Bruce Wainright has (onerule) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-09-02 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman |
Who: Luke and Wren
What: Moving in, 2/2.
Where: Luke's apartment.
When: Continuation of this.
Warnings/Rating: None.
There was, undoubtedly, a fair amount of anger from Luke’s end when it came to Thomas. He was the first to list off everything the man had done wrong, and oh, how he hated him for letting him leave, for not even calling, but there was a part of him that still wanted to jump to his defense. Despite everything, he’d loved him like a father, and that hadn’t changed even after all this time. He resisted the urge to defend him, to make excuses, and nodded slowly instead. “I didn’t ask for much,” he said quietly. “I gave him everything, and I tried, and I just-- I just wanted to know he cared.” He looked at her when she said she was allowed to blame herself, and he shook his head, frowning, torn between exasperation and frustration. “No, Wren. If I’m not allowed to blame myself, neither are you,” he insisted. “I didn’t make anything better, being the way I was. You might not have left if I hadn’t pushed you away. Just-- can we just agree that we both played a part, and leave it at that?” Compromise was better than going around and around in circles, he thought, even if a part of him would always, secretly, blame himself.
He exhaled in a huff of frustration at his inability to properly articulate what he meant. “I--I don’t want us to not have sex. Unless you don’t want to. It just means I need to let go of things I can’t change, and it’s hard, because I want to make everything better for you, and I can’t,” he said, all in a babbling rush, which probably didn’t make much sense at all. “And I know you say you don’t care, and it doesn’t bother you, but I care, and I can’t dwell on it. I have to just not dwell on it.” Her admission that she would have run if she wasn’t certain of his love made him pause, his breath catching in his throat, and he let it out a moment later. “Doesn’t the fact that I love you mean anything, then? How could you even think I might not want you, or that I might think you make me worse?” She would deny the same if he turned it back around on her, he knew she would, and it wasn’t fair, the fact that she seemed to sure of how he felt when she couldn’t have been more off base.
Fortunately, he noticed her lack of fear before he attempted to make the world go away by seeking solace against her skin, because had she been afraid of him, even a little, Luke likely wouldn’t have reacted very well. As it was, his breathing hitched as he fought to get it under control, and his hands slid down from her shoulders to her sides, settling around her waist, and he made a small, quiet sound that was muffled against her when he felt her hand at his back, the other in his hair. He tried to convince himself that she wouldn’t lie to him about leaving him, and he’d probably just overreacted, and by the time she asked him to look at her his breathing had become a little steadier-- the kiss to his temple hadn’t hurt. It still look a few moments for him to drag his gaze upward, to look at her properly, but he did, almost apprehensive of what he might find in her expression. “Yeah?”
"I know," she said quietly about Thomas, because no one knew how much Luke had given the older man like she did. When Thomas needed an heir, Luke let Thomas adopt him. When Thomas needed someone to look after the company, Luke let his grades fall by the wayside to do it. When Thomas got himself in trouble, Luke almost got them all killed trying to save him. And when Thomas couldn't go out nights anymore, Luke let Thomas puppet him through an earpiece, all while he tried to go to school and afford an apartment. Wren knew, and that wasn't even the emotional investment Luke had in the other man. "I know," she repeated, and she didn't say more because she knew Luke would defend him. Despite everything, in the end, Luke would always defend Thomas. She did think Thomas cared, but in his own unforgiving way. It just wasn't the kind of caring Luke needed, not now, not then. His offer of a compromise made her smile just the tiniest bit. "Neither of us are really going to believe that," she said softly.
The huff of frustration chased the smile away, though something fond lingered in her features. "I want to make everything better for you too," she countered, "and I can't." She bit her lip, and she wanted to ask what made this different from Seattle, from when she was working then, but she didn't. He finally wasn't yelling, and she didn't want him to start again. "How do you not dwell on it?" she asked, honestly trying to understand what he needed. If it wasn't not having sex, then she didn't understand, and that showed very plainly on her features. The pause drew her attention away from the thought, back to his face, and she touched her fingers to his cheek for only a second. "Of course it means something, but loving me and wanting me are two different things." Her expression turned sad, despite the fact that she tried to keep her features unbothered; he didn't need her being upset about this, and that would only add pressure. "Both would be nice, but you can love someone without wanting them, and you can want someone without loving them."
