Insensitive (Part 3 of 5)
Title: Insensitive (Part 3 of 5)
Author: echo_fangirl
Characters: Connor/Lester, various others
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Masturbation and Blowjobs
Words: 4,586 (25,340 total)
Disclaimer: Not mine, as nice as it would be
Spoilers: Set in season 3, assumes knowledge of season 2
A/N: Very sincere thanks to fredbassett, for betaing this for me so thoroughly in such a short time!
** If you prefer fic to remain PG rated, stop reading after the dinner section and pick up again with the next posted part **
Summary: Lester has been having headaches, and they're getting worse.
Previous parts: ( Part 1 ) ( Part 2 )
---
“The MRI, it's basically a really powerful magnetic field.” Connor explained. He was facing several severe and dismissive doctors, but Connor was confident. It was like he imagined Cutter had felt when he got one of his hunches; there was certainly evidence, and while it wasn't enough to convince others, it just felt right somehow. “And when we were out in the country, he had his seizure just as we were passing under overhead power lines. And that time when he lost concentration while he was driving, there was an electricity substation just by the side of the road... Then the first time we were...” Connor paused then, trying to think of a way to explain that Lester's first real, memorable sign of illness happened in close proximity to an anomaly, one which had been producing a stronger than usual magnetic field.
One of the more sympathetic doctors put a placating hand on Connor's arm.
“It's an interesting theory, but I'm afraid it doesn't really fit. James' vision didn't come back when you brought him back to the hospital, now did it? There have been hundreds of studies done on magnetic fields, and while intense, long term exposure can sometimes have some mild negative effects, it's unheard of for someone to be affected just by passing under power lines once.”
“We could do a controlled test.” argued Connor, unwilling to give up his theory so soon. “When he wakes up, we can get some device with a magnetic field, and track his reactions as it gets closer or further away from him.”
The doctor patted Connor lightly on the shoulder. “We'll certainly consider it. Now why don't you go sit with James for a while, he'll probably be waking up soon. I'm sure he'd appreciate a friendly voice when he comes around.” The doctor gave him a smile which was both saccharine and patronizing.
Connor was caught between his desire to fight for his theory and his need to be there when Lester awoke. The decision was made for him though, as his audience of medical personnel left the room to resume their normal duties. With a quiet sigh, Connor and made his way back to Lester's private room. He took his normal seat, then picked up Lester's hand and placed it between his own.
The movement was enough to rouse Lester, who blinked rapidly a few times before letting them drift closed in defeat.
“Connor?” he asked.
Connor squeezed Lester's hand.
“Yep, I'm right here. You had a bad reaction to the MRI machine and they had to sedate you, but you're back in your room now. Do you feel okay?”
“Connor?” Lester asked a second time, ignoring Connor's answer. “Connor, is that you?”
Connor felt a splinter of worry deep in his chest, but ignored it. “Yep, it's me. Who else would it be?” Lester's breath started to speed up, causing the splinter of worry to grow into an uncomfortable spike of concern. “Hey, it's okay, you're safe now... Lester?”
“Connor, if you're there, you had better say so right now.” Lester said, in a voice that to anyone else would have sounded only mildly put out, but which made Connor's breath catch in his chest.
“Lester?”
“Oh.” Lester's voice was almost a whisper. “You are talking, aren't you? I can't... I can't hear you. Or myself. Oh God...”
Connor did the only thing he could think of. He leaned over and pressed his lips hard over Lester's, trying to communicate everything from his presence and support through to his fear for Lester's well-being, all without the benefit sight or sound.
Then he stood back and yelled as loudly as he could for a doctor.
---
Abby wasn't exactly sure what to expect. Probably just Lester sitting up in a hospital bed, still wearing one of his impeccable suits and hassling the staff for being inefficient. Or maybe she was expecting a distraught Connor, frantic and anxious and in need of a calming hug and rational words.
What she saw instead, peeking her head around the door, were two men who both looked completely exhausted. Lester was in the hospital bed, wearing loose fitting red button-down pyjamas, with hair mussed and showing signs of needing a shave. Connor had drawn the chair up close to the bed, holding Lester's hand palm up and tracing patterns on the exposed skin. Every few seconds, Lester would say something quietly, and Connor would curl Lester's fingers closed and move the resulting fist either up and down or left and right.
Abby cleared her throat to announce her presence, stepping into the room with a painted smile. Connor looked up at her, his own eyes lighting up to see her and a more genuine smile gracing his tired face.
“Abby! Lester, Abby's...” Connor paused, then traced something else on Lester's open hand. Mid-way through, Lester seemed to sit up a little straighter.
“Miss Maitland? Very thoughtful of you to drop by,” he said, louder this time although still more quiet than necessary given the private room.
“You're looking well,” Abby answered, then creased her forehead in consternation. She wasn't really sure exactly what the situation was with her boss, but she was fairly clear on the fact that he was supposed to be deaf and blind, which left her with a rather serious puzzle. How exactly did one visit someone who had no way of communicating with you? Confused, she turned to Connor, holding up the bag she had brought with her. “I brought grapes.”
Connor grinned.
“Brilliant! Bring 'em over here then, and grab a chair. There's a spare one over there.” He gestured at it. Abby handed over the grapes and went to retrieve the specified plastic chair.
By the time she returned, Connor had extracted the bunch of grapes from the bag, plucked one, and was in the process of placing it in Lester's open hand. She watched with fascination as Connor closed Lester's fingers over the fragile fruit, then tapped twice on Lester's closed mouth. As if the instruction were completely straightforward, Lester took the grape and ate it.
