invisible_lift (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
invisible_lift) wrote2008-05-10 04:41 am
invisible_lift) wrote2008-05-10 04:41 am
It'll End In Tears #12: "No Brakes"
Title: "No Brakes"
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy. Oh and the dish and the spoon are totally doing it.
Rating: Series is predominantly hard NC-17. This installment is in the PG-ish range for language.
Notes/Summary: Part Twelve of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #10 on the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu.
Ianto is very, very careful about his diary.
For one, he writes about work. That makes it, as a document, well beyond classified. He personally seals and archives each volume as he completes it, both because it helps ensure the security of the data, but also to save his future replacement the trouble. Plus, it keeps Jack from going through them while he’s in the shower.
For another, he writes about himself. For Ianto, this is pleasant in a subversive sort of way. He values privacy as he values air, and his walls are tall and deep. He’s always been this way. As a teenager, it drove his mother positively mad. His diary, though, is his singular exception to this rule. He writes in his diary without restraint. He has come to regret this only once, but that instance was extraordinary, and Jack skimming through for mentions of himself was hardly the end of the world.
Measuring tapes, indeed.
If someone living knows Ianto even remotely as well as his diary does, it’s Jack. This is fitting, in particular because Jack will survive him. Jack will protect his secrets when he’s gone, and read his books, and treasure them. Ianto’s immortality is seated in Jack’s memory. It’s overwhelming and beautiful, and sometimes Ianto thinks that maybe death won’t be so bad because Jack will have him forever. Not that he’s looking forward to it, exactly, but he likes the poetry of the thing.
For now, though, there’s the diary.
He opens it to a fresh page and smoothes the book flat onto the table. He writes the word TUESDAY in large letters and begins a new entry.
Had a bit of a disaster. Tosh noticed some unusual Rift activity in –
There’s a soft knock at his door, and Ianto tenses a little. His diary is open. This is his time. He wants to write, needs to get it all down, damn it. It’s important to him. Unfortunately, knocks on his door at half four in the morning aren’t the sort of thing he can put off in good conscience. The last time he’d tried that, Jack had wound up breaking in, and Torchwood had paid for a whole new door.
Ianto sighs and caps his pen. He slips it into the diary to mark his place, and hides it in a drawer underneath his telephone directory. He looks himself over with a critical eye. He’s barefoot, stubbled and mussed, and his tie and jacket are long discarded. His trousers are wrinkled. If it is Jack – and there aren’t many other people it could be – he’ll get none of the usual satisfaction in undoing Ianto’s buttoned up exterior.
He answers the door anyway.
“Hi.”
“Andy. Hi,” Ianto answers, too shocked to submit anything more. He knows it’s rude, but he can’t help but stare. The man is a picture of fatigue. He looks washed-out, his eyes are rimmed in red, and he’s shivering.
“Sorry. I just saw your light on, and I thought –“
Ianto shakes his head and opens the door wider to usher Andy in. “No, no. It’s fine. Sorry. Long day at the office. We had –“ Ianto pauses to consider his words. “A troublesome visitor. I was just decompressing a bit. Can I get you a drink? Are you hungry? I’ve got some ginger chicken left over from dinner.”
Andy nods, but looks uncertain. “Yeah. That sounds really good, actually.”
“Okay,” Ianto says, and helps Andy out of his jacket. “Go have a seat wherever you like. I’ll warm it up and make you some tea.”
Andy starts over to the sofa and then stops. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jack wouldn’t like you to be alone with me, I don’t think,” Andy says, fidgeting a little with the bracelet.
That is, Ianto reflects, perfectly accurate. To be honest, Ianto’s not sure he’s entirely ready to be left alone with Andy either. Particularly a ragged, desperate-looking Andy. It’s only been two and a half weeks, and while he certainly wouldn’t call himself traumatized – Ianto refuses outright to let himself flinch at being touched by anyone, thank you – he’s a lot more aware of his personal space. Jack’s been very patient while he gets his head together, and Andy’s been following the rules to the letter. It’s helping. It is. Except when it isn’t.
He isn’t sure it’s helping right now.