The slide of his hands a second later made everything else unimportant. It was a simple, unbelievably chaste touch, but it was still him touching her, and she couldn't hold back the quiet sob against his temple, the one that came before she managed to get her breathing under control long enough to press her lips against the warm skin there. When he looked up, she was smiling a sad, soft smile, a lock of brown hair clinging to the dampness on her cheek. "Hi," she whispered, and then there was silence, as if she didn't know what to say. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and the fingers at his back pressed into his bare skin, seeking purchase and finding nothing but warmth and the curve of his spine. "Hi," she repeated, quieter, even more a whisper. "I just don't want- I don't want anything to happen to you." Not because of me, was the unspoken sentiment that chased the words. "I can protect you from other people and other things, but not from myself." And that was, honestly, what it all came down to. Seeing what he'd seen, it had made him worse. Her leaving, it had done the same. "I've always just wanted you to be happy, even though I don't really help with that all the time," she admitted. "I can't breathe without you, remember?"
Luke was, admittedly, relieved that Wren didn’t push the issue of Thomas. He knew she understood better than anyone, even Jack, who’d been around during that time, and she understood that he would never truly be able to hate him. Talking about him was hard, and he sighed unthinkingly, pushing thoughts of the man he'd never been able to please to the side. "No," he admitted of his suggestion that they compromise. "But we could try, and it's better than going around in circles arguing about it, right?” He sounded almost hopeful, even despite everything.
He began to say that she did make things better, but he realized the problem was that there were things about themselves that neither of them could fix for each other, because it had to be something they did on their own, and that was what they spent too much time obsessing over. It made his expression turn thoughtful, and he tipped his head to the side as he looked at her. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “that doesn’t matter, us not being able to make everything better. Maybe it’s the things we do make better that count.” Had she asked, he might have struggled to explain why this was different from Seattle; when it came down to it, though, it was because he hadn’t been able to ignore it this time, hadn’t been able to look away, to not know. The memories had hit him head-on, and they were merciless, and he’d felt everything she had, even if none of it had bothered her. He shrugged when she asked how he was going to not dwell on it, because he wasn’t sure just yet, and that was part of what he had to figure out. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I’ll work it out. I think... I think I have to-- to focus on now, and the future, and you and Gus, and all the good that comes with it.” He sounded like he really believed such a thing was possible, even if it might be difficult at first. Her separation of want and love made sense, but she didn’t understand that for him, the two had always gone hand-in-hand, and he shook his head when he saw the sadness in her expression. “I know you can have one without the other, Wren, but I never said I stopped wanting you,” he told her. “I still do. What’ll it take for you to believe me?”
The sound of her muffled sob made his fingers tighten around her, just a fraction of increased pressure, and the familiarity of her whispered greeting made him smile. “Hi,” he echoed back, inching closer when her fingers pressed into his back. Like the sting and ache of his bandages hands, it was feeling, but this was so much better than pain, and her touch was so much more addictive. “You think I need protecting from you?” The thought made him smile again, and it turned into a quiet, hushed laugh, low and warm in the darkness. “You do make me happy,” he said. “You make me happier than anyone I’ve ever known, and when we were apart, I don’t think either of us did much living.” It was simple fact, that he always felt so much more alive when he was with her, even if it was like this.
It was a feat, staying quiet through everything he said, with only her fingers against the skin of his back. She didn't move them, didn't let them wander or go looking for countless scars that could have resulted in him not standing there right then. She just pressed her fingertips against skin, against and back, against and back, the tiny touch developing a rhythm of its own. Had she interrupted, she would have told him she didn't want to go in circles anymore, but he beat her to it himself somehow, even if he didn't quite realize it. "Maybe that's why we don't have to go in circles," she suggested, once he said it was the things they made better that did count. "Maybe it isn't about compromise either. Maybe it's just about letting each other feel how we feel, without trying to change it, and just make it better by understanding it. Maybe one day it'll change without us even noticing," she said, a touch of hope in the statement. "It happens sometimes," she admitted, a touch sheepishly. "I'm a lot better about not insisting I give you money to live here than I would have been in Seattle." It was a tiny thing, nowhere near the victory of not hooking anymore, but it was something. Maybe other things could be like that too. She smiled just a little bit. "You argue less about being pretty now than you did then."