“Thank you, Abby, I do appreciate the thought. Do feel free to take some yourself. Connor, you must try some as well.”
Abby looked back at Connor, still feeling too awkward about talking to Lester directly.
“How are you doing that? Neither of you know sign language...”
Connor shrugged.
“It's not proper sign language. Sometimes I just spell out the words, sometimes we just sort of come up with gestures which mean things. Like this for 'yes',” he balled his hand into a fist and shook it up and down like he was tapping on a table top. “And this for 'no',” he continued, shaking the same fist from side to side.
“Oh, okay. That's... inventive,” Abby commented.
Connor's eyes widened suddenly in that way they did when he had an idea.
“Here, you can try! Just a second...” Connor wrote something on Lester's hand for a moment, then Lester nodded, and all of a sudden Abby found Connor pressing Lester's hand into her own.
She froze, a combination of indecision, awkwardness, and an inexplicable feeling of fear making any sort of action impossible. Abby swallowed hard, then looked back at Connor with desperation.
“What do I do?” she whispered, as though holding Lester's hand would somehow make him able to hear her if she spoke too loudly.
“Just, talk to him. You know, just... Figure out what you need to write to get the point across. Like texting, only by touch. And, um... With someone who doesn't actually know anything about texting.” Connor smiled and nodded at her encouragingly.
Abby took a deep breath, then carefully traced the word 'Hi' onto Lester's open palm.
Lester raised an eyebrow.
“Connor tells me that you've agreed to take care of his two pets again, while I'm staying here?” he prompted her.
For the briefest of moments Abby relaxed, relieved to have an actual topic of conversation, but then the moment was gone again as she tried to find some way responding. In the end, she followed Connor's example earlier and simply made the sign for 'yes'.
“I trust they're doing well? I do wonder if they fret without my suits and furniture to destroy,” Lester continued.
Abby just stared at Lester's open hand, wishing she could think of something short enough to write but profound enough to be worth writing. After a few seconds, she just looked up at Connor in desperation.
“I'm not really good at this, can't you just translate for me?” she asked, trying hard to ignore Connor's look of disappointment.
Connor took Lester's hand, once again taking control of his only line of communication.
“Okay, what do you want to say?”
Abby chewed her lip for a moment, then said, “Just tell him I hope he's feeling better soon. I should probably go...” She stood up before Connor even had a chance to start translating, the relief at being able to get out of the room overriding her guilt at leaving Connor looking so downcast. She was gone before she could hear Lester's answer.
Connor stopped trying to convey Abby's message, and let his writing hand fall limp. After a few seconds, Lester spoke again.
“She's gone, hasn't she?”
Connor made the sign for yes, but didn't elaborate. Lester turned his hand over to grasp Connor's gripping tightly for several seconds.
“It's okay, Connor. If I were her, I wouldn't know how to react to me either.”
Connor found himself unable to find any words, much as Abby had struggled a few minutes before. Instead, he got up off the hard plastic seat and wriggled his way into the single hospital bed next to the other man, who moved over to accommodate him. Connor knew that Lester didn't normally approve of such gratuitous displays of affection in public, but under the circumstances it seemed reasonable to make an exception.
Neither of them spoke as Connor started stroking the side of Lester's face, carding his hair. Trying hard not to cry over their mutual helplessness. Lying together was one thing, but Lester certainly wouldn't approve of such lavish a display of emotion as crying.
Lester must have sensed his disquiet.
“It's all right, Connor. Everything is going to work out. You said so yourself.”
Connor didn't answer, which was only fair because there was no one there able to hear it. Instead, he wrapped a hand around to support the back of Lester's neck, stroking the sensitive skin there with his thumb.
He stopped for a moment, sitting up and leaning to look at the place he his thumb had just been. He touched the area again, confirming the small hard something under the skin which he had felt a moment earlier.
“Connor?” Lester queried, but Connor was already climbing off the bed in search of one of those useless doctors that had been so dismissive of him earlier.
---
Lester was living a dark, silent nightmare. There was no sound, no light, no sense of the passing of time. Sometimes he would ask if it was day or night, but there were very few people who were both willing and able to communicate with him, so more often than not his questions went unanswered. He also tried a few times to request sedation or a medically-induced coma, anything that would remove him from this dizzy nothingness, but like his requests for the time of day, very little came of it.
There was also the possibility of his requests being misinterpreted. A carer had, at one point, believed his requests to be related to pain and had given him something to dull his physical sensations. Lester had found himself so disassociated from the world that he wondered if maybe he might have simply evaporated.
Then Connor would come. Connor would soothe, caress, stroke, embrace, and generally ground Lester in the real world for the minutes they were together (or were they hours? Lester couldn't tell...). Then Connor would have to leave again, and every time he left Lester felt a little less connected to the world than he had the time before.
---
“The doctors think he's getting worse.” Connor finally confessed after almost fifteen minutes of gentle wheedling by Danny. The break room coffee table in front of them was scattered with the images that the hospital had been able to produce without the use of an MRI machine, showing various angles of the device under the skin of Lester's neck. Danny wasn't even close to an expert, but he was pretty sure that the thin white tendrils coming from the solid white block and extending out into the grey blurriness behind it were the reason that Connor had been told that surgery was not an option.
“He's already blind and deaf, how much worse could it actually get?” Danny asked without thinking. Connor closed his eyes for a moment, either composing an answer or composing himself, Danny couldn't be sure.