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing Jack doesn’t get to tell me how to spend my personal time, isn’t it?” Ianto replies with a thin hint of a smile. He hangs Andy’s jacket on the hook and then moves into the kitchen, where he puts the electric kettle on. He finds the paper take-away carton in the fridge and empties it onto a plate, which he in turn puts in the microwave. He’s in the cupboards retrieving the tea he keeps for guests and a cup when Andy speaks again from the front room.
“I thought you were his boyfriend.”
“I suppose you could call it that, if you like,” Ianto replies. It’s a noncommittal answer to a complicated question, and he’s not certain he’s eager to have that conversation at the moment.
“You wouldn’t?”
“Nope.” As if on cue, the microwave chimes behind him. He opens the door and stirs the food around a bit with a fork to make sure it’s hot all the way through. Steam is already billowing from the kettle’s nozzle, and he can just barely hear the start of a whistle. “How do you take your tea?”
“Black is fine.”
Ianto tears the teabag out of its paper packet and drops it in the cup and pours boiling water over it. He picks up the plate and the cup and saucer and carries them out to the front room where Andy sits, looking as if he’s waiting to have his teeth filled.
“Here you are,” Ianto says, placing everything on the table in front of Andy. He sits down on the other end of the sofa and tries to look relaxed. “I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t had much time to cook this week.”
“Thanks.” Andy takes a cautious forkful of food and lifts it to his mouth, then lowers it again. “It’s really okay for me to be here?”
“Yes, it’s fine. Really,” Ianto says, nearly meaning it.
“Okay.”
Ianto watches with curiosity as Andy eats. He’s clearly famished, and Ianto wonders how long it’s been since Andy’s had a proper meal, or a full night’s sleep. Could so much happen in four days? “Actually,” he admits, “it’s nice to have a bit of company.”
Andy swallows a mouthful of food and looks up. He’s smiling a little, starting to look more comfortable. “Oh, so I’m company now?”
“Yes indeed. A proper guest, with dinner and drinks and everything,” Ianto replies with mock seriousness. “Though I’m guessing you didn’t just pop by in hopes of a very late dinner or an early breakfast.”
Andy takes a sip of his tea and nods. “Couldn’t sleep. Walked all the way down to the Barrage. Got about halfway back and realized I wasn’t done walking. Figured I’d go the long way around. Came through your neighborhood on a whim and saw your lights on.”
“That’s a hell of a walk.”
“Couple of hours.” Andy pokes at a piece of chicken with his fork. “It’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?” Ianto asks, his concern more plain.
“Nightmares. Just the same thing pretty much, over and over. Fire. Bodies. Like a bad accident. An RTA, maybe. People whose faces I can’t make out.” Andy puts down the fork and leans back. “After a while, I get sick of it and try something different. Tonight was walking.”
Not an accident, Ianto thinks, praying his poker face holds, but knowing it doesn’t. A crash site. “Maybe it’s just your subconscious playing tricks?”
“Maybe,“ Andy shrugs. “Ianto, are you alright? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Ianto says quietly, shaking his head and then giving Andy a reassuring look. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I get a little moody sometimes if I stay up late too many nights in a row.”
“Maybe I should let you go to bed, then,” Andy says. He looks a little worried, or maybe disappointed.
“No, really. It’s fine. Finish your food at least. Just excuse me for a second, okay?” Ianto clasps Andy’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he stands, and then excuses himself to the bathroom.
What he should do is call Jack, right away, and let him know what’s happening. His mobile is heavy in his pocket, and he gets as far as grasping the handset and ghosting his thumb over the speed dial before he stops to think about it.
What would Jack do, exactly? Hit Andy with a level two retcon with suggestion, probably, and take him home to sleep it off. It’s something Ianto can easily do himself if it comes to it, but he’s not sure that’s how he wants to handle this. Retcon’s a sticking plaster in this instance, not a long-term solution. He remembers Max Tresilian, and what Suzie did to him. He imagines Andy like that, stuck in a cell and driven past madness by the holes in his memory. The image makes him physically ill.
He lets the phone drop back into his pocket.
