life. It would be intense, but for now at least, he was content to listen to Steve and Dave bicker and tease him showing their relief through their laughter.

“So, tell me about your wedding plans so far!” Dave continued, changing the subject and sounding way too enthusiastic.

Oh yeah, it was going to be a good, but very long day.

Master Post | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4