“A lot worse, really. It's some kind of progressive brain damage caused by that... thing. The brain's responsible for pretty much everything our body does, so yeah, there's a lot of worse that could still happen. They aren't saying much, but it's pretty clear that the doctors don't have any idea what it is. It's man-made, though and that's... Well, that's a whole lot of not good, because it's really advanced stuff, and the only way it could have got in there was if someone put it there, and... I don't know, maybe if I could just figure out what it is?” Connor sucked in a breath, then said, “Sometimes I think I can see something there that's familiar, or which makes sense, but then I lose it again, or maybe I never had it in the first place, and I'm chasing some stupid imaginary thing, and I only think I can see it because I want it to so badly. I just don't know, and now Lester's started...” Connor stopped again, mid-thought, and pressed his lips together in an attempt to trap his emotions in.
Danny draped a friendly arm over Connor's shoulder and squeezed briefly.
“Hey, come on, let's not have any of that. You tell me what's going on in that head of yours, and we'll sort it out as best we can. Then if you're still feeling weepy afterward I'll drive you home, pick up some beer on the way, and we can work on getting you drunk? Deal?”
Connor gave a watery smile, but remained silent for several seconds. Danny sat patiently waiting for him to speak again.
“They think he's depressed. He's not talking much, and he's interacting with people a lot less, even me. He just lies there not doing anything all the time, like he's just waiting to...” Connor stopped, then continued more quietly, “...waiting for something to change. I'm spending as much time with him as I'm allowed, from the moment they let me in in the morning to the moment they chuck me out at the end of the day, but he's just slipping further and further away every day and I don't know how to fix it. I keep looking at the scans, but I don't know, I'm not a neuroscientist! I don't know how to fix this. Not the thing in his neck, not his depression, none of it. I can't fix it, and I don't know what else to do.”
Somewhere during that confession Connor's hands had started flailing around. Danny caught them before they did someone an injury, directing them instead to the place Connor's mostly-full tea cup resided on the table. Connor took the hint and picked up the cup sheepishly, gripping it a little too tightly. Danny allowed him a moment to compose himself before he answered.
“You know that in some parts of the world, they use sensory deprivation as a kind of torture,” Danny said. Connor's eyebrows tilted in alarm, so Danny quickly continued, “I'm not saying that anyone's doing this to deliberately torture him, just that being completely deprived of your senses is a pretty terrifying prospect .”
Connor nodded slowly, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “But he's not completely deprived of his senses. He can still feel and smell and taste, he just can't see or hear...”
Danny gave Connor a pointed look.
“Don't you think maybe you're reminding the wrong person, mate?”
---
The smell of char-grilled steak did strange things to Lester's mouth. After however long he had been eating hospital food (or, in recent days, declining to eat hospital food), the smell of fresh meat being cooked, combined with the familiar scent of home, left him feeling giddy with desire. Even the knowledge that Connor had been using his kitchen unsupervised couldn't dampen the feelings.
Lester didn't exactly know what had earned him a reprieve from the hospital, nor did he know how long it would last, but he was not going to question it. Even sitting in the car on the way home had him more at ease than the days stuck in his hospital bed. As Connor sat him down though, he felt a sinking feeling. The smells were of steak and roast vegetables, foods which required a mastery of cutlery that was presently elusive. He had needed help to eat the hospital food, making an already unpleasant experience intolerable, but somehow the idea of Connor feeding him in their own home was a thousand times worse. He felt a heavy disappointment, realizing that the only way to maintain his dignity was to refuse the meal that Connor had prepared for him.
As Lester tried to find a way to explain this without hurting Connor's feelings, he felt the younger man standing behind him, leaning over in a position that was reminiscent of a father teaching his son to hold a cricket bat. Before Lester could begin to explain, Connor directed his hand to the table, where it encountered not the usual stainless steel cutlery but something thin and pointed. His second hand was directed a few inches away, where he discovered a similarly thin and pointy stick, albeit one pointing in the opposite direction.
Connor closed Lester's fingers around the sticks, then let go of his hands to tap Lester's closed mouth. Lester let his fingers explore a short distance, cautious, and then suddenly realized what Connor had done. The meal was cut into small chunks, threaded on to a wooden skewer, shish-kebab style, so that Lester could eat it without assistance. He smiled in relief, nodded, and ate eagerly for the first time in days.
If the meal had been enjoyable, then the shower could have constituted bliss. Although he had eventually been allowed to shower without the assistance of a nurse at the hospital, the water pressure had been poor and the water tepid. To make matters worse, he had always felt pressured to wash quickly so that no one would think it necessary to check on him. Tonight, in his own home, Connor had simply guided him to the bathroom, made sure he could find the towel and the taps, then left him to it.
Lester had turned the heat up almost to scalding, then let the water weave its way through his hair and down his back, washing the stress and tension away with it. He let his eyes drift closed, and if it weren't for the unending and unnatural silence he could almost imagine that nothing had ever changed.
He let his hand drift down over his chest and belly, brushing his hand over his cock. This was something else he hadn't dared to do in the hospital showers, not just because he thought he would startle the nurses and embarrass himself, but also because the environment had been so sterile that even the thoughts had seemed inappropriate.
That wasn't a problem here. Even his feather-light touch had been enough to bring him to hardness. Taking a firmer grip, Lester stroked himself slowly, letting the sensations build and spread through his entire body. He used his free hand to steady himself, palm flat against the steamy, slippery tiles of the wall. His whole body rocked in counterpoint to his hand around his cock, drawing out the weeks of anxiety and fear with each stroke. His hand quickened and became jerky over damp skin as he chased the moment. Barely seconds later, his whole body grew tense and his head fell back, mouth open in a silent expression of release.
