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Chris is on the couch in his dad’s old house. Legs spread. One arm along the back. He has been there a while.
It doesn’t feel like his.
Not really.
Empty beer bottles everywhere. Coffee table packed with them, plus old takeout containers, a lighter, a coaster stuck to something it shouldn’t be. The floor is worse. Sticky in spots. The place smells like old beer and weed that never quite aired out.
His phone buzzes next to him.
He lets it vibrate. Fabric humming. Annoying. He waits it out, then grabs it and squints at the screen.
Twenty three unread texts.
All Adrian.
He scrolls without reading everything. Adrian asking how his day is going. Asking again later. He sends a picture of a dog that is not a dog. Several messages explaining why it still counts. Adrian confidently explaining that polar bears live in rainy places, not icy ones.
Like it matters.
Like he needs to know.
He snorts and locks the screen.
Adrian is wrong about animals.
He unlocks it again anyway. Types two words.
"Come over."
The reply comes back immediately.
No pause. No question.
"Coming!!!🧜♂️🏃"
He exhales and tips his head back against the couch.
Of course.
The window opens not long after. Adrian lets himself in like he always does. Same flannel. Same jeans. Boots thudding softly when he lands.
"Hey, P," Adrian says, already looking around, scanning the mess like it might explain things. "What did you wanna do tonight? Wanna blow something up? Shoot stuff?"
He grins, hopeful.
Chris doesn’t answer right away.
He stays where he is with his legs spread wide. An invitation whether he means it to be or not. He looks Adrian over slow and deliberate, then lifts one eyebrow and points down at himself.
Adrian follows the motion. Eyes down. Then back up.
His mouth shuts.
"Oh," he says, the grin already starting. "Is anyone else joining us?"
"Not today," he says.
That does it.
Adrian lights up. Immediate. Obvious. He steps closer, then drops to his knees between Chris’s legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He presses his face against Chris’s jeans for half a second, then goes for the belt, fingers quick and practiced.
He doesn’t waste time.
Chris stares at the wall and lets it happen. The room stretches. His thoughts blur and slide out of focus. He’s aware of the wet sounds right in front of him, of Adrian still trying to talk through it like he always does, words muffled and enthusiastic.
When Adrian finally pulls back, he’s smiling.
Too much color in his face. Cheeks flushed dark, heat lingering high on his cheekbones and down his neck. Chris clocks it immediately.
Of fucking course.
Adrian always gets like that. Too enthusiastic. Always a step ahead of himself.
Chris’s mouth tilts into a smirk before he can stop it. Figures he’d come in his pants. Figures he wouldn’t even try to hide it.
He looks down at him. "You want me to return the favor?"
Adrian laughs and shakes his head. "I’m already all good," he says, still flushed, still smiling like that settles it.
He shifts on his knees, restless now. Grimaces. Tugs at his pants.
"It’s drying," he says, a small whine creeping in.
He looks up at Chris, hopeful enough that Chris looks away for half a second. "Can I use your shower, P?" A beat. Softer. "Please."
Chris exhales through his nose. Shrugs. "Yeah, whatever."
Relief hits Adrian’s face immediately. Like that was ever in doubt.
He leans forward without thinking, buttons Chris’s pants back up, threads the belt through the loops like he’s done it a hundred times before. Then he’s on his feet, already turning toward the hall.
"I’ll be fast," he says, cheerful and sincere, and disappears.
Chris watches him go.
"Fast, my ass," he mutters once the bathroom door shuts.
Adrian never takes quick showers. He takes long ones. Stands under the water until he turns pink. Uses up all the hot water without meaning to.
Always comes back smelling like his soap.
He decisdes to stay on the couch while the shower runs. Water rushing through the pipes. Steady. Loud enough to fill the house.
He drinks another beer. Doesn’t taste it. Stares down the hallway.
He keeps thinking about Adrian.
Which is irritating as fuck.
Adrian has looked different lately. Or maybe not. Same face. Same sharp grin. Same habit of leaning too close. Same way of acting like he belongs wherever he is.
Chris keeps noticing him anyway.
Stuff he never bothered to clock before.
Almost prettier.
That thought lands and sticks for half a second. He frowns at the wall. Adrian looks the same. Nothing changed. Chris can’t figure out why it feels different.
The shower shuts off.
A minute later the bathroom door opens. Steam spills into the hall. Adrian steps out with a towel around his waist. Skin pink. Hair damp and curling at the ends. He stops when he notices Chris staring.
"What is it, Peacemaker?" Adrian asks, head tilting.
Chris squints. "What the hell are you doing?"
Adrian blinks. Looks down at himself. "I don’t have spare clothes here."
He opens his mouth.
Stops.
