Who: Poe and Blake What: Kisses Where: The fire escape, inside Bathos 106 When: After this Warnings: Kisses?
Blake made it to Bathos in half the time he told Poe it would take. He paid the taxi driver and walked around to the alley, looking up. Above him, he could see Poe perched on the fire escape.
Blake was tall enough that it wasn’t too much trouble to pull down the ladder and climb up onto the fire escape, even with the bag he had with him that held some of Poe’s clothes and things from Hamartia. Shiloh’s apartment was on the first floor, so he didn’t have far to go to get to him. He pulled himself up to the landing where Poe sat, and sat beside him, close enough to touch, long legs stretched out in front of him. He checked to be sure he wasn’t in easy sight of the window before greeting Poe properly. “Hey.” His first priority was to look him over for signs of the injuries he’d gone to the hospital for. “How are you feeling physically?” he asked, quantifying so he didn’t get the same answer he’d gotten before.
It had taken a lot out of Poe to climb back out onto the escape after he’d locked the door, and he’d had his head back against the brick behind him when Blake had pulled down the ladder. By the time the other man had made it up the one level and climbed over the railing, he’d opened his eyes, but he hadn’t moved. The right side of his face was swollen and impossibly bruised, his shirt still the blood and dirt stained one he had worn to the hospital. The bandage across his side was visible as a raised square beneath the shirt, and he had to squint through his one good eye to look up at Blake. “Pretty terrible,” he admitted.
Blake reached out and nudged his face to this side with a few light fingers on Poe's chin, and his expression darkened swiftly. "Motherfuckers." He studied the pattern of the bruising like he wanted to commit it to memory, and then he finally dropped his hand. "Are they close to catching the people who did this?" he asked. He had every intention of dropping by the police station and doing whatever it took to make sure someone was brought in front of a judge for this. He tried to ignore the churning in his gut that actually seeing the damage set off. Hearing about it had been bad. Seeing it made it real.
“I didn’t tell the police,” Poe admitted.
Blake just barely reigned in his gut reaction, which was to pull out his phone and call them now. "You need to talk to them, Poe," he said. "Otherwise, these guys might get to walk away scott free." And Blake was not going to live with the idea that there was a roving group of idiots for pay who might go after Poe again, and who might not find themselves adequately punished for hurting him this much in the first place. Only bad things came of not going to the cops.
Poe patted the bottom grate of the escape, beside where he was sitting. “Preston thinks this kind of thing happens a lot if you’re like me,” he said, and there was a question in the statement. “I don’t think it’s fair, and I don’t want to change because of it,” he said, and it was clearly something he’d been thinking about, because there was conviction behind it. “Matty beat the guys up with a crowbar,” he added, and it sounded very much like he would be entirely agreeable to crowbar lessons.
Blake ran a hand through his hair, and reached for his cigarettes in his pocket. "It doesn't happen a lot. Or it doesn't to everyone, and it shouldn't at all, and you absolutely shouldn't change because of it. I promise you, you are just right the way you are, and you can't let other people make you think differently because they've got their own fucking problems." His eyebrows shot up. "Who's Matty?" he said. "I think I might give him a medal." He nudged the bag toward him. "Shiloh said you might want some of your things, so I brought some clothes and a few other things I thought you might want."
Poe looked over at him, and he watched the progress of the cigarette for a few seconds before replying. “She’s kind of terrifying and a badass,” he said, giving his new, standard explanation for Matty. “You don’t think I should pretend to be like everyone else?” he asked, glancing down at the clothes with a frown. “I think he wants me to stay.”
Hearing Matty was a she actually made Blake smile a touch. He lit his cigarette, and replaced the pack in his pocket, blowing smoke away from Poe. "Any girl who can beat up a bunch of guys with a crowbar gets my vote," he said.
Blake looked up at Poe, actually surprised he would even suggest it. "Christ, no," he said, perturbed. "Don't even think that. Did someone tell you to do that?" He rubbed at his temple with his free hand. "He probably does. Do you want to stay? I was going to ask if you want to come be laid up at Aubade with me, actually."
