Catch the Thunder

The Words We Can't Yet Say

Although they had the cabin to themselves now, Laxus let Freed relax. After the frightening incident with the bear, they both needed time to cuddle and pamper one another. Freed even teased that it was like aftercare for emotional trauma.

Evening darkened, and the two found themselves sitting by the fire, Freed curled in Laxus' arms, enjoying his hair being stroked down. Laxus spent many minutes simply petting his head, staring at the flames, thinking of a million horrific scenarios that could have happened that day, and cherishing that he could hold Freed like this.

One question kept cycling through Laxus' head: what would I do if Freed had been killed?

It was a horrific and lonely thought. What would become of him without Freed? Would he slip right back into the life he had? Would he be able to fall in love again? Would he even be able to continue at all?

Laxus had lost his mother at a young age. He knew firsthand that loved ones could vanish on you, and you had to press on, live without them, managed your own path without their light to guide you. It was hard to continue without his mother, but to continue without Freed ... he could not imagine it at all.

He squeezed his arms around Freed a little tighter. A year ago, Laxus thought he needed no one. There was the freedom of independence, but also loneliness: no friends, no contact with family, no one who really cared if he stayed, moved, ate, starved, lived, or died. He liked it that way, no attachments, no one to pest him. Now, he could not imagine waking up and not having Freed there to scold him about having more for breakfast than just coffee.

He could not imagine having to bury him, and then trying to continue with his life.

Freed was now such a vital part of how Laxus defined himself. They had intertwined so tightly, there was no separating them.

And yet it could happen, and so suddenly. He was realizing how fragile this connection was, how precious life was, and what a blessing it was to have Freed in his life. In the BDSM community, it was taught that subs are a gift to cherish. Laxus had spent years using subs and hating them, old men or rich bastards who wanted a thrill and had the money to pay him for it. Now, here was a man he honestly could cherish, but more than that.

It was a man he could not life without. He simply could not picture a future without Freed there.

"You're squeezing a little too tight," Freed warned.

Laxus realizing he was crushing him, and his arms loosened. Freed inhaled deeply and rubbed out a rib.

"Sorry," Laxus muttered, mad that he was so overwhelmed, he was not paying attention to Freed's needs.

Freed turned around on the couch and straddled Laxus' thighs. He stroked the worried brow until the lines soothed away, and he watched as Laxus' face loosened and his muscles released.

"You're probably thinking the same things as me," Freed said quietly. "Worst-case scenarios, what-if's, being alone ... I don't like to think about it. You're part of who I am now."

"Exactly," Laxus said as he gazed into those turquoise eyes. "Like two snakes twisted together."

"I was more thinking like how iron and carbon are added to make a steel sword."

"You and your swords," Laxus teased. "But I like that one. We've been pounded, put in the fire, forged and beaten all over, but in the end we managed to be something awesome that cuts through the bullshit of life." He picked up Freed's hand and looked at the silver promise ring with swords etched around the rim. "Inseparable, like iron and carbon in a steel sword," he muttered, admiring the shine of the ring in the light of the fireplace.