FANDOM: Boa vs Python/Thoughtcrimes
CATEGORY: First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
SUMMARY: Emmett spends several days in the hospital after the Roland incident and Brendan alternates between burying himself in his work – making sure the charges against Roland stick – cleaning the house like a man possessed and avoiding Freya like she has the plague.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sequel to I.O.U. - for raphe1, written for help_japan auction.
Emmett spends several days in the hospital after the Roland incident and Brendan alternates between burying himself in his work – making sure the charges against Roland stick – cleaning the house like a man possessed and avoiding Freya like she has the plague.
“Brendan,” Freya sighs and rolls her eyes when Brendan jumps. “You can’t keep avoiding me.”
“I’m not,” he lies. “Why would I be avoiding you?”
“Maybe because you’re scared what I might hear,” she waves a hand at Brendan’s head. His eyes widen and Freya is suddenly assaulted with Brendan mentally screaming the theme song to Scooby-Doo…again. “Stop that!” she snaps, rubbing her forehead. He’d gotten the damn song stuck in her head yesterday for two hours. “When does Emmett get out of the hospital?” she asks.
“Tomorrow,” Brendan says, switching to Yellow Submarine while he signs off on one of their cases, dumping the folder in his out box.
Freya grits her teeth and does not slap Brendan in the back of the head; no matter how much she really, really wants to – just once. Instead she folds herself into the chair by Brendan’s desk. “Have you told him yet?”
“That he’s getting out of the hospital?” Brendan asks, frowning.
Freya rolls her eyes. “Yes Brendan,” she says sarcastically, smirking when he flushes. “You do remember I was the one that found the two of you in Roland’s dingy little holding cell?”
Brendan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this?”
“I’m just wondering if you’re planning to collect on that I.O.U.?” she teases.
Brendan glares at her. “That was a joke, Freya.”
She quirks an eyebrow at him. “From the images Emmett had going through his head, I’m pretty sure he didn’t think it was a joke.”
Brendan buries his face in his hands. “I really, really don’t want to talk to you about this.”
Freya laughs. “So are you picking him up tomorrow?” Shoving his hands into his hair, Brendan nods. “Good,” she says with a wide grin.
Brendan presses his forehead to his desk. “I hate you.”
“All set?” Brendan asks when he walks into Emmett’s hospital room to see him already dressed, stuffing the few toiletries Brendan had brought in for him into a bag.
The bruises are starting to fade but Brendan can still see them, a faded mottled yellow and green marring Emmett’s face and peeking out from the collar of his shirt. There are stitches along a cut at his eyebrow and on his cheek and the way Emmett holds himself tells Brendan the cracked ribs are still bothering him. Brendan clenches his hand into a fist, nails digging into the palm of his hand. Emmett is fine. Roland is behind bars. Emmett is fine.
Emmett looks up, smiling crookedly. “I’ve been ready since six this morning.”
Brendan eyes widen. “What? The doctor told me late afternoon.”
Emmett laughs, pressing his bag into Brendan’s out stretched hand. “Just because the doctor said late afternoon doesn’t mean I haven’t been itching to get the hell out of this place since I woke up.” He winks, letting his fingers brush against Brendan’s before heading to the door. Brendan swallows. “You ready?”
“Did you clean?” Emmett asks with a raised eyebrow as he takes in the near sterile conditions of their shared house, turning to see Brendan fidgeting at the door.
“I might have tidied up a little,” he says with a shrug.
“A little?” Emmett says disbelieving. “Brendan, I can see my reflection in the floor.”
Brendan drops Emmett’s bag by the door. “Are you hungry or thirsty?” he asks, pointing toward the kitchen. “I could make some tea.”
Emmett frowns. “I don’t like tea. You don’t like tea. Do we even have tea?” He follows Brendan toward the kitchen.
“I went shopping,” Brendan shrugs.
“For things neither of us use?” Emmett asks. His eyes go to the fully stocked fridge Brendan has just opened and then to the cupboard nearly bursting with things he’s never seen either of them eat before.
“Coffee?” Brendan answers.
“Alright,” Emmett says slowly, sliding onto the bar stool and hissing as his injuries twinge.
“Are you alright?” Brendan asks, looking concerned and Emmett waves him away.
“Fine, just a little sore still,” he says.
“Did the doctor give you anything for the pain?”
Emmett nods. “Yeah, the hospital pharmacy filled the prescription for me. It’s in my bag, but I’m fine. I don’t want to take it until I really need it.”
Brendan heads back toward the door for Emmett’s bag. “You should take them, Emmett; there’s no need of you being in pain if you don’t have to be.”
Emmett huffs in exasperation when Brendan drops the bag in front of him to find the pills. “I’m just a little sore Bren,” he says quietly, placing the bag on the floor beside him. “Didn’t you mention coffee?” he asks, trying to distract the man looking at him like he’s about to break.
“Right,” Brendan nods and goes back to making the coffee.
Emmett sighs and closes his eyes, glad to be home. He opens his eyes when he hears Brendan put the coffee mug in front of him and grins in confusion when he sees a plate with sandwiches on it. “Where did this come from?”