Ianto opens the bathroom door a crack just in time to see Andy gather up the dishes and carry them to the kitchen. He can hear a bit of knocking around, and then the sound of the tap. Ianto stifles a laugh and pads down the hallway to join him.
“You don’t have to do my dishes, you know,” he says as he enters the kitchen. It’s curious, Ianto muses, how in spite of everything, he feels responsible for Andy. It’s a bit like how he feels about Jack, sometimes. After a moment, he puts a tentative arm around Andy’s waist.
Andy glances down, surprised, and then looks to Ianto. “It’s no problem. You invited me in and fed me in the middle of the night. Least I can do before I go, right?”
“You’re leaving?”
Andy nods. “Might walk some more. Might try going home.” Andy rinses the last of the soap away from the plate and places it in Ianto’s dish drainer. “I haven’t really decided.”
Ianto’s fingertips slip under the hem of Andy’s shirt to catch a belt loop. His thumb creeps slightly further, crossing the boundary from waistband to bare skin. Andy tenses a little at the touch before relaxing into it.
“Do you work tomorrow?” Ianto asks, his tone neutral.
“No.” Andy shakes his head and dries his hands. “I’m off today and Wednesday. Why?”
“Because I was thinking that if you wanted to, you could stay.” His heart is officially in his throat, but he needs to get past this. Encounter therapy. “It’ll save you all that walking.”
“What about you?” Andy asks and gives Ianto a quizzical look. “Don’t you work tomorrow?”
“Late night, remember? My boss is many things, but he’s sympathetic enough to send us home for a day or so if things have been intense.” Ianto’s lips turn up in a tiny smirk. Oh, if Andy only knew who he was talking about.
“You’re sure?”
Ianto rolls his eyes and turns Andy to face him. “You keep asking me that. For the last time, yes, I’m sure. A little nervous, maybe, but as long as you don’t go pinning me up against any of the furniture, I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”
Andy flinches at that, but Ianto cups Andy’s cheek and brings their faces together so their foreheads touch.
“Stay over.” Ianto traces circles on Andy’s hip with his thumb. “Get some rest. I’ll look after you.”
“But who’ll look after you?” Andy whispers. He looks positively stricken, and all Ianto can think is how badly he wants to fix Andy. This is all my fault. I put you in this position. We drugged you and now you’re hurting. I’m so sorry.
Ianto strokes Andy’s hair. “I don’t need protecting.”
“Why not?”
Ianto takes a deep breath. “Let’s just say I’m broken but optimistic. Now kiss me, damn it, before I change my mind.”
Andy is tentative at first. Ianto knows it’s one thing to have sex with another man because it’s convenient or pleasurable, but another to really want him. He wonders where he falls for Andy on that spectrum. Andy comes back every week, but Ianto’s worked hard until recently to keep things as unsentimental as possible. Kissing Andy is still sort of alien, and he regrets that, especially when Andy’s shoves his hands into his back pockets and moans softly into Ianto’s mouth.
Even now, fatigued as he is, Andy’s still trying to follow the rules. Ianto’s heart breaks a little.
Forgive me. I never meant to turn you into this.
“Give me your hands.” Ianto’s words are barely a murmur against Andy’s mouth. When he hesitates, Ianto reaches around and wrenches Andy’s hands free of his jeans pockets. He grips them white-knuckle tight and holds them up where Andy can see them. Ianto notices the pricking of pain in Andy’s wide, wondering eyes. He knows he’s hurting him, but he also knows that a man remembers best what he learns when he’s in pain, and he wants Andy to remember this.
Ianto brings Andy’s right hand to his mouth and kisses the palm. He holds it there and presses his own face against Andy’s hand before he releases it. He does the same with the left. By the time he finishes, Andy’s trembling and taking short, ragged breaths.
“This doesn’t have to be anything,” Ianto tells him as he takes Andy’s hands again, gently this time. “This can just be us going to bed and sleeping, if that’s what you want. Okay?”
Andy chews at his bottom lip. “Okay.”
---
Prev (Pt #11) (Warnings: Smut and language.)
-
Next (Pt #13) (Warnings: Smut and language.)