His admission that he didn't know what he needed to do to move on was worrisome, and the staccato of fingertips against his back sped up without her realizing it. "The past is still important," she said quietly. "I know there's a lot of bad stuff, but we wouldn't have anything we have now without it." It was a hard thing to reconcile, the good and the bad, but her life had always been like that, and maybe she was a little better at it than he was. She slid one of her hands from its spot on his back with the sort of tentative uncertainty that was so much a part of their years in Seattle, and she let her fingers trace one of the self-inflicted scars on his side. "I hate that you did this, that you felt so terrible that you had to. I hate what I had to do with it, and you can't take that self-hate away from me," she explained, continuing on without missing a beat. "But it's still part of who you are now, the fact that you walked away from it makes you stronger, and the fact that you cared enough not to be able to handle things makes you a good man, and the scar means you're here, with me, and not gone. It's all in how you look at it, Luke." And maybe that just came from a life that was hard from the very beginning; she'd never had to learn to look for the silver linings.
The question of what it would take for her to believe him was simple and complicated all at once, and she only answered it with a ducking of her head and the press of her temple against his chin. "I think you need lots of protecting from me," she said truthfully, though there was a lingering smile in her voice. Her fingers stilled against his side. "I can hurt you in a way other people can't, just like you can hurt me the same way," she said in a whisper, because it was true, and with two people as damaged as they were it was always going to be harder, more dangerous. "If I was sure, and healthy, and didn't question everything, and never tried to put myself in jail, then you might be healthier too. But I'm not, and you have to deal with it all." But she didn't sound fatalistic about it for once. "You're right. I don't think we did much living while we were apart. I wanted you to be happy. I really did," she said, lifting her gaze to his. "Just believe that one thing?"
The touch was practically nothing, merely a rhythmic press of fingers against his back, yet it was soothing all the same, and Luke silently willed her to continue, to not stop, afraid of losing even that tiny bit of contact. He listened, finding it easier now that he was calmer, panic eased away and anger faded to a dull sort of numbness he tucked away. “Maybe,” he agreed, his whisper more to do with their proximity than any real desire to keep his voice down. “Maybe we obsess too much about how to make it better, when really, we don’t have to do anything at all. It’s just wasted effort, all that frustration.” The hope in her voice warmed him, because it felt like it had been so long since he’d heard anything akin to it, and he smiled when she said things changed sometimes. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I guess I learned there are some advantages to being pretty, and even if you insisted about the money, I’d never take it anyway.”
He knew the past was important, he did, and he hadn’t equated moving on with forgetting everything that had happened, all lessons learned, things gained and things lost. Despite the bad, there had been a great deal of good, and that was why he could never regret it, even if he wished he could change certain aspects sometimes. His gaze dropped to her fingers as they traced over the scar, watching the movement over his skin, and he realized that she was much, much better at seeing the silver lining than he was. Growing up, he’d never had to, because his life had been good, and his sort of bad was nowhere near comparable to hers, or anyone else’s, for that matter. “I know,” he said finally, after she’d finished. “I don’t want to forget the past, Wren. I just want to stop dwelling on it, because I can’t keep letting it control my life.” He shrugged. “I wish I could. I don’t want you to hate yourself, but I know you can’t take my self-hate away from me either, and that’s just how it is.” Acceptance was part of it, part of what he needed to work on, and he knew it. Looking at his scars and seeing what she saw wasn’t easy. Finding the good in the bad wasn’t something he was used to; usually, he tried to ignore the bad, and just focus on what was left. “I think I need you to teach me to look at things the way you do,” he said, and there was only a hint of teasing there; for the most part, he was serious.
