After Us

Chapter 4 : Hold me tight

Tharn stilled, muscles tensing in his attempt to keep his emotions at bay despite the difficulty. It was made even more hard now that he had Type in his arms, warm and real and present. The ache in his chest rattled to remind him of the reason he was here, but with Type clinging to him as if the other man was afraid to let go even for a second made him wish the past two years didn't happen.

His legs were shaking before he could even take another step. He stopped in favor of pulling himself together, breathing through the misery clogging his throat and leaning in to bump his forehead lightly against Type's collarbone to hide his face, barely resisting the urge to cry openly now that Type's fingers were stroking his cheek, the underside of his eyes, the corner of his lips.

Their gazes catch and he was once again brought back to the past at the sight of Type's soft if not apologetic smile aimed his way, his fingers on Tharn's face as if he couldn't believe he was there either.

Me too, Type, he wanted to say, but found it difficult to voice it out when Type's apology was surprising as it was - unexpected. Tharn honestly didn't think he would get one, not like this, at least. He'd wagered that Type was too arrogant for that. He'd expected a lousy excuse for a reason - he'd imagined it so many times really, especially when he'd decided to come here to find Type, but not this.

God, but never this.

He said nothing even when he knew he should, keeping his eyes glued on a red spot he saw on Type's clavicle and swallowed past the lump that took temporary residence in his throat. The last thing he wanted was for Type to see how this was breaking him, what the last two years did to him after Type walked out on him and left him. But it was hard. It was worse now that they were here, quiet saved from the sounds of their combined breaths and heartbeats, the comforting weight of Type's body and the heat emanating from his skin was making Tharn's head spin.

The fingers threading through his hair have long dropped to the back of his head, scratching lightly across his scalp and making him feel so goddamn sensitive to every little touch, humming in appreciation to Type's every movement despite that lingering heaviness in his chest. Type obviously knew what he was doing, knew he loved it when Type was being touchy-feely, his breath warm and unsteady against the side of Tharn's temple.

He raised his head and closed his eyes to savor the feeling, hitching Type up and making sure he had his arms securely around Type before he took a tentative step forward, stopping yet again when Type's hands scrambled for purchase around his shoulders as if he was afraid they would stumble.

As if he would allow it to happen.

As if he even could.

Type's lips dropped a kiss to his brow, soft and chaste he wondered if he'd just imagined it and whispered his name. "T-Tharn,"

"Shh, I know, I know. I got you," he hushed, and even that sounded funny even in his own ears. His arms are shaking, and possibly all of him now that he got Type in his arms, mouthing the start of his hair and seriously making it even more difficult for him to control himself.

He wanted Type more now than he thought he did when he saw him again earlier for the first time in such a long time, and wanted him so bad he couldn't think.

"Hold on to me," he whispered through tightly gritted teeth, arms wrapped tightly around Type as he crossed the distance from the doorway to the bed, glad and equal-parts thankful he'd kept himself in shape. He was worried he'd accidentally trip and drop Type, especially with the way Type was clinging to him and making soft noises into his ear as he bodily carried Type across the threshold.

They reached the bed in no time, Tharn dropping Type's weight onto it and leaving him there for a moment to fetch the things he'd brought with him from the suitcase lying on the floor next to the bed. He could hear the sounds of Type's breathing, and the urge to come back to him so he could kiss him was so strong that he had to breathe repeatedly to calm himself down. When he stood, supplies in hand, he found Type was still on his back on the bed and was looking forlornly up the ceiling without actually seeing anything. Tharn paused to breathe, but the sight of Type there, gaze lost and his mouth twisting ruefully at the edges prompted the misery that surrounded Tharn's heart for the past two years to swell anew.