---
Lying in their shared bed, Lester wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He knew what he wanted to happen, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask it. For all he knew, Connor's intention was just to roll over and go to sleep together, and really, Lester would be in absolutely no position to complain after the efforts to which Connor had gone to make his homecoming a positive experience. He tried to relax into the familiar smells and textures of their room, waiting for Connor to finish whatever it was he was doing and join him.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Lester felt the bed dip next to him and the bedclothes move, a signal that he was no longer alone. He turned his head towards the dip, and murmured Connor's name.
For his efforts, Lester received a light kiss on the cheek.
Then a second kiss, this time on the lips.
The kiss grew, Connor's tongue tangling itself with Lester's. There was a flurry of movement, and then Connor was straddling him, arms either side of Lester's head, clever teeth teasing at Lester's lower lip.
Connor pulled back just as Lester was starting to feel light-headed from a lack of air. Even the oxygen rush wasn't enough for Lester to hold back a small expression of disappointment at the loss of contact. In response, Connor turned his attentions to Lester's ear lobes, sucking and nibbling ever so gently, before gradually progressing down his neck to his clavicle. Instinctively, Lester tilted his head back to allow Connor more access, his hands alternately grasping and releasing the bedclothes underneath them.
Connor started to undo the buttons on Lester's shirt. Lester had a feeling he may have whimpered, but since he couldn't hear it he decided it didn't count. Connor was progressing with a slow patience, a change from his usual 'bull-at-a-gate' approach to sex. It was as though he was ensuring that no square inch of Lester's body was left untended.
Fingers danced along Lester's shoulders and down his arms, tracing random, swirling patterns that left tingling trails of warmth in their wake. Connor's mouth attended to Lester's newly-exposed chest, licking at his nipples then blowing cool air over them, until they were so sensitive that Lester couldn't stop himself from arching his back upwards, desperate for the attention.
Connor worked his way down, tongue darting into Lester's navel in a way that caused Lester to groan. Like his earlier whimper, he was unable to hear it, but clearly Connor had. Seemingly buoyed by the sound, he attacked Lester's navel with renewed enthusiasm, tongue swirling deliciously on downwards.
Connor shifted his whole body lower, fingers and mouth both breaking contact. Lester's breath caught in his throat. He had just enough time to wonder what Connor was doing and more importantly, what Connor was going to do next, before warm fingers in the waistband of his pyjama bottoms made the answer to both questions apparent.
Even with his legs still straddled by Connor, Lester did his utmost to lift himself off the bed, trying to facilitate a speedy removal of the last of his clothes. Connor was only partially obliging, pulling the trousers down with an exaggerated slowness, fingers drifting down Lester's legs as he went, tracing the same random patterns that Lester's arms had so recently been treated to.
Lester was incredibly aware at just how hard he had become, his cock already bobbing in its desire for attention. He went to wrap a hand around his erection, nerve ends desperate for contact, but no sooner had his fingers met flesh then Connor's fingers wrapped themselves around Lester's wrists, pulling them away.
“Oh God....” Lester breathed, unable to stop himself.
Connor's only reply came in the form of a kiss to each of Lester's palms, before laying them back on the sheets, out of touching reach of his straining cock. The message was clear, no touching. Lester suppressed a growl.
Connor's weight readjusted once more, and finally Lester's legs were free of his pyjama bottoms. His small sigh of relief turned to a gasp when suddenly he felt the warm wetness of Connor's tongue lapping between his toes.
The sensation was unexpected, in the best possible way. Lester had never been particularly ticklish, but the sensitive, underexposed skin sent spikes of heat up his legs, straight to his cock, and in a bare moment of lucidity he wondered if he had just developed a new kink.
Lester was pretty sure he'd started babbling, and could only hope he was keeping it at a reasonable volume. Connor showed no signs of stopping, which Lester took as an excellent sign.
The fingers were tracing back up his legs now, tickling at the soft skin of his inner thighs, and with barely enough time to realize what was happening, Connor went from working on Lester's feet to teasing the tip of Lester's cock with his tongue.
Even after his earlier distraction in the shower, Lester was so close that he had to run through every non-erotic thought in his repertoire simply to stop himself from coming right then and there. Connor seemed to sense how close Lester was. He pulled back for barely a moment before taking Lester deep into his mouth.
All the best intentions in the world couldn't have stopped Lester from letting go of the bedclothes at that moment, his hands tangling in Connor's hair. This time Connor didn't argue, focusing all his attention instead on timing his own movements with Lester's instinctive thrusting. The wet heat of Connor's mouth, the swirling velvet contact of his tongue, and the accidental rasp of Connor's teeth... Lester was done for. He did his best to warn Connor, and then he was coming, hard and long.
Connor continued sucking him to his completion, then following this with tiny kisses as he worked his way back up to Lester's mouth.
There was a slow, languid kiss. Lester could taste the familiar blend of Connor and himself on Connor's lips.
Despite the powerful desire to simply fall asleep right there with Connor beside him, Lester placed his hand on Connor's chest, following the line of his body down to Connor's own, very pronounced, erection.
Connor's hand joined Lester's, and together they brought Connor to his climax with a few quick strokes. After a few moments he felt Connor moving around, probably to clean himself up, but he was too tired to make any moves himself.
Sated, exhausted, and with the warmth and scent of Connor surrounding him, Lester allowed himself to succumb to sleep.