Her lack of an answer didn’t go unnoticed, though he refrained from commenting on it just then. Instead, he let his fingers trail down her sides to her hips, where they lingered for a moment before he let them rest on her upper thighs. “You can, but you won’t,” he told her, undeniably certain, “just like I’d never hurt you.” He lifted one hand, just one, and after a moment of uncertainty brushed back a lock of her hair and let his fingers linger over her cheek. “I’m not healthy either, Wren. You can’t blame yourself for that. You have to deal with a lot of my baggage too, but when you love someone like I love you, like we love each other, it doesn’t matter. And I know,” he added. “I know you wanted me to be happy. I believe that. But I could never be happy without you.” He met her gaze for a long, long moment, his fingers gone still against her cheek. “You didn’t answer,” he whispered, after the silence. “About what it would take for you to believe I want you.” Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed, but he wanted to know-- no, needed to.
His voice, quiet and low like that, was like a sweet balm, and she inched just a little closer because of it. Still keeping space between their bodies, but not nearly as much of it as before. "I think," she began, and she looked at his face, as if she could make out his reaction there before she said what she had begun to say, as if she could tell if it was going to make things worse or not. "I think it would be better if we knew it was-" She shook her head, a simple movement that barely held any strength. "It's better if we just try to understand, to accept it, and to not get frustrated with each other for feeling the way we do about ourselves. I know that's hard, but it just makes it worse, I think, when we get frustrated with each other for things we can't help." And that was hard, and she knew it was hard. She'd always want him to see himself how she saw him, but no, fighting about it never got either of them anywhere, and he got frustrated with her really easily about those things; he always had.
"I can teach you how to look at things the way I do," she agreed, and the small smile she graced him with let him know she was playing, even if it was just a little, just a hint. "I can teach you to look in the mirror and see how pretty you are. We can have lessons every morning," she teased, before her expression went serious and quiet. "It's not all bad, Luke. If you hadn't insisted so much that I could be something more, then I would still be working on the streets. It's not all bad, wanting better things for each other," she said, because it was all about balance, right? About insisting that he was better, that he was more than he thought, but all without getting angry with him when he didn't believe it himself. That was the hard part, the part that took work. "You don't think very much of yourself anymore," she said sadly, "and it's a good thing I know you're wrong, because I'll never stop telling you so, but I don't expect you to believe me overnight either. And that's okay, because I'm not going anywhere. And there's a lot of good. We're here, aren't we? And it's quiet, and no one's being hurt, and Gus is doing better, and maybe I can find something to do with my life that doesn't involve taking my clothes off, and maybe you can see just how far you've come in the past five years." Her smile was soft and fond, and her fingers splayed against his side, where she'd been tracing those scars a moment earlier.
His fingers on her hips silenced her, and she tipped her head down to watch them slide to her thighs. "We'd never hurt each other on purpose," she amended, because intention mattered, and she didn't want him blaming himself for things the way he'd been doing since New York. "Neither of us ever meant to hurt each other." She pressed her cheek to the hand that rose to brush the hair away from her face, and she nuzzled against his fingers. "Most people wouldn't want anything to do with my kind of baggage, beau. It makes you special, that you can see past it, and I realize that, even if you don't see it." She turned her cheek, pressing a kiss to his palm, and she smiled just the tiniest bit as she looked back at him. Her fingers had stilled on his sides, and they twitched there, pressing against his skin as she tried to stay still and calm, even though it was always hard to do that when he was touching her, when it was still and there was nothing but him. "Je t'aime ," she said, mirroring his words from earlier in soft, husky French. "I think you're going to need to figure that one out for yourself," she added a second later, her smile turning warm after he pushed for information about what it would take to make her believe he wanted her.
Things felt safer in the quiet darkness of the room, and Luke tilted his head to the side questioningly as she looked at him, attempting to discern what she was looking for, and what she was going to say. “Knew it was what?” The question was one he didn’t expect to be answered, even as he asked it, and he let it go as she continued, assuming it was going to be something along those lines anyway. He knew she was right, even though he was guilty of doing exactly what she said they shouldn’t; her doubts had always frustrated him too easily, especially since he couldn’t convince her to see things his way. “I know I do that a lot,” he admitted. “I get frustrated, and I shouldn’t, because it just makes everything worse.” He took a deep, deep breath, because changing that part of himself would be hard. Really, really hard, but he’d do just about anything for her, and this was no exception. “I’ll try not to do that from now on. I’ll try to just understand, and to accept it, without being angry that I can’t change your mind.” He hated fighting with her, and if he could do something to avoid it, then he would, simple as that.