Admittedly, being laid up with Blake sounded much better than being stuck in Bathos, and Poe blushed involuntarily at the idea, ducking his head slightly and reaching over for Blake’s cigarette with fingers that weren’t precisely sure how to hold the smoke. “Can you make sure it’s okay with him, maybe?” he asked, looking over at Blake after asking, the squint doing nothing to hide the fact that he liked the idea. “I think my uncle thinks it’s better to be like everybody else is,” he added. “Did you like him a lot?”
Blake smiled a little, passing Poe the cigarette. "Don't tell your uncle I let you smoke while you were still laid up. Or your dad," he said, with a dry little chuckle. "If you want me to, I'll ask him," he said. "He probably won't like it, but personally I think it should be up to you, where you stay."
"Preston? I could see that," Blake said, rolling his shoulders back against the brick, staring across at the wall of the next building over. "I don't think it’s in the way you're thinking, though. Preston is one of those guys who, far as I can tell, wishes he was like everybody else because shit's tough when you're not. But I also don't think that means he thinks you should lie about who you are, or pretend." He ran his tongue over his lower lip, eyes distant. "Anybody who goes after you because you're different, gives you hell or uses it as an excuse to hurt you, they'll have me to deal with from now on," he said, turning his head to look at Poe, eyes dark. "Count on it."
"I do like him. He's a good man, even if he has his head up his ass most of the time." The statement was fond, and the darkness, wherever it had come from, seemed to dissipate as much as it ever did.
“But I shouldn’t need you to defend me, or him, or Shiloh, or even myself. It isn’t right, is it? I mean, we can’t just let that be how it is and be okay with it. We have to, I don’t know, do something. Picket or scream or have benefits or something. I didn’t realize stuff like that happened. At home, it was like nothing bad, you know? I didn’t leave the ballet, really, and there wasn’t any of that stuff there. I mean, there was competitive stuff, but not like this, and if it happens all the time, well, I’m not going to hide forever because of it, you know?” Poe asked, all rambled emotion and a whimper he ignored as he turned toward Blake while he spoke, the cigarette entirely forgotten between his fingers. “Like, my uncle, does he kiss this guy he’s dating in public and stuff?”
Blake listened, and tried very much to ignore the way Poe's heartbreak made him feel. "No, I don't think he does. But that's his choice, it doesn't have to be yours." He stopped a moment before going on, unsure how to tackle what Poe had just expressed. The cigarette was burning down between Poe's fingers, so he reached out and tapped the top of it, ashing it for him onto the metal grating beneath.
"You're right. It isn't fucking fair. But the people who really believe that guys being interested in guys flags them for abuse, they don't really want to listen to reason. They don't care. They're fuckwits looking for an excuse to stand tall over other people and take every advantage they can get, because it ranks them one rung above the people they're fucking judging. Pushing people down to make yourself feel better is as old as fucking people. I don't want you to think shit like this is going to happen to you every day. It doesn't. A lot of people like us never have to fucking deal with it, but some of us do, and that doesn't mean you go hide. It just means you kick those people in the teeth and keep walking. It isn't fair. But the world isn't fair, which I don't think you need me to tell you."
“I don’t know how to kick anyone in the teeth,” Poe said honestly.
Blake grinned. "You won't have to, I'll do it for you. Or we can grab that friend of yours and get her to do it."
“No,” Poe said, putting the cigarette out without ever bringing it to his lips. “I want to know how to do it myself,” he said, but then he smiled and looked down and he was an unsure boy again, just as quick as that. “But, um, want to come inside and lie down with me for a little first?”
Blake nodded, still smiling. "I'd be alright with that," he said. He peered over at the window. "Think we can get back in without alerting your uncle that you've got guys sneaking in your window?" He was having flashbacks to high school all of a sudden.
“I locked the door,” Poe admitted, climbing in the window with evident difficult and a muffled cry once he reached the other side, his gaze immediately going to the door, as if he expected it to be knocked down at any moment.
Blake slid into the room after him, reaching out to grab him when he cried out, but then he was already inside. He shut the window behind them, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You okay?" he asked, dropping his voice to avoid being heard.