Author: echo_fangirl
Characters: Connor/Lester, various others
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Masturbation and Blowjobs
Words: 4,586 (25,340 total)
Disclaimer: Not mine, as nice as it would be
Spoilers: Set in season 3, assumes knowledge of season 2
A/N: Very sincere thanks to fredbassett, for betaing this for me so thoroughly in such a short time!
** If you prefer fic to remain PG rated, stop reading after the dinner section and pick up again with the next posted part **
Summary: Lester has been having headaches, and they're getting worse.
Previous parts: ( Part 1 ) ( Part 2 )
---
“The MRI, it's basically a really powerful magnetic field.” Connor explained. He was facing several severe and dismissive doctors, but Connor was confident. It was like he imagined Cutter had felt when he got one of his hunches; there was certainly evidence, and while it wasn't enough to convince others, it just felt right somehow. “And when we were out in the country, he had his seizure just as we were passing under overhead power lines. And that time when he lost concentration while he was driving, there was an electricity substation just by the side of the road... Then the first time we were...” Connor paused then, trying to think of a way to explain that Lester's first real, memorable sign of illness happened in close proximity to an anomaly, one which had been producing a stronger than usual magnetic field.
One of the more sympathetic doctors put a placating hand on Connor's arm.
“It's an interesting theory, but I'm afraid it doesn't really fit. James' vision didn't come back when you brought him back to the hospital, now did it? There have been hundreds of studies done on magnetic fields, and while intense, long term exposure can sometimes have some mild negative effects, it's unheard of for someone to be affected just by passing under power lines once.”
“We could do a controlled test.” argued Connor, unwilling to give up his theory so soon. “When he wakes up, we can get some device with a magnetic field, and track his reactions as it gets closer or further away from him.”
The doctor patted Connor lightly on the shoulder. “We'll certainly consider it. Now why don't you go sit with James for a while, he'll probably be waking up soon. I'm sure he'd appreciate a friendly voice when he comes around.” The doctor gave him a smile which was both saccharine and patronizing.
Connor was caught between his desire to fight for his theory and his need to be there when Lester awoke. The decision was made for him though, as his audience of medical personnel left the room to resume their normal duties. With a quiet sigh, Connor and made his way back to Lester's private room. He took his normal seat, then picked up Lester's hand and placed it between his own.
The movement was enough to rouse Lester, who blinked rapidly a few times before letting them drift closed in defeat.
“Connor?” he asked.
Connor squeezed Lester's hand.
“Yep, I'm right here. You had a bad reaction to the MRI machine and they had to sedate you, but you're back in your room now. Do you feel okay?”
“Connor?” Lester asked a second time, ignoring Connor's answer. “Connor, is that you?”
Connor felt a splinter of worry deep in his chest, but ignored it. “Yep, it's me. Who else would it be?” Lester's breath started to speed up, causing the splinter of worry to grow into an uncomfortable spike of concern. “Hey, it's okay, you're safe now... Lester?”
“Connor, if you're there, you had better say so right now.” Lester said, in a voice that to anyone else would have sounded only mildly put out, but which made Connor's breath catch in his chest.
“Lester?”
“Oh.” Lester's voice was almost a whisper. “You are talking, aren't you? I can't... I can't hear you. Or myself. Oh God...”
Connor did the only thing he could think of. He leaned over and pressed his lips hard over Lester's, trying to communicate everything from his presence and support through to his fear for Lester's well-being, all without the benefit sight or sound.
Then he stood back and yelled as loudly as he could for a doctor.
---
Abby wasn't exactly sure what to expect. Probably just Lester sitting up in a hospital bed, still wearing one of his impeccable suits and hassling the staff for being inefficient. Or maybe she was expecting a distraught Connor, frantic and anxious and in need of a calming hug and rational words.
What she saw instead, peeking her head around the door, were two men who both looked completely exhausted. Lester was in the hospital bed, wearing loose fitting red button-down pyjamas, with hair mussed and showing signs of needing a shave. Connor had drawn the chair up close to the bed, holding Lester's hand palm up and tracing patterns on the exposed skin. Every few seconds, Lester would say something quietly, and Connor would curl Lester's fingers closed and move the resulting fist either up and down or left and right.
Abby cleared her throat to announce her presence, stepping into the room with a painted smile. Connor looked up at her, his own eyes lighting up to see her and a more genuine smile gracing his tired face.
“Abby! Lester, Abby's...” Connor paused, then traced something else on Lester's open hand. Mid-way through, Lester seemed to sit up a little straighter.
“Miss Maitland? Very thoughtful of you to drop by,” he said, louder this time although still more quiet than necessary given the private room.
“You're looking well,” Abby answered, then creased her forehead in consternation. She wasn't really sure exactly what the situation was with her boss, but she was fairly clear on the fact that he was supposed to be deaf and blind, which left her with a rather serious puzzle. How exactly did one visit someone who had no way of communicating with you? Confused, she turned to Connor, holding up the bag she had brought with her. “I brought grapes.”
Connor grinned.
“Brilliant! Bring 'em over here then, and grab a chair. There's a spare one over there.” He gestured at it. Abby handed over the grapes and went to retrieve the specified plastic chair.
By the time she returned, Connor had extracted the bunch of grapes from the bag, plucked one, and was in the process of placing it in Lester's open hand. She watched with fascination as Connor closed Lester's fingers over the fragile fruit, then tapped twice on Lester's closed mouth. As if the instruction were completely straightforward, Lester took the grape and ate it.
