The Stains Beneath Our Skin [mxm] ✔

21.1 | Bambi

It took a long, long time for Cain to stop crying, longer still before Casper could prise himself away, and like his life couldn't get any grosser, prising himself away meant the slow, sick peel of his cheek from Cain's throat, stuck together by drying blood. Casper gagged as he did it and rubbed at his cheek with his t-shirt as soon as he was sat up and free.

Most of the nausea vanished when his eyes actually found Cain's face. Tear tracks wound through the mask of blood, but the misery that went with them hadn't stuck. Hazed with drink, and that breathless grin lay so sloppy around the edges that you could tell he was pissed from that alone. Not that it mattered a fucking damn because no matter the shape of it, the emotion behind it shone so bright and warm that it stole Casper's breath away. A hand, buried right in his chest and clutching his heart in a grip made of clouds and bliss.

That brush of golden in Cain's eyes, breathless as he drank up the sight of his angel knelt beside him, and fuck, Casper had missed that look so fucking much he could cry.

His lips pressed together, trembling against his will, and with a tight gasp that stung in his throat, Casper clambered up to his feet.

Cain lurched after him, arm outstretched and his eyes big and doey and frantic. "Cassie—"

Fucking hell, why did he have to look like that? A wry smile twitched at Casper's lips and he grasped Cain's hand. Warm from the heat that had come off Casper's back, but it stopped too soon beneath the surface to feel quite real. "You're coming with me, asshole, don't worry. Let's go to bed."

"I—" Cain's eyes trailed up and down the corridor and fluttered shut just as they came back to Casper. With a nauseated shiver, he opened them again, imploring. "I don't think I can get up, Cassie. I drunk too much." Cain's lower lip stuck out as his head lolled back against the wall, and Casper pressed down on the weird little flutter in his chest. Fucking dick. "I feel awful."

Bullshit, obviously. They always could get up if you tried hard enough, and Casper had done this with Jack so many times he might as well stamp it across his forehead. Professional drunk fuck handler – only accepting applications from men who're no fucking good for me. Jack was a damn sight heavier than Cain as well. A damn sight meaner too, especially recently, and that meant wrestling with his sour tongue as well as the weight of his body.

Not so with Cain. Instead of burning the tip of his tongue black, everything bad had vanished under the blanket of stars the drink cast over his mind, and here he was, right back to the awestruck man who hadn't been able to take his eyes off Casper while they ate beneath the stars.

Casper tried to not let himself forget that it was just the drink as he got his arm around Cain's waist, and the drunk prick swayed like a boneless beanpole above him.

Cain slumped against him while they stumbled down the hallway, his arm tightening around Casper's shoulder. The chill of his breath puffed against Casper's neck as Cain nuzzled at the space behind his ear, murmuring senseless nothings in a foreign language.

It was really, really hard to remember that it was just the drink.

At one point, Casper called R2 for a glass of water and pressed it carefully into Cain's hand when the idiot kept insisting he could drink it. The second Casper let go, Cain took one drowsy blink and let it fall from his hand.

Both of them burst into laughter as it shattered on the floor.

"Now who needs a fucking sippy cup? Come on, nutjob. Get walking."

Cain pressed his cheek against the top of Casper's head. "Can mine have pandas on it?"

Jesus fuck, why did he have to be such an endearing drunk?