"That's not what I meant when I said I wanted you to teach me," he protested in mock exasperation. His smile faded, however, when she grew serious, and his playful tone vanished. "I know it's not all bad," he said with a puzzled frown; did she think he thought otherwise? "Wanting better for each other is a good thing. We just have to be patient, me especially. I don't think much of myself," he admitted, "but neither do you, and I need to accept the fact that it's okay for you to not change your mind overnight, like you said. I need to stop blaming myself because I can't make you agree with me right away, and I need to stop thinking of myself as a failure because of it." This was more honesty than he'd offered in a while, but maybe it was about time, considering how much pretending he did every day. "Maybe," he agreed fondly. "There is a lot of good. That's what I need to focus on, and you help with that, see?" Point proven.
Belatedly he realized she was right, because they had hurt each other in the past; her by leaving, and him by not mentioning Brielle, though part of him thought the two were hardly comparable. Regardless, neither of them had intended the pain that followed, and he nodded slowly. "Okay. We'd never intentionally hurt each other." He smiled when she nuzzled against his hand, fond and barely there in the dark. "You're just as special as I am, then," he countered, as she pressed a kiss to his palm, sending tiny shivers of pleasure along his skin, "because you see past mine too." His expression warmed when she said she loved him, which he understood just fine despite the different language--if he was being honest, he'd always liked the way French words sounded on her tongue--and he looked at her for a moment before smiling when she said he had to figure it out himself. "Going to make me drive myself crazy trying to figure you out, huh?" he teased. "How about this. I used to play this game as a kid, hot and cold. If I'm getting it right, you tell me I'm getting warmer, and if I'm way off base, I'm getting colder, see?" He shifted closer, not waiting for a reply, and his fingers slipped behind her jaw, curling around and behind to tangle in her hair, just as he brought his lips to hers. It began as a chaste press of contact before he coaxed her mouth open with his, and then the kiss became a slow, building warmth that had more to do with savoring the sensation than it did any sort of uncertainty.
She smiled at how willing he was to try to change things, and it made her feel like maybe they'd be okay, maybe the next big thing wouldn't blow them over, just maybe. "Don't change too much," she said. "When I was younger, I thought you were the sweetest boy I'd ever met, and I think you getting really, really frustrated with me was part of that. No one had ever gotten annoyed at me for putting myself down before you. I didn't actually even know that's what I was doing," she admitted. "No changing for me. Just- We promise to try to understand, even when it makes us want to scream and shake things?" she asked, the question tentatively posed. It was strange for her, being the one who made suggestions. Normally her response to problems with him was to stand by quietly and wait for him to calm down, and the new approach was one that she was still wary of. But his mock protest made her think maybe it wasn't so bad a tactic, even if his expression turned serious a moment later. "You're never a failure," she whispered once he quieted, earnest and sure, "but I know you aren't going to believe me," she added with a smile. "And you can't be so hard on yourself, seeing as you're the only person who has ever managed to make me see myself differently. I don't know if I've ever managed to do the same thing for you," she added thoughtfully. "It doesn't matter though, I know how wonderful and pretty you are, and I know it enough for both of us."
She hadn't even been thinking of Brielle when she said they'd hurt each other, but she fell in with a million unintentional hurts on both of their parts. "I like that smile," she said quietly when he agreed with her as she nuzzled against his hand. "I think we've maybe reached the point in the conversation where I don't believe all your compliments," she said honestly, with more than a hint of a smile on her lips. Maybe honesty was okay, and maybe it was a good thing, not hiding everything. "Oui," was her simple response to whether or not she was going to make him figure it out, and it took everything she had to stay where she was, still and not moving her hands or closing the space that was left between them. She liked the idea of him driving himself crazy with that particular thing, and her expression said as much. When he started talking about children's games her expression turned the slightest bit confused and, admittedly, she had no familiarity with the game he mentioned, which she kept to herself. It was a simple enough concept, and she was about to agree when he shifted closer. She managed the beginning of warmer - "warm" - before his fingers slipped behind her jaw, and that silenced her entirely. Despite all attempts not to move, she couldn't help a small sway toward him as his fingers tangled in her hair, and she sighed against his lips at the first hint of contact. When he coaxed her mouth open, she edged the rest of the way forward, all thoughtless need to feel heat and the strength of his body against her softer one, and she chased his tongue with hers as soon as she felt certain he wasn't going to bolt, the slow warmth more encouragement than anything he could have said.
