The Debt of Guilt [BxB]

20: before

June
1989

Jenifer spent every spare minute with the boys after their day at the lake. She stayed at Peter's, curled up in bed with him, legs all tangled up in his, sleeping soundly for the first time in years. They ate the leftover bread Scott brought home from work, drank too much tea, listened to the radio in comfortable silence, and for the most part, pretended the outside world didn't exist. Danny was there too, most days. But the nights didn't belong to him and Peter anymore. His spot in Peter's bed had been taken by Jenifer.

So, when his Father had come home drunk once again, and slammed his fist into his son's jaw in a fit of rage, Danny had to turn to the other Wicks brother. The one with softer eyes and gentler hands.

"Why don't you ever hit him back?" Scott asked, combing his fingers through Danny's hair. They were sprawled out on Scott's bed, limbs knotted up together, whispers caught on each other's lips. "You could." Scott continued quietly, "You're strong enough."

Danny smiled wickedly, "You think I'm strong?"

Scott rolled his eyes, "It wasn't intended as an ego boost."

"Can I take it as one anyway?"

Scott couldn't help the chuckle which escaped his throat, "You would take anything as an ego boost."

"You calling me vain?" Danny propped himself up on his elbow, glancing down at Scott, "You wound me, Scotty."

Scott looked back up at him, through thick lashes, and desperate adoration, "I think you're too proud to give a shit about being called vain." He teased.

"You're probably right." Danny ran his fingertips across Scott's cheekbone, the curve of his nose, his jaw, his lips. He leant down to kiss him, just for a moment, then pulled away again.

"So why don't you?" Scott whispered, the weight of the room heavy again, "Why don't you fight back?" His eyes flicked to the fresh bruise on Danny's jaw. There were always fresh bruises these days.

"I'm not a violent person." He replied plainly. "I don't want to hurt people. I don't think I have it in me."

"Even after everything he's done?" Scott bit down on his lower lip, and Danny had to focus on something else, so he didn't give in to how much that made his pulse throb.

"Even after everything he's done." He repeated softly. "I don't mind the pain...after a while, it all sort of feels the same. Numb...easy..."

Scott's brows twitched together and he tried to hide the concern that flashed in his eyes, "Danny, that's—"

Danny kissed him, swallowing the words before they could be uttered aloud. Because Danny didn't need to hear the end of that sentence.

That's wrong.

That's weak.

That's pathetic.

Scott wanted to finish their conversation, but he also wanted to keep kissing Danny. To taste him, to feel him — all of him. All his warmth and his familiarity. His sparks and electricity. All the emotions tangled up in that kiss. The things Danny wouldn't say, couldn't say. The things Scott wanted to say, but knew they would never be said back to him. Not by Danny.

Scott had to remind himself of that every day. This wasn't the same for Danny as it was for him. For Danny, this was all about their bodies, their pulses, their sweat. All physical, wrapped up beneath duvets, lights off, windows shut, tucked into the darkness.

For Scott, it was the words whispered into that same darkness. The heartbeats that beat together. Soft fingers and soft hair. Laughter that mingled together in the night. That smirk. That smile. That fucking smile.