Of Flowers and Fire

Chapter 12

Sawyer turned around and wiped his hands on his apron. He sighed and checked his order book making note of the wedding bouquets he'd finished. He walked out of the workshop and stopped dead in his tracks. Diego was standing by a flower rack, holding a vase filled with tulips in his hands. He was looking intently at them and breathing softly. "Diego, what are you doing here?" Sawyer asked gently.

Diego flinched. Bouncing up on his toes and staggering back a step. "You shouldn't have left me in Chicago," Diego said bringing the flowers tight against his chest, "You should have stayed and let me explain. Leaving wasn't right. It was a shitty thing to do." Sawyer watched him tap his fingers against the vase.

"Diego," Sawyer sighed rubbing his forehead. 

"I, um, I know what you're gonna say, Sawyer," Diego began, setting the vase down and shoving his hands down into his pockets. He rocked back on his heels and swayed. "You're gonna say that you were trying to do the right thing. And you were. You were, because you're Sawyer Hannigan." Sawyer narrowed his eyes and planted his hands on his hips. Diego leaned forward, and tilted his head towards him. "Is it a good thing being you, Sawyer Hannigan?" Diego took a step forward, knees bowing, "I think it is."

"Diego, are you drunk?" Sawyer asked.

Diego waved his hand at the space between them. "You're so nice and you were scared too. You had to be as fast as you left." Sawyer untied his apron and draped it over the desk.

"Diego, let me walk you home," Sawyer kept his voice steady and warm.

"You should have stayed with me in Chicago," Diego told him shakily, "you shouldn't have left." He shook his head.

Sawyer sighed, "Come on." He came around the desk and over to Diego. He put one hand on Diego's shoulder in what he hoped was a comfort.

"Sawyer," Diego murmured. His eyes practically danced up to Sawyer's. "You shouldn't have left me in Chicago."  He wrapped his fingers into the soft yellow shirt Sawyer was wearing, "Sawyer, don't leave me again."

"Diego, you smell like a liquor store," Sawyer said gently, "please let me get you home."

Diego's hand tightened into Sawyer's shirt so much so that he could almost feel his skin. "I shouldn't have said what I said to you. I didn't mean it." Diego's other hand touched Sawyer's face. "I didn't mean it. I want you," He rocked his head forward so that it bumped Sawyer's, "I did," His breath was hot on Sawyer's mouth, "I do."

"Diego," Sawyer said; his voice was barely anything at all.

"I don't regret it, Sawyer. I don't regret you," Diego nudged his mouth up against Sawyer's. Open and hot. Sawyer pulled his head back, equal parts unwilling and lustful. "Please, let me."

"You're drunk."

"That doesn't change anything."

"Don't," Sawyer said, "it changes everything."

"Sawyer, please," Diego's hand slid to Sawyer's hair and tangled itself in. "Please, please."

"Diego."

"Please."

"Come on."