---
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Ianto/Andy, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Andy. Oh and the dish and the spoon are totally doing it.
Rating: Series is predominantly hard NC-17. This installment is in the PG-ish range for language.
Notes/Summary: Part Twelve of the "It'll End In Tears" cluster, and #10 on the
un_love_you prompt table. Thanks to demotu for giving this the sweet, sweet beta-fu. Ianto is very, very careful about his diary.
For one, he writes about work. That makes it, as a document, well beyond classified. He personally seals and archives each volume as he completes it, both because it helps ensure the security of the data, but also to save his future replacement the trouble. Plus, it keeps Jack from going through them while he’s in the shower.
For another, he writes about himself. For Ianto, this is pleasant in a subversive sort of way. He values privacy as he values air, and his walls are tall and deep. He’s always been this way. As a teenager, it drove his mother positively mad. His diary, though, is his singular exception to this rule. He writes in his diary without restraint. He has come to regret this only once, but that instance was extraordinary, and Jack skimming through for mentions of himself was hardly the end of the world.
Measuring tapes, indeed.
If someone living knows Ianto even remotely as well as his diary does, it’s Jack. This is fitting, in particular because Jack will survive him. Jack will protect his secrets when he’s gone, and read his books, and treasure them. Ianto’s immortality is seated in Jack’s memory. It’s overwhelming and beautiful, and sometimes Ianto thinks that maybe death won’t be so bad because Jack will have him forever. Not that he’s looking forward to it, exactly, but he likes the poetry of the thing.
For now, though, there’s the diary.
He opens it to a fresh page and smoothes the book flat onto the table. He writes the word TUESDAY in large letters and begins a new entry.
Had a bit of a disaster. Tosh noticed some unusual Rift activity in –
There’s a soft knock at his door, and Ianto tenses a little. His diary is open. This is his time. He wants to write, needs to get it all down, damn it. It’s important to him. Unfortunately, knocks on his door at half four in the morning aren’t the sort of thing he can put off in good conscience. The last time he’d tried that, Jack had wound up breaking in, and Torchwood had paid for a whole new door.
Ianto sighs and caps his pen. He slips it into the diary to mark his place, and hides it in a drawer underneath his telephone directory. He looks himself over with a critical eye. He’s barefoot, stubbled and mussed, and his tie and jacket are long discarded. His trousers are wrinkled. If it is Jack – and there aren’t many other people it could be – he’ll get none of the usual satisfaction in undoing Ianto’s buttoned up exterior.
He answers the door anyway.
“Hi.”
“Andy. Hi,” Ianto answers, too shocked to submit anything more. He knows it’s rude, but he can’t help but stare. The man is a picture of fatigue. He looks washed-out, his eyes are rimmed in red, and he’s shivering.
“Sorry. I just saw your light on, and I thought –“
Ianto shakes his head and opens the door wider to usher Andy in. “No, no. It’s fine. Sorry. Long day at the office. We had –“ Ianto pauses to consider his words. “A troublesome visitor. I was just decompressing a bit. Can I get you a drink? Are you hungry? I’ve got some ginger chicken left over from dinner.”
Andy nods, but looks uncertain. “Yeah. That sounds really good, actually.”
“Okay,” Ianto says, and helps Andy out of his jacket. “Go have a seat wherever you like. I’ll warm it up and make you some tea.”
Andy starts over to the sofa and then stops. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jack wouldn’t like you to be alone with me, I don’t think,” Andy says, fidgeting a little with the bracelet.
That is, Ianto reflects, perfectly accurate. To be honest, Ianto’s not sure he’s entirely ready to be left alone with Andy either. Particularly a ragged, desperate-looking Andy. It’s only been two and a half weeks, and while he certainly wouldn’t call himself traumatized – Ianto refuses outright to let himself flinch at being touched by anyone, thank you – he’s a lot more aware of his personal space. Jack’s been very patient while he gets his head together, and Andy’s been following the rules to the letter. It’s helping. It is. Except when it isn’t.
He isn’t sure it’s helping right now.
