Dust

Comfort (8)

Knuckles still bloody and aching, Fey let himself be cajoled into the bath. Watching his blood drip like ink into the water was almost hypnotising, but Fey found himself seething.

That prick had no business saying what he did about Lionel. And Fey knew hookers, but he was not one. Just because he stripped didn't mean he hooked on the side. Despite the warm water, Fey was wound up tight.

Before he could punch anything that would break his hand, someone pressed their fingers into the muscles of his shoulders. Angel pushed deeper and kneaded. The tension melted from Fey's body like butter on a stove. He hummed, the noise deep in his throat, and leant into Angel's touch.

Before he could relax too much, though, he needed to ask about what McGowen had said.

"Did you get into trouble?" Phelan asked, then on seeing Lionel's confused expression added, "at work, I mean. For being with me."

Letting out a long groan, Lionel moved his hands to rest on Phelan's chest, leaning his forehead on Phelan's hair. "I didn't want you to worry."

Phelan sighed. "I figured that was probably the case, but I'm not a child, Angel. If this is gonna work you've gotta tell me when things like that happen."

"It was just a warning, gorgeous. I had to explain to my boss that this isn't just a fling."

With that, Phelan had to forgive him. There was no way he could be mad after a declaration like that - not that he was really mad at Lionel in the first place.

They stayed in there for what to be another thirty minutes, all the while, the steam from the bath clouded the bathroom and clung to the mirror. There was a window they could - but wouldn't - open, and the fan was on but it didn't seem to make much of a difference.

Bear was waiting outside with a bathrobe when Fey was done, and belted it. It was too big for Fey, both of his boyfriends being over six-foot, but it was soft and a little worn and Fey knew that he'd never let them have it back.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Angel asked, voice solemn.

Planted on the sofa next to Angel, Fey was not looking forward to explaining himself. Bear was in the kitchen, pottering about with something, but it was clear that Angel wouldn't let Fey escape to help. In all fairness, it was his turn to do the talking, but he didn't think he could be blamed for wanting to run.

"Which bit?" Fey mumbled. "The fight, or the breakdown afterwards?"

"Well... Bear already told me about the fight..." Lionel took hold of Fey's hand. "And I appreciate that you got angry that someone would think I'm the type of person to pay for sex but..." he shrugged. "I don't like that you got hurt."

"Breakdown it is then." Fey sighed, wanting a cigarette, or another line. Some kind of drug - just to help him deal.

Bear returned then, carrying a small tray like some sort of domestic god. And when he handed Fey the cup of tea, Fey mentally promised the man a blowjob later. The colour was off - a little too much milk - but he was grateful in any case. Caffeine was better than nothing.

Bear sat in the armchair to the left of the sofa, and Fey crossed his legs. If he was going to explain his emotions, he'd need a little space.

"How do I say this?" He took a deep breath. "As romantic relationships go, I think I've only had two good ones. And neither of those lasted very long, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because we were better as friends than lovers." Fey nodded and pressed his lip to the outside of the cup, testing the temperature. Still too hot to drink. "I'm a pretty confident person now, but I've had to work at it. A year ago, I might've just broken everything off as soon I calmed down. So... sometimes..." he shrugged, "high emotion plus I think I've done something wrong means my mind will run straight to 'they're gonna break up with me'."