"And not in my car either," Adrian adds, helpful. Then, after a beat, "And you don’t want me keeping clothes here."
Chris exhales through his nose.
Right. Shit.
He doesn’t even suggest Adrian put his old clothes back on. Learned that lesson already. Damp fabric. Wrong textures. Principles Chris doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to argue about.
"Fine," Chris says. "Borrow some sweatpants."
Adrian lights up. Then hesitates.
"But I need underwear," he says. "I don’t like the texture of that against my butt."
"Fine," Chris says. "Whatever. One pair."
He jerks his chin toward the hall. "And you’re not taking them with you."
Adrian grins. Guilty. Like that rule exists for a reason. Like Chris has noticed missing underwear before. Like Adrian absolutely took one home and never brought it back.
"Okay," Adrian says, way too cheerful.
He turns and heads for the bedroom.
Chris watches him go. Can’t help it. The towel shifts as Adrian walks. Hips moving easy. Familiar.
Huh.
His ass has gotten fatter lately.
Or better.
Chris digs around on the coffee table and finds the rolling papers. He doesn’t say anything. Just starts breaking the weed up with his fingers. Automatic. Like muscle memory.
Adrian notices as soon as he comes back dressed.
His shoulders tense. His nose wrinkles. His whole face does that thing it always does, reacting to a smell that isn’t even there yet.
"Ugh," Adrian says. "I hate that. I hate everything about that smell."
Chris doesn’t look up. Keeps working. "Then leave."
It comes out flat. Sharper than he means it to.
Adrian blinks. "You said to come over."
Silence drops in after that.
The house feels smaller.
He keeps his eyes on the table. The paper crinkles between his fingers. A beer bottle tips when he shifts his knee and clinks against another.
"I know," he says.
Adrian doesn’t leave.
He sits stiffly on the edge of the couch, hands folded together in his lap, shoulders drawn in like he’s trying not to take up space.
Chris exhales. Long. Tired.
"Fine," he says. "I’ll use the pen. It won’t smell as bad. Happy?"
He sets the papers aside and reaches for the weed pen, turns it once in his hand.
Adrian nods. Small. Quiet. "Yeah."
He brings the pen to his mouth and presses the button. Draws in slow. The vapor tastes thin and wrong, nothing like what he actually wants. He holds it for a beat, then breathes it out through his nose, watching it disappear.
While he exhales, he tries to think of something to say. Something normal. Something that doesn’t sound like snapping again and doesn’t sound like an apology either.
Nothing shows up.
Adrian stays tense beside him. After a minute, he shifts. Inches back until his shoulders touch the couch. He twitches at the contact, jaw tightening, but he makes himself stay there.
Chris glances over. "What are you doing?"
He almost adds something mean. He doesn’t.
"I don’t like how your couch feels against my back," Adrian says.
He opens his mouth to ask why he didn’t put a shirt on.
Stops.
He remembers how literal Vigilante is.
He closes his mouth again and looks away. The pen is warm in his hand now. The last of the vapor thins out in the quiet.
Chris exhales and flicks his eyes back to Adrian. "Then go get a shirt."
Adrian hesitates. Rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to shake something loose. "I could," he says. "But my back already feels weird."
Chris frowns. "Weird how?"
"Itchy," Adrian says. He tilts his head, thinking. "Like… psychologically itchy."
Chris snorts before he can stop himself.
Adrian squirms against the couch. Shoulders tight. Fingers digging into his own arms like he’s holding himself back.
"Would scratching it physically help then?" Chris asks.
The question slips out before he can pull it back.
Adrian lights up. Immediate. "Yes," he says. Then again, louder. "Yes. It would. You’re so smart, P."
And that’s that.
Adrian turns around and sits cross legged on the couch. No hesitation. Presents his back like it’s the obvious next step. Towel gone. Borrowed sweatpants riding low on his hips.
Chris just looks at him.
Doesn’t move.
For a second, nothing happens.
He watches Adrian’s back. Pale. Waiting. Already settled like this is a given.
He could say something.
Could correct him.
Could point out that it was just a question.
The thought goes nowhere.
He doesn’t bother.
After all, Adrian did give him a blow job earlier. He figures that probably evens things out.
Or close enough.
He lifts his hand. Hesitates. Then brings his fingers down to the middle of Adrian’s back.
Adrian shivers immediately. Sharp inhale. Like it caught him off guard.
Chris starts light. Fingertips dragging. Testing. He notices his nails as he goes. Longer than usual. He hasn’t cut them in weeks. Longer than most guys would bother with.
Adrian twitches. Makes a small frustrated sound.
"Harder."
He smirks. Of course. Adrian says that during sex too.
He presses in more. Nails digging. Rougher now. No pretending it’s gentle. His fingers drag down Adrian’s back with intent, scratching instead of skimming.