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing Jack doesn’t get to tell me how to spend my personal time, isn’t it?” Ianto replies with a thin hint of a smile. He hangs Andy’s jacket on the hook and then moves into the kitchen, where he puts the electric kettle on. He finds the paper take-away carton in the fridge and empties it onto a plate, which he in turn puts in the microwave. He’s in the cupboards retrieving the tea he keeps for guests and a cup when Andy speaks again from the front room.
“I thought you were his boyfriend.”
“I suppose you could call it that, if you like,” Ianto replies. It’s a noncommittal answer to a complicated question, and he’s not certain he’s eager to have that conversation at the moment.
“You wouldn’t?”
“Nope.” As if on cue, the microwave chimes behind him. He opens the door and stirs the food around a bit with a fork to make sure it’s hot all the way through. Steam is already billowing from the kettle’s nozzle, and he can just barely hear the start of a whistle. “How do you take your tea?”
“Black is fine.”
Ianto tears the teabag out of its paper packet and drops it in the cup and pours boiling water over it. He picks up the plate and the cup and saucer and carries them out to the front room where Andy sits, looking as if he’s waiting to have his teeth filled.
“Here you are,” Ianto says, placing everything on the table in front of Andy. He sits down on the other end of the sofa and tries to look relaxed. “I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t had much time to cook this week.”
“Thanks.” Andy takes a cautious forkful of food and lifts it to his mouth, then lowers it again. “It’s really okay for me to be here?”
“Yes, it’s fine. Really,” Ianto says, nearly meaning it.
“Okay.”
Ianto watches with curiosity as Andy eats. He’s clearly famished, and Ianto wonders how long it’s been since Andy’s had a proper meal, or a full night’s sleep. Could so much happen in four days? “Actually,” he admits, “it’s nice to have a bit of company.”
Andy swallows a mouthful of food and looks up. He’s smiling a little, starting to look more comfortable. “Oh, so I’m company now?”
“Yes indeed. A proper guest, with dinner and drinks and everything,” Ianto replies with mock seriousness. “Though I’m guessing you didn’t just pop by in hopes of a very late dinner or an early breakfast.”
Andy takes a sip of his tea and nods. “Couldn’t sleep. Walked all the way down to the Barrage. Got about halfway back and realized I wasn’t done walking. Figured I’d go the long way around. Came through your neighborhood on a whim and saw your lights on.”
“That’s a hell of a walk.”
“Couple of hours.” Andy pokes at a piece of chicken with his fork. “It’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?” Ianto asks, his concern more plain.
“Nightmares. Just the same thing pretty much, over and over. Fire. Bodies. Like a bad accident. An RTA, maybe. People whose faces I can’t make out.” Andy puts down the fork and leans back. “After a while, I get sick of it and try something different. Tonight was walking.”
Not an accident, Ianto thinks, praying his poker face holds, but knowing it doesn’t. A crash site. “Maybe it’s just your subconscious playing tricks?”
“Maybe,“ Andy shrugs. “Ianto, are you alright? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Ianto says quietly, shaking his head and then giving Andy a reassuring look. “Sorry. I’m just tired. I get a little moody sometimes if I stay up late too many nights in a row.”
“Maybe I should let you go to bed, then,” Andy says. He looks a little worried, or maybe disappointed.
“No, really. It’s fine. Finish your food at least. Just excuse me for a second, okay?” Ianto clasps Andy’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze as he stands, and then excuses himself to the bathroom.
What he should do is call Jack, right away, and let him know what’s happening. His mobile is heavy in his pocket, and he gets as far as grasping the handset and ghosting his thumb over the speed dial before he stops to think about it.
What would Jack do, exactly? Hit Andy with a level two retcon with suggestion, probably, and take him home to sleep it off. It’s something Ianto can easily do himself if it comes to it, but he’s not sure that’s how he wants to handle this. Retcon’s a sticking plaster in this instance, not a long-term solution. He remembers Max Tresilian, and what Suzie did to him. He imagines Andy like that, stuck in a cell and driven past madness by the holes in his memory. The image makes him physically ill.
He lets the phone drop back into his pocket.
