Closer

You Get Me Closer To God

Since the incident - Adam couldn't stand to call it anything else - months before, the younger male had become more dependent. He hated the dependence; countless times he had stayed up at night gazing at the relaxed face of his partner and loathing himself for the burden he felt he was becoming. Lawrence had insisted and reassured him innumerable times that he wasn't a burden and for the most part, Adam had gradually grown to believe him, but that didn't stop the doubt that occasionally managed to seep in through the cracks in his mind.

For God's sake, he'd internally lament, the man sawed off his own foot, and I'm the one that has to be consoled.

Since becoming lovers, Lawrence had realized Adam's dependency and growing self consciousness and had quickly made it clear that he wanted to help in any way possible, a sentiment that Adam reciprocated in full. Most of the time, that came in the form of whispered reassurances late at night after jarring nightmares; other times, it was in the simple squeeze of the hand or a reminder of "I love you" whenever one would get the faraway, distant look that always meant they were overthinking; and still, other times it simply boiled down to the two of them being together.

It had been during a particularly bad night that Lawrence had suggested something.

"Focus on me," he had said. "Feel my hands cupping your cheeks; feel how warm they are? Good. Now hear my voice. Nothing's going to hurt you. I promise, Adam. I'm here to protect you now."

This form of reassurance had quickly become the duo's favourite. Regardless of who was helping who, the two always felt more connected, relaxed, and in sync during and afterward. Sometimes the ritual had consisted of one talking the other through it and sometimes it consisted of gentle, grounding touches. The two weren't sure when the hushed words and purposeful touches had progressed to something much more intimate than it had already been but those moments still held the same meanings and purpose.

🔗🔗🔗🔒🔗🔗🔗

"I need you," Adam pleaded, standing in the doorway to the couple's shared bedroom. His wide eyes were glassy with unshed tears from yet another nightmare and his frame trembled with involuntary shivers.

Sitting on the couch, Lawrence was quick to call him over.

When he had arrived home from work over an hour earlier, he had found his boyfriend asleep on their bed. For once, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully and Lawrence hadn't the heart to wake him for dinner when he had finished preparing the meal.

Seated on the couch watching the television, the blonde doctor immediately abandoned the uninteresting visuals on the screen in favour of focusing on his significant other. As Adam crossed the small distance of the living space, his hands restlessly fidgeted at his sides; his fingers tapped his thigh frantically, balled into fists before flexing, and nervously tugged at the bottom hem of his boxer briefs. His eyes darted from the television set to the setting sun outside the windows to his boyfriend.

Standing in front of Lawrence, his large doe eyes portraying how frantic he really felt, Adam finally wrapped his arms around himself, grabbing his upper arms and squeezing as if to hold himself together.

Lawrence wasted no time in reaching out and pulling his hands away from his arms, taking the digits into his as he placed a gentle kiss to the knuckles.

"Let me help you," the doctor requested, "in any way I can."

"I just want to forget," Adam whispered, his hands shaking in the other's grip. "Distract me, please, Lawrence."

Little encouragement was needed for the dark haired male to take a seat on the blonde's lap, his legs on either side of the doctor's. As Adam's hands redirected to his lover's shoulders, he made another plea.