When she pulled back, it wasn't because she needed to breathe, or because she wanted to push him for more, it was because she honestly hadn't expected this from him, not after how things had been since the memories, and definitely not after the yelling that took place minutes earlier. The realization that he was there, that he was kissing her, that he wasn't running far, far away or shoving her across the room had just become a little too much, and she couldn't hold back a sob as she broke the kiss. But she didn't move away either; she just wrapped her arms so tightly around his shoulders that it resembled the too-tight, desperate hugs of their teenage years, and she muffled the sobs against the warm bareness of his shoulders. "I'm not upset," she managed, all muffled and teary against his skin. "Promise."
Now that things had calmed a little between them, and he was pretty sure she didn’t want to leave him, Luke found it easier to tease and smile than he had when she’d first shown up in his bedroom. “When you were younger?” He raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean I’m not the sweetest boy you’ve ever met anymore?” It was clear he was playing, but some of that ebbed away, as he realized that her question was honest, and it wasn’t the sort of thing he could joke about. “I won’t change,” he told her. “I’ll just try harder to understand, instead of immediately assuming the worst. Promise.” This suggesting things was new for her, but he thought it was a lot better than their previous tactics, which had never gone anywhere, and his willingness to try combined with her willingness to say what she felt made him think that they might just have a chance after all. He ducked his head when she said he wasn’t a failure, because she was right; he still hadn’t overcome that particular belief. “Not yet,” he admitted, “but I’m getting there. I don’t think I’d call myself wonderful and pretty, not now, but you do more for me than you think, Wren. I try to believe you, I do, more than I do with anyone else, and you make me want to think differently of myself.” Everyone else, Jack and MK and the others, they tried too, but they just didn’t have that same pull with him, the one Wren had.
He tugged on the hem of her shirt when she said he liked his smile, an unthinking thing, one he wasn’t even aware of as he did it. “You can always make me smile,” he said, all sober honesty, and while he frowned when she said they’d reached the point where she didn’t believe all his compliments anymore, he did his best to not take it so personally. “Oh.” There was a hint of confusion, because Luke wasn’t sure what line they had crossed to make her stop believing what he said, and the smile in her voice just confused him more. “I guess that means I have to work on my compliments, then,” he said with a shrug, as though it was easily fixed. He had to fight to keep from laughing at her own puzzled expression when he explained his childhood game to her, but he found it ridiculously endearing, that sort of innocent confusion, and when he kissed her, the feel of her body against his made him deepen the kiss, a low moan of contentment muffled against her mouth. His hand, which had previously been on her thigh, slid up and around to the small of her back, fingers pressing into her skin through the t-shirt, and his expression was all confusion and apprehension when she pulled back. His immediate assumption, of course, was that he’d done something wrong, and the way he looked at her said as much.
Her sob, combined with the tightness of her embrace around his shoulders, made him think that maybe it wasn’t that he’d done something wrong after all, and he freed his other hand from her hair to wrap both arms around her back in order to pull her close. “Hey,” he said quietly, seeking to soothe, as she muffled her sobs against his shoulder. A thoughtful pause followed her insistence that she wasn’t upset, and he pressed a reassuring kiss to the side of her neck. “Was I too warm?”
She grinned when he raised his eyebrows, detecting the playful tone in his voice and responding to it the way she always had. If there was something they'd gotten really, really good at back in the nightmare of Seattle, it was joking with one another, even through the terrible things. "I've met a lot of sweet boys since you," she said, her tone all play and nothing serious at all, even as she pretended to think very hard about his question. "You might not be the sweetest one anymore," she finally said, as if this was her final word on the matter. "You might need to convince me otherwise, if you can. I'm not so sure..." She trailed off with a slight rock onto her toes, an almost-kiss to his cheek that ended up being just more playful teasing, before the conversation turned serious again. "You've always been pretty, but now you're handsome. Non, more than that, you're beautiful," she said honestly, "and you'll always be wonderful and sweet. You're different than anyone I know, better than anyone I know," she said truthfully. His confusion about the compliments made her smile a little wider. "I have to work on believing them more, but you can practice all you want. It's kind of nice to hear them, even if I don't always believe them."