Poe nodded, but he let Blake support his weight, leaning against him as he nodded toward the bed in the unfamiliar room that didn’t feel like home. “You first,” he said, nervousness overcoming the pain for just long enough for him to worry his lip and look up at Blake with wide eyes.
Blake led Poe to the edge of the bed and sat down, caught those wide eyes and smiled, then pulled him toward the bed, trying to get him to sit down at least. Then he moved over, laying on his side, head propped against his hand, waiting for Poe to lay down and ready to move toward him again if he showed any sign of pain.
Poe pulled off the bloodied shirt, baring ribs and stomach that were covered in bruises of varying degrees, boots and heel impressions visible against the pale skin over his ribs. He tossed the shirt aside, and he carefully climbed onto the bed, lying on his back and looking over at Blake. “This isn’t really grown up or sexy,” he said with a blush and a duck of his head in apology. In the light of the bedroom, he looked tired, circles under his eyes more visible, even with the bruising.
Blake smiled a touch, his eyes already on the marks on his body. "It doesn't always have to be," he said.
Blake rolled over onto his stomach, studying blackened bruises layered over other bruises. He reached out, running his hand over Poe's bare chest. He lingered over the impressions left in his skin, following the indigo line of a boot heel just at the edge of Poe's ribs with a light touch.
Blake looked at Poe. "If I had my way," he said, tone as gentle as a promise to love and cherish, "I'd tear them apart." Poe's head, ducked low as it was, was at a good angle for him, and he kissed him, thinking for half a second about the locked door and then forgetting it altogether. This feeling, like he wanted to lock every door and every window and keep out people who would try to crush Poe's innocence and his optimism about people and what they were capable of, was different, and unfamiliar, and he wasn't really sure what to do with it.
Poe’s breath caught in his chest when Blake touched him, and he was pretty sure he didn’t breathe even once while Blake talked, and his ears were ringing, and he knew his cheeks were red, but he couldn’t look away, and he never, ever, ever wanted to stop hearing his voice just then. He’d never heard anyone sound like that when they talked to him, not ever, and it made his stomach flip and flip again, which was stupid and maybe girly, but it was true. When Blake kissed him, he held his breath at first, worried for a split second, and then he eased into it and relaxed mostly, the occasional oh my God, am I doing this right? finally making way for an oh my God that was entirely different. He tried to take the kiss over a few seconds in, not even realizing he was doing it, eager and inexperienced and forgetting everything that hurt for a minute, just one.
Blake chuckled into the kiss and he let Poe take over, because how was he ever going to learn if he didn't give it a shot? He let Poe measure the pace, matching him but waiting to see how far he would push. He was curious beyond belief what Poe was capable of, and he intended to find out. If he faded back, Blake would press in, but he wanted to give him a chance, first. He was careful not to lean on him much, supporting his own weight with his elbows so it didn't hang on those tender bruises and bandages.
The combination of pain and drugs made Poe less aggressive than he might have otherwise been, and his fingers stilled on the hem of Blake’s shirt and didn’t push beneath the fabric, or pet atop it. It was just mouth and tongue and (sometimes) teeth, and it was faster and sloppier and a little more frantic the longer it went on. Quiet gasps and moans escaped Poe’s lips, and he was having trouble keeping still, and he kept having to pull back to whimper around the pain of movement, the whimpers followed by frustrated sounds and even more frustrated kisses.
All Blake could think about in the moment, really, was how much better Poe would be when he wasn’t bruised and hurting. He ran a hand over Poe’s skin, refraining from anything rougher than a light touch with Poe still so hurt, but allowed his hand to slide toward his waist, since it was a gorgeous kind of pity to hear him whimper in frustration like that.
To Poe, that hand was like a brand on his skin, fire hot and the only thing he could feel at that moment. He pulled back from the kiss, and he just looked down, watching it as he licked his lips and then looked up at Blake’s face. Despite the want there, his eyes were growing heavy from the medication kicking in, and he was helpless to resist. He glanced back up at Blake’s face, and he sighed, giving up the fight. “Stay until I’m asleep?” he asked, his breathing going deep and even almost as soon as he’d spoken the final word.