“Thank you, Abby, I do appreciate the thought. Do feel free to take some yourself. Connor, you must try some as well.”
Abby looked back at Connor, still feeling too awkward about talking to Lester directly.
“How are you doing that? Neither of you know sign language...”
Connor shrugged.
“It's not proper sign language. Sometimes I just spell out the words, sometimes we just sort of come up with gestures which mean things. Like this for 'yes',” he balled his hand into a fist and shook it up and down like he was tapping on a table top. “And this for 'no',” he continued, shaking the same fist from side to side.
“Oh, okay. That's... inventive,” Abby commented.
Connor's eyes widened suddenly in that way they did when he had an idea.
“Here, you can try! Just a second...” Connor wrote something on Lester's hand for a moment, then Lester nodded, and all of a sudden Abby found Connor pressing Lester's hand into her own.
She froze, a combination of indecision, awkwardness, and an inexplicable feeling of fear making any sort of action impossible. Abby swallowed hard, then looked back at Connor with desperation.
“What do I do?” she whispered, as though holding Lester's hand would somehow make him able to hear her if she spoke too loudly.
“Just, talk to him. You know, just... Figure out what you need to write to get the point across. Like texting, only by touch. And, um... With someone who doesn't actually know anything about texting.” Connor smiled and nodded at her encouragingly.
Abby took a deep breath, then carefully traced the word 'Hi' onto Lester's open palm.
Lester raised an eyebrow.
“Connor tells me that you've agreed to take care of his two pets again, while I'm staying here?” he prompted her.
For the briefest of moments Abby relaxed, relieved to have an actual topic of conversation, but then the moment was gone again as she tried to find some way responding. In the end, she followed Connor's example earlier and simply made the sign for 'yes'.
“I trust they're doing well? I do wonder if they fret without my suits and furniture to destroy,” Lester continued.
Abby just stared at Lester's open hand, wishing she could think of something short enough to write but profound enough to be worth writing. After a few seconds, she just looked up at Connor in desperation.
“I'm not really good at this, can't you just translate for me?” she asked, trying hard to ignore Connor's look of disappointment.
Connor took Lester's hand, once again taking control of his only line of communication.
“Okay, what do you want to say?”
Abby chewed her lip for a moment, then said, “Just tell him I hope he's feeling better soon. I should probably go...” She stood up before Connor even had a chance to start translating, the relief at being able to get out of the room overriding her guilt at leaving Connor looking so downcast. She was gone before she could hear Lester's answer.
Connor stopped trying to convey Abby's message, and let his writing hand fall limp. After a few seconds, Lester spoke again.
“She's gone, hasn't she?”
Connor made the sign for yes, but didn't elaborate. Lester turned his hand over to grasp Connor's gripping tightly for several seconds.
“It's okay, Connor. If I were her, I wouldn't know how to react to me either.”
Connor found himself unable to find any words, much as Abby had struggled a few minutes before. Instead, he got up off the hard plastic seat and wriggled his way into the single hospital bed next to the other man, who moved over to accommodate him. Connor knew that Lester didn't normally approve of such gratuitous displays of affection in public, but under the circumstances it seemed reasonable to make an exception.
Neither of them spoke as Connor started stroking the side of Lester's face, carding his hair. Trying hard not to cry over their mutual helplessness. Lying together was one thing, but Lester certainly wouldn't approve of such lavish a display of emotion as crying.
Lester must have sensed his disquiet.
“It's all right, Connor. Everything is going to work out. You said so yourself.”
Connor didn't answer, which was only fair because there was no one there able to hear it. Instead, he wrapped a hand around to support the back of Lester's neck, stroking the sensitive skin there with his thumb.
He stopped for a moment, sitting up and leaning to look at the place he his thumb had just been. He touched the area again, confirming the small hard something under the skin which he had felt a moment earlier.
“Connor?” Lester queried, but Connor was already climbing off the bed in search of one of those useless doctors that had been so dismissive of him earlier.
---
Lester was living a dark, silent nightmare. There was no sound, no light, no sense of the passing of time. Sometimes he would ask if it was day or night, but there were very few people who were both willing and able to communicate with him, so more often than not his questions went unanswered. He also tried a few times to request sedation or a medically-induced coma, anything that would remove him from this dizzy nothingness, but like his requests for the time of day, very little came of it.
There was also the possibility of his requests being misinterpreted. A carer had, at one point, believed his requests to be related to pain and had given him something to dull his physical sensations. Lester had found himself so disassociated from the world that he wondered if maybe he might have simply evaporated.
Then Connor would come. Connor would soothe, caress, stroke, embrace, and generally ground Lester in the real world for the minutes they were together (or were they hours? Lester couldn't tell...). Then Connor would have to leave again, and every time he left Lester felt a little less connected to the world than he had the time before.
---
“The doctors think he's getting worse.” Connor finally confessed after almost fifteen minutes of gentle wheedling by Danny. The break room coffee table in front of them was scattered with the images that the hospital had been able to produce without the use of an MRI machine, showing various angles of the device under the skin of Lester's neck. Danny wasn't even close to an expert, but he was pretty sure that the thin white tendrils coming from the solid white block and extending out into the grey blurriness behind it were the reason that Connor had been told that surgery was not an option.
“He's already blind and deaf, how much worse could it actually get?” Danny asked without thinking. Connor closed his eyes for a moment, either composing an answer or composing himself, Danny couldn't be sure.