She shook her head after the kiss, when he looked worried and unsure, the closest she could come just then to assuring him it was okay, that he hadn't done anything wrong. She held him tighter when he spoke, that quiet hey doing more to calm her hitched breathing than anything anyone else could ever do. She tipped her head for the reassuring kiss to her neck, just a little, just giving him a little more room, and she sighed without letting go of him. "Can you be too warm?" she asked. "I don't know how the game works," she reminded him, even as she ducked her head beneath his chin and moved forward enough so that her feet were between his and there was absolutely no space between them at all. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she admitted with a raw crack of her voice. "I thought maybe this was it- And I don't know what I'd do. No one understands me like you do, not MK or Evie or Jack or Silver or anyone at all, and I don't think there'd be anything worth waking up for in the morning without you and Gus, and- It's not just that you might leave some day, but it's other things too." She reached back and touched one of the bandaged hands resting on her back, an indication that she knew whatever had happened to make Bruce take over had been really bad. Without hesitation, that same hand moved to his side, to one of the silvery scars he had put there, and then to another one, one earned doing god knows what in the middle of the night.
Luke knew she was teasing, which was why the prospect of having met other ‘sweet boys’ didn’t fill him with an overwhelming amount of jealousy as it would have if she’d been telling the truth. “So that’s how it is, huh?” He gave her a mock pout and shook his head, falling back into their old routine with ease. They’d both gotten good at this, playing and joking like everything was fine, and he thought it was a good thing, the ability to smile and laugh even when things were falling apart. Especially when things were falling apart. “I’ll have you know I’m so sweet I’d give you cavities,” he informed her, doing his best to deliver the declaration without laughing. “And don’t make it a challenge, because I’ll prove it to you, and you might not be able to handle all the sweetness.” Compliments were things he was good at doling out, at least when it came to her, but not so good at accepting himself, and he had a hard time keeping still when she called him beautiful. It was a habit from his younger days, fidgeting and squirming in the face of just how highly she thought of him, but at least he’d managed to stop blushing. “You’re the beautiful one,” he countered. “Sometimes I think I could stare at you for days and still not have it be enough. And it’s not just-- I mean, you’re gorgeous, but you’re a good person too, selfless and kind, and all that makes you prettier than anyone I’ve ever met.” He gave her an almost boyish grin. “I’ll just keep on practicing until you believe them.”
He didn’t answer right away, too distracted by the feel of her skin under his lips, and it was with reluctance that he pulled back to look at her. “I think too warm would be hot,” he said thoughtfully. “Usually that’s what you want, because it means you got it dead on, but the point of the game isn’t to make anyone cry, whether it’s good crying or not.” His smile flickered and died when her voice cracked, however, and he shook his head even as she spoke, his fingers sliding just beneath the hem of her shirt to find skin instead of fabric. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted, understanding what concerns the touches represented, both to his hands and the scars that marred his body. “I won’t leave, and you won’t lose me, okay? You don’t have to wonder what you’d do without me, because that’s never going to happen.” Maybe he couldn’t be sure of that, but he sounded like he was, at least right then.
"I don't know, I'm pretty good with sweetness," she teased back, and she couldn't help but laugh a little when he said it sounded like a challenge. "Only you would take being sweet as a challenge," she said, as if the idea was entirely silly, which it was, but there was something endearing about the idea of him trying to be sweeter than he was. Luke, when he wasn't frustrated or angry, was about the sweetest person she'd ever met, and she was pretty sure he couldn't actually be any sweeter during those times. "I wouldn't actually use sweet as my main descriptor for you anymore, though. When you were shy and ducked your head and stammered and couldn't look at me without blushing? That was sweet. Now, you're a little too grown up for that," she explained, her gaze dropping to his bare torso for just a second, the gaze too lingering to be unintentional. It was a good thing, too, because he would have never gotten through all that complementing otherwise. She raised her gaze, and she cupped both of her hands over his mouth, not letting him continue, even if he wanted to, covering that boyish grin and making his words nothing more than muffled sounds against her hands, even as she blushed.