Ianto opens the bathroom door a crack just in time to see Andy gather up the dishes and carry them to the kitchen. He can hear a bit of knocking around, and then the sound of the tap. Ianto stifles a laugh and pads down the hallway to join him.
“You don’t have to do my dishes, you know,” he says as he enters the kitchen. It’s curious, Ianto muses, how in spite of everything, he feels responsible for Andy. It’s a bit like how he feels about Jack, sometimes. After a moment, he puts a tentative arm around Andy’s waist.
Andy glances down, surprised, and then looks to Ianto. “It’s no problem. You invited me in and fed me in the middle of the night. Least I can do before I go, right?”
“You’re leaving?”
Andy nods. “Might walk some more. Might try going home.” Andy rinses the last of the soap away from the plate and places it in Ianto’s dish drainer. “I haven’t really decided.”
Ianto’s fingertips slip under the hem of Andy’s shirt to catch a belt loop. His thumb creeps slightly further, crossing the boundary from waistband to bare skin. Andy tenses a little at the touch before relaxing into it.
“Do you work tomorrow?” Ianto asks, his tone neutral.
“No.” Andy shakes his head and dries his hands. “I’m off today and Wednesday. Why?”
“Because I was thinking that if you wanted to, you could stay.” His heart is officially in his throat, but he needs to get past this. Encounter therapy. “It’ll save you all that walking.”
“What about you?” Andy asks and gives Ianto a quizzical look. “Don’t you work tomorrow?”
“Late night, remember? My boss is many things, but he’s sympathetic enough to send us home for a day or so if things have been intense.” Ianto’s lips turn up in a tiny smirk. Oh, if Andy only knew who he was talking about.
“You’re sure?”
Ianto rolls his eyes and turns Andy to face him. “You keep asking me that. For the last time, yes, I’m sure. A little nervous, maybe, but as long as you don’t go pinning me up against any of the furniture, I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”
Andy flinches at that, but Ianto cups Andy’s cheek and brings their faces together so their foreheads touch.
“Stay over.” Ianto traces circles on Andy’s hip with his thumb. “Get some rest. I’ll look after you.”
“But who’ll look after you?” Andy whispers. He looks positively stricken, and all Ianto can think is how badly he wants to fix Andy. This is all my fault. I put you in this position. We drugged you and now you’re hurting. I’m so sorry.
Ianto strokes Andy’s hair. “I don’t need protecting.”
“Why not?”
Ianto takes a deep breath. “Let’s just say I’m broken but optimistic. Now kiss me, damn it, before I change my mind.”
Andy is tentative at first. Ianto knows it’s one thing to have sex with another man because it’s convenient or pleasurable, but another to really want him. He wonders where he falls for Andy on that spectrum. Andy comes back every week, but Ianto’s worked hard until recently to keep things as unsentimental as possible. Kissing Andy is still sort of alien, and he regrets that, especially when Andy’s shoves his hands into his back pockets and moans softly into Ianto’s mouth.
Even now, fatigued as he is, Andy’s still trying to follow the rules. Ianto’s heart breaks a little.
Forgive me. I never meant to turn you into this.
“Give me your hands.” Ianto’s words are barely a murmur against Andy’s mouth. When he hesitates, Ianto reaches around and wrenches Andy’s hands free of his jeans pockets. He grips them white-knuckle tight and holds them up where Andy can see them. Ianto notices the pricking of pain in Andy’s wide, wondering eyes. He knows he’s hurting him, but he also knows that a man remembers best what he learns when he’s in pain, and he wants Andy to remember this.
Ianto brings Andy’s right hand to his mouth and kisses the palm. He holds it there and presses his own face against Andy’s hand before he releases it. He does the same with the left. By the time he finishes, Andy’s trembling and taking short, ragged breaths.
“This doesn’t have to be anything,” Ianto tells him as he takes Andy’s hands again, gently this time. “This can just be us going to bed and sleeping, if that’s what you want. Okay?”
Andy chews at his bottom lip. “Okay.”
---
Prev (Pt #11) (Warnings: Smut and language.)
-
Next (Pt #13) (Warnings: Smut and language.)
---