“A lot worse, really. It's some kind of progressive brain damage caused by that... thing. The brain's responsible for pretty much everything our body does, so yeah, there's a lot of worse that could still happen. They aren't saying much, but it's pretty clear that the doctors don't have any idea what it is. It's man-made, though and that's... Well, that's a whole lot of not good, because it's really advanced stuff, and the only way it could have got in there was if someone put it there, and... I don't know, maybe if I could just figure out what it is?” Connor sucked in a breath, then said, “Sometimes I think I can see something there that's familiar, or which makes sense, but then I lose it again, or maybe I never had it in the first place, and I'm chasing some stupid imaginary thing, and I only think I can see it because I want it to so badly. I just don't know, and now Lester's started...” Connor stopped again, mid-thought, and pressed his lips together in an attempt to trap his emotions in.
Danny draped a friendly arm over Connor's shoulder and squeezed briefly.
“Hey, come on, let's not have any of that. You tell me what's going on in that head of yours, and we'll sort it out as best we can. Then if you're still feeling weepy afterward I'll drive you home, pick up some beer on the way, and we can work on getting you drunk? Deal?”
Connor gave a watery smile, but remained silent for several seconds. Danny sat patiently waiting for him to speak again.
“They think he's depressed. He's not talking much, and he's interacting with people a lot less, even me. He just lies there not doing anything all the time, like he's just waiting to...” Connor stopped, then continued more quietly, “...waiting for something to change. I'm spending as much time with him as I'm allowed, from the moment they let me in in the morning to the moment they chuck me out at the end of the day, but he's just slipping further and further away every day and I don't know how to fix it. I keep looking at the scans, but I don't know, I'm not a neuroscientist! I don't know how to fix this. Not the thing in his neck, not his depression, none of it. I can't fix it, and I don't know what else to do.”
Somewhere during that confession Connor's hands had started flailing around. Danny caught them before they did someone an injury, directing them instead to the place Connor's mostly-full tea cup resided on the table. Connor took the hint and picked up the cup sheepishly, gripping it a little too tightly. Danny allowed him a moment to compose himself before he answered.
“You know that in some parts of the world, they use sensory deprivation as a kind of torture,” Danny said. Connor's eyebrows tilted in alarm, so Danny quickly continued, “I'm not saying that anyone's doing this to deliberately torture him, just that being completely deprived of your senses is a pretty terrifying prospect .”
Connor nodded slowly, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “But he's not completely deprived of his senses. He can still feel and smell and taste, he just can't see or hear...”
Danny gave Connor a pointed look.
“Don't you think maybe you're reminding the wrong person, mate?”
---
The smell of char-grilled steak did strange things to Lester's mouth. After however long he had been eating hospital food (or, in recent days, declining to eat hospital food), the smell of fresh meat being cooked, combined with the familiar scent of home, left him feeling giddy with desire. Even the knowledge that Connor had been using his kitchen unsupervised couldn't dampen the feelings.
Lester didn't exactly know what had earned him a reprieve from the hospital, nor did he know how long it would last, but he was not going to question it. Even sitting in the car on the way home had him more at ease than the days stuck in his hospital bed. As Connor sat him down though, he felt a sinking feeling. The smells were of steak and roast vegetables, foods which required a mastery of cutlery that was presently elusive. He had needed help to eat the hospital food, making an already unpleasant experience intolerable, but somehow the idea of Connor feeding him in their own home was a thousand times worse. He felt a heavy disappointment, realizing that the only way to maintain his dignity was to refuse the meal that Connor had prepared for him.
As Lester tried to find a way to explain this without hurting Connor's feelings, he felt the younger man standing behind him, leaning over in a position that was reminiscent of a father teaching his son to hold a cricket bat. Before Lester could begin to explain, Connor directed his hand to the table, where it encountered not the usual stainless steel cutlery but something thin and pointed. His second hand was directed a few inches away, where he discovered a similarly thin and pointy stick, albeit one pointing in the opposite direction.
Connor closed Lester's fingers around the sticks, then let go of his hands to tap Lester's closed mouth. Lester let his fingers explore a short distance, cautious, and then suddenly realized what Connor had done. The meal was cut into small chunks, threaded on to a wooden skewer, shish-kebab style, so that Lester could eat it without assistance. He smiled in relief, nodded, and ate eagerly for the first time in days.
If the meal had been enjoyable, then the shower could have constituted bliss. Although he had eventually been allowed to shower without the assistance of a nurse at the hospital, the water pressure had been poor and the water tepid. To make matters worse, he had always felt pressured to wash quickly so that no one would think it necessary to check on him. Tonight, in his own home, Connor had simply guided him to the bathroom, made sure he could find the towel and the taps, then left him to it.
Lester had turned the heat up almost to scalding, then let the water weave its way through his hair and down his back, washing the stress and tension away with it. He let his eyes drift closed, and if it weren't for the unending and unnatural silence he could almost imagine that nothing had ever changed.
He let his hand drift down over his chest and belly, brushing his hand over his cock. This was something else he hadn't dared to do in the hospital showers, not just because he thought he would startle the nurses and embarrass himself, but also because the environment had been so sterile that even the thoughts had seemed inappropriate.
That wasn't a problem here. Even his feather-light touch had been enough to bring him to hardness. Taking a firmer grip, Lester stroked himself slowly, letting the sensations build and spread through his entire body. He used his free hand to steady himself, palm flat against the steamy, slippery tiles of the wall. His whole body rocked in counterpoint to his hand around his cock, drawing out the weeks of anxiety and fear with each stroke. His hand quickened and became jerky over damp skin as he chased the moment. Barely seconds later, his whole body grew tense and his head fell back, mouth open in a silent expression of release.