Adrian exhales and melts. Shoulders dropping. Spine curving forward. He sinks into the couch like something finally gave way.
That rough scrape is exactly what he wanted.
He keeps going. Steady. Firm. Watches Adrian settle under his hands without asking for anything else.
He keeps scratching.
At first, time doesn’t register. His hand moves up and down in a rough, even rhythm. Nails dragging. Pressure enough to make it count. Adrian stays quiet, breathing evening out as his weight sinks further into the cushions.
Eventually, Chris’s wrist starts to ache.
He glances down. Checks himself.
A few minutes, maybe.
He lifts his hand away.
Adrian reacts instantly.
"Wait," he says, twisting just enough to look back, eyes wide and a little frantic. "Please, P. Keep going. It feels so good. Please don’t stop."
The words spill out fast.
Unfiltered.
Honest.
He hesitates.
That familiar pinch hits first. Irritation. Then guilt, right on its heels. He thinks about how sharp he was earlier. How easily he told Adrian to leave. Like he didn’t matter.
He exhales through his nose. Short.
"Fine."
He puts his hand back down.
No more going light.
He scratches up and down Adrian’s back with deliberate intent. Rough. Nails digging in, dragging hard enough to leave lines. Adrian lets out a shaky breath and folds forward, teeth sinking into his lower lip like he’s trying not to make a sound.
He keeps going.
His hand moves in long, rough passes now. Nails dragging. Skin hot under his fingers. Flushed deep red. Marked everywhere he’s been.
"You’re gonna bleed soon," Chris says.
Half warning. Half statement.
"Okay," Adrian says immediately.
Like it wasn’t meant to stop him.
Chris huffs. Figures.
He takes that as permission and goes a little longer. Not faster. Not harder. Just a few more deliberate passes. Nails biting in. Pressure steady. Adrian makes a small sound and leans into it, shoulders tense, head dipping forward.
He watches closely now. He knows where the line is, even if Adrian doesn’t.
When the third thin trickle of blood breaks the surface, he pulls his hand away.
That’s it.
Adrian lets out a breath like he’s been underwater. Shoulders still tight. Back flushed and striped and raw. Chris flexes his fingers. His wrist aches.
He shakes his head and thinks, Good thing you heal fast.
Otherwise, this would suck a lot more.
Though, maybe not. Adrian seems really into it.
Chris leans back against the couch. His hand hovers in the air for a second, then drops to his thigh. The room goes quiet except for Adrian’s breathing.
Adrian stays slumped forward. Back angry red. Lines still standing out against his skin.
It should look uncomfortable.
It should look painful.
Instead, he looks loose. Boneless. Blissed out.
He lets out a long breath and then starts talking.
"Oh my god," Adrian says. Warm. Unfiltered. "That was so good. Like, ridiculously good. You’re really good at that. I mean, obviously, because you’re Peacemaker and you’re good at everything, but still. Wow."
He snorts and shakes out his wrist. He doesn’t say anything. In his head, it barely even registers as effort. It wasn’t hard. It was scratching someone’s back.
Adrian keeps going anyway.
"It just felt perfect," he says, words tumbling over each other now. "Like my brain shut up. I could feel everything but it wasn’t bad. You have great hands. Has anyone ever told you that? Because you do. It was exactly the right pressure."
He tunes him out halfway. Lets Adrian’s voice blur into noise. He stares at the wall, thinking about how stupid this is.
It was such a simple fucking thing. Barely any effort at all.
And Adrian is sitting there yapping like Chris just did something life changing.
Weird guy.
The thought lands warmer than Chris expects. He glances down at Adrian again. Still relaxed. Still faintly smiling. Completely at ease, even with his back raw and marked.
If it were the other way around, Chris would be tense as hell. Jaw clenched. Muscles locked. Counting seconds.
Adrian just looks so happy.
"This is the best bonding activity ever. Better than sex," Adrian says suddenly. Casual. Certain. "I’m serious. Way better. My best friend is touching me and it’s not all light and careful. It’s rough. It feels so good. I’m really happy."
Chris freezes.
Adrian keeps talking.
"This day is almost as good as the day you got out of prison. That was a really good day."
Chris makes a sharp sound and reaches out on instinct, smacking Adrian lightly on the back.
Adrian hisses. His back is sore. Really sore.
He still smiles.
Adrian keeps rambling. Praise stacking on praise. Thoughts spilling out. Chris doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. Adrian fills the silence just fine.
Chris leans back and listens.
He realizes something he doesn’t like admitting.
He doesn’t really like being alone anymore.
The house feels less empty with Adrian in it. Less quiet.
Chris likes having him around.
And Adrian loves it.