The explanation of warm and hot was cut short a second later, and she didn't think she could ever manage to make herself look up again. It was too good, too safe like that, with her head tucked beneath his chin and his fingers sliding beneath the bottom of her shirt, the warm strength of his fingertips safer than anything else could ever be. She smiled a little, the movement of her lips a brush against his skin, at how sure he made himself sound, the sobs subsiding slowly as she rocked against him in the quiet. "You're supposed to tell me to be strong for Gus, and that I would be just fine," she finally said, forcing the teasing back into her voice, though it ended up sounding more sad than lighthearted. She sighed a second later, realizing it, and she backed away from his slowly, reluctantly, until there was enough space between them that she could climb on the bed. She didn't stop looking at him when she did, and she curled up on her side, facing his side of the bed, and she dragged her fingertips along his pillow as she watched him. She didn't ask him to lie down with her, but she was hoping she wouldn't need to. And maybe she should worry about other things - about checking his bandaged hands, about washing the tears off her face, but she just wanted to curl up against him. Just that, and nothing more.
"Being the sweetest boy you've ever met is a challenge," he countered playfully, and there wasn't a hint of seriousness to be found anywhere in his expression. Maybe he was jealous sometimes, because jealousy was just inevitable, but part of him knew that he didn't really have anything to worry about, not when it came to other men stealing her away. Luke shook his head when she talked about how he used to be, with his stammering and his blushing, and pulled a face afterward. "That was embarrassing. I could barely get words out half the time. I like to think I've grown up since then," he admitted ruefully, and he noticed the way her gaze dropped, how it lingered, and he gave her a warm, knowing sort of smile in response before she covered his mouth with her hands to muffle his compliments. His protests came out ineligible, and nipped at her palms to get her to move them, soothing the sting with presses of his mouth against skin, more sucking than actual kisses, though he did like seeing her blush.
His fingers traced meaningless patterns over her skin beneath the shirt, and he sighed when her lips brushed against his neck. The way her voice sounded, the sadness, combined with the finality of what she said, made him frown, but then she was pulling away before he could say anything, and he watched her uncertainly before realizing that the distance was just so she could climb on the bed. He waited until she'd curled up on her side to follow suit, and he reached for her as soon as he was stretched out next to her, wanting her close, even if it was just this, the two of them curled up together. "Don't talk like that, please?" He spoke after a stretch of quiet, the request almost tentative. "I told you, you're not going to lose me. I'll always be here. That's a promise."
She curled against him like he was solace in a storm, arm pulling him closer yet, and her legs tangling with his. Her cheek was against his chest, and she pressed a kiss there, then a second, before tipping her head back to look at him in the darkness. "It wasn't embarrassing. It was adorable," she said of his younger, shy self, "but you have grown up a lot since then," she agreed, her smile adoring in the darkness. "You've come a really long way too," she added honestly. "I'm proud of where you are." And that was true, despite all the bad things, despite all the mistakes they'd both made along the way, he had managed to pick himself up from something terrible, and no one knew better than her how hard that was. She pressed another kiss to his skin, to his upper arm this time, and she shook her head immediately after. "You better keep that promise," she said, the slightest hint of a hitch in her voice. She knew it was a promise neither of them should ever make, not here when they only had control over half of their lives, but it felt good to hear it all the same, and she was willing to pretend there, in that darkness, that it would all be okay.
“You say adorable, I say embarrassing,” Luke corrected with a mock pout, but his expression was undeniably fond as she curled against him. One arm slid around her waist, keeping her against him, and he ran his fingers up and down her arm with his free hand. He stilled for a moment when she said she was proud of him, thinking that he must have misheard, that he was no one to be proud of, and he took a deep, shaky breath in the dark in order to compose himself. “You’re proud of me,” he repeated, as though saying the words might help him understand it. “I haven’t heard anyone say that to me in a while.” He managed a small, shaky smile at the kiss to his skin, and the hitch in her voice made him pull her closer. “I will. Don’t worry, okay?” There was a time when he’d wanted to give up, when he’d wanted to die, but not now. Not anymore. “Sleep,” he whispered, voice muffled against her hair, soothed by the feel of her body against his.