---
Lying in their shared bed, Lester wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He knew what he wanted to happen, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask it. For all he knew, Connor's intention was just to roll over and go to sleep together, and really, Lester would be in absolutely no position to complain after the efforts to which Connor had gone to make his homecoming a positive experience. He tried to relax into the familiar smells and textures of their room, waiting for Connor to finish whatever it was he was doing and join him.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Lester felt the bed dip next to him and the bedclothes move, a signal that he was no longer alone. He turned his head towards the dip, and murmured Connor's name.
For his efforts, Lester received a light kiss on the cheek.
Then a second kiss, this time on the lips.
The kiss grew, Connor's tongue tangling itself with Lester's. There was a flurry of movement, and then Connor was straddling him, arms either side of Lester's head, clever teeth teasing at Lester's lower lip.
Connor pulled back just as Lester was starting to feel light-headed from a lack of air. Even the oxygen rush wasn't enough for Lester to hold back a small expression of disappointment at the loss of contact. In response, Connor turned his attentions to Lester's ear lobes, sucking and nibbling ever so gently, before gradually progressing down his neck to his clavicle. Instinctively, Lester tilted his head back to allow Connor more access, his hands alternately grasping and releasing the bedclothes underneath them.
Connor started to undo the buttons on Lester's shirt. Lester had a feeling he may have whimpered, but since he couldn't hear it he decided it didn't count. Connor was progressing with a slow patience, a change from his usual 'bull-at-a-gate' approach to sex. It was as though he was ensuring that no square inch of Lester's body was left untended.
Fingers danced along Lester's shoulders and down his arms, tracing random, swirling patterns that left tingling trails of warmth in their wake. Connor's mouth attended to Lester's newly-exposed chest, licking at his nipples then blowing cool air over them, until they were so sensitive that Lester couldn't stop himself from arching his back upwards, desperate for the attention.
Connor worked his way down, tongue darting into Lester's navel in a way that caused Lester to groan. Like his earlier whimper, he was unable to hear it, but clearly Connor had. Seemingly buoyed by the sound, he attacked Lester's navel with renewed enthusiasm, tongue swirling deliciously on downwards.
Connor shifted his whole body lower, fingers and mouth both breaking contact. Lester's breath caught in his throat. He had just enough time to wonder what Connor was doing and more importantly, what Connor was going to do next, before warm fingers in the waistband of his pyjama bottoms made the answer to both questions apparent.
Even with his legs still straddled by Connor, Lester did his utmost to lift himself off the bed, trying to facilitate a speedy removal of the last of his clothes. Connor was only partially obliging, pulling the trousers down with an exaggerated slowness, fingers drifting down Lester's legs as he went, tracing the same random patterns that Lester's arms had so recently been treated to.
Lester was incredibly aware at just how hard he had become, his cock already bobbing in its desire for attention. He went to wrap a hand around his erection, nerve ends desperate for contact, but no sooner had his fingers met flesh then Connor's fingers wrapped themselves around Lester's wrists, pulling them away.
“Oh God....” Lester breathed, unable to stop himself.
Connor's only reply came in the form of a kiss to each of Lester's palms, before laying them back on the sheets, out of touching reach of his straining cock. The message was clear, no touching. Lester suppressed a growl.
Connor's weight readjusted once more, and finally Lester's legs were free of his pyjama bottoms. His small sigh of relief turned to a gasp when suddenly he felt the warm wetness of Connor's tongue lapping between his toes.
The sensation was unexpected, in the best possible way. Lester had never been particularly ticklish, but the sensitive, underexposed skin sent spikes of heat up his legs, straight to his cock, and in a bare moment of lucidity he wondered if he had just developed a new kink.
Lester was pretty sure he'd started babbling, and could only hope he was keeping it at a reasonable volume. Connor showed no signs of stopping, which Lester took as an excellent sign.
The fingers were tracing back up his legs now, tickling at the soft skin of his inner thighs, and with barely enough time to realize what was happening, Connor went from working on Lester's feet to teasing the tip of Lester's cock with his tongue.
Even after his earlier distraction in the shower, Lester was so close that he had to run through every non-erotic thought in his repertoire simply to stop himself from coming right then and there. Connor seemed to sense how close Lester was. He pulled back for barely a moment before taking Lester deep into his mouth.
All the best intentions in the world couldn't have stopped Lester from letting go of the bedclothes at that moment, his hands tangling in Connor's hair. This time Connor didn't argue, focusing all his attention instead on timing his own movements with Lester's instinctive thrusting. The wet heat of Connor's mouth, the swirling velvet contact of his tongue, and the accidental rasp of Connor's teeth... Lester was done for. He did his best to warn Connor, and then he was coming, hard and long.
Connor continued sucking him to his completion, then following this with tiny kisses as he worked his way back up to Lester's mouth.
There was a slow, languid kiss. Lester could taste the familiar blend of Connor and himself on Connor's lips.
Despite the powerful desire to simply fall asleep right there with Connor beside him, Lester placed his hand on Connor's chest, following the line of his body down to Connor's own, very pronounced, erection.
Connor's hand joined Lester's, and together they brought Connor to his climax with a few quick strokes. After a few moments he felt Connor moving around, probably to clean himself up, but he was too tired to make any moves himself.
Sated, exhausted, and with the warmth and scent of Connor surrounding him, Lester allowed himself to succumb to sleep.