Crossmare/BSP Oneshots

(S)(Crossdust)AGENT!AU

Okay, so a bit of spoilers sort of, nothing plot relevant, but we haven't met Dust yet in the Retriever Institute universe, so I guess spoilers for that— but, have some smut! In case the slowburn has been eating away at your soul as much as it has mine.

Enjoy!
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Cross watches his teammate turn another page, false sunlight from their makeshift window illuminating his face in a warm glow. He looks beautiful, like this. Uncovered and not hidden by illusions, or the shadows of his hood. Cross doesn't think he'll ever grow tired of this moment. Laying in bed, exploring the planes of Dust's face, watching his expression change in practically unreadable increments as his eyelights flick across the pages of his book. When his gaze falls to the smaller's hands, he notes that their magic is a similar color, he can tell by the flushed joints of the other's phalanges. The only difference is the speckles of red and blue, almost like freckles, but they don't extend to the bone.

Shamefully, Cross wonders if those speckled colors extend to the rest of his magic too. He pushes the thought away, instead watching Dust's sharp claws gently take hold of a page, and turn it. Slowly, Cross finds himself sitting up. It's without thought, really. Dust spares him only a curious glance and a little smile. Which is really the only kind of smile Dust has. Cross hums a little, setting a hand on the smaller's ribs so he can straddle him. Dust puts his book down on the side table, grinning now.

"Hey there," he whispers.

Cross loves the way his sockets turn up gently, and the soft purples on his cheeks look beautiful and lively in the morning sun.

"Hi..." Cross murmurs, setting his other hand beside the smaller man's shoulder and leaning down just a little.

Dust's small, clawed hands reach up to him, cupping his face. His hands are cold, like they always are. The chill is welcome, though. They've been under the warmth of the blankets, basking in the sun for... However long it's been up, now. He's warm enough for the both of them. Dust seems content enough to provide whatever attention it is that he wants. Cross isn't entirely sure what he wants, something in his tugs tight, and his mind whispers the vague shape of closeness to him, comfort in closeness.

"Wanna be close," Cross sighs, leaning down to knock their skulls together softly. An affectionate gesture.

"I like close," Dust says back, quiet and gleeful. "Can I have a kiss?" He asks. And, stars, how can Cross say no to such a beautiful face? Dust's fuzzy, mismatched eyelights watch him with anticipation.

Dust feels like a silly little teenager, with the rush of excitement in his chest, all at the prospect of kissing someone. Like he doesn't kiss the others every day. Something whispers to him that this is a frivolous indulgence of childish feelings, it encourages shame like the whispers always do. Still, he knows he's safe, Cross can protect him. Besides, Dust knows in his soul that it's not childish. It's special, everything he gets from Cross is special. It's still new, and unique, and full of the soft, unwavering joy of something as pristine as this.

"Yes," Cross whispers to him, smiling.

Their mouths press together in a kiss, long, and soft. It's unhurried, slow and perfect. They're burning daylight, and they both know they have plenty of it left. One of Dust's hands falls away from his teammate's face, to curl into the soft fabric over his shoulders. He's not rushing things, he just needs to hold on, hold on so he doesn't float away. It all feels terribly domestic, in a manner Dust rarely allows himself to indulge in.

It's nice to pretend they're just normal people for a moment, with real sunlight, streaming through a real window. Waking up in the morning after holding each other all night, instead of Cross coming to him in tears, some odd hour in the morning. They hold each-other now regardless, close enough to feel like one, whole person. One whole person, Instead of something fractured as they are.