“Figured you might want something to eat too; hospital food and all,” he says with a shrug.
“Thanks,” Emmett says quietly, smiling crookedly when Brendan flushes, and reaches for a sandwich.
Emmett lets Brendan fuss over him for an hour before he grabs Brendan’s wrist and forces him down onto the couch beside him. “Okay, look,” Emmett says, pausing as he releases Brendan’s wrist and fiddles with the blanket Brendan had draped over his legs. “I know I said some stuff when we were stuck in that room.” He looks up and meets Brendan’s panicked gaze. “If that’s not what you want, I mean, I wasn’t trying to guilt you into—“
“No!” Brendan shouts. He winces and looks embarrassed before heaving a sigh and slouching deeper into the couch beside Emmett. Letting his head fall back he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t sure if you—“ Brendan waved a hand in the air. “I didn’t want to rush things.”
Emmett lets out a breathless laugh, dropping his head to the back of the couch and turning to stare at Brendan’s profile. “I haven’t really thought about much else since,” he confides.
Brendan turns and meets his gaze steadily, his lips curling in a grin. “Yeah?”
Emmett slides his hand toward Brendan, curling his fingers around Brendan’s wrist again. “I believe there was a matter of an I.O.U.,” he says, waggling his eyebrows making Brendan laugh. He tugs on Brendan’s wrist, leaning forward as he does so, intent on kissing him. The hiss that escapes has Brendan reaching for him for all the wrong reasons.
“Okay,” Brendan says, all business now, “you need to take your pain medication.”
Emmett grimaces, wanting to argue but knowing there’s no point. “This sucks,” he grumbles.
Brendan cups Emmett’s cheek, running a thumb over his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he says with a pout that makes Emmett want to pounce, bruises be damned. “But we have time,” Brendan promises and pushes himself off the couch to go and get Emmett’s pills.
After the pills have kicked in, Emmett levers himself from the couch with Brendan’s help and pads toward the stairs. “You need a nice hot shower,” Brendan says, climbing the stairs behind Emmett to make sure he doesn’t fall. “The heat will help and then you can get some sleep.” Emmett nods and heads toward the bathroom. He looks exhausted. Brendan fidgets at the door. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
Emmett turns and offers a tired smirk that Brendan is sure was meant to be a leer. “Are you offering to scrub my back?”
Brendan snorts. “I’m offering to stay here and make sure you don’t slip and crack your head open in the shower.”
Emmett eyes their large shower with a sigh. “To be honest, I’m not sure I can manage.” He looks sheepish and Brendan wants to wrap his arms around him. Instead he grabs some towels from the closet and places them on the sink before detouring to both Emmett’s and his room to grab their robes.
“Okay,” Brendan says, shutting the door with them both inside the bathroom. “This isn’t exactly the way I’d planned us getting naked,” he teases.
Emmett’s eyes are wide. “What?”
Brendan steps closer. “Emmett, you’re dead on your feet. You need a shower or you’re going to be in even more pain tomorrow. Let me help you,” he says, curling a hand around Emmett’s bicep.
“Brendan,” he murmurs, leaning closer and Brendan meets him halfway. The kiss is slow and sweet, lips moving against each other until they finally pull back, pressing their foreheads together and breathing each other’s air.
“Come on,” Brendan says and reaches for the buttons on Emmett’s shirt, trying to control his body’s response to finally getting to undress the man. This is certainly not the time.
He takes it slow, jaw clenching as each new bruise is revealed. His hand curls possessively over the patchwork of injuries along Emmett’s ribs. “I wish I’d killed the bastard,” he mutters.
Emmett reaches up, tilts Brendan’s face to look him in the eye. “I’m glad you didn’t.” Brendan closes his eyes and leans in to Emmett’s touch.
They’ve soon shed their clothes and Brendan helps Emmett into the shower, adjusting the water temperature and keeping a steadying hand on Emmett’s shoulder as he stands under the spray. Emmett groans as the heat starts to loosen sore muscles and he leans more fully against Brendan, his forehead pressed to Brendan’s shoulder. Brendan shifts his stance, wrapping his arms around Emmett and stroking one hand along the planes of Emmett’s back, the other finding its way into Emmett’s hair. Emmett sighs against him and wraps his arms around Brendan, pulling him closer.
When Emmett raises his head to capture Brendan’s mouth, Brendan wants to protest. This isn’t what he’d planned. He wanted them to take their time, explore each other’s bodies; in a bed. But Emmett’s mouth is addicting and the kissing has a predicted result and soon both of them are hard, cocks sliding wetly against each other. “Brendan,” Emmett gasps, his hands clutching at Brendan’s shoulders as his hips snap forward.
Brendan shudders at the feeling of Emmett against him. “Fuck,” he mumbles into Emmett’s neck, nipping at the pale, wet skin under his mouth. Emmett gasps again, but this time it turns into another hiss of pain and Brendan pulls back quickly. “Emmett,” he rasps, swallowing hard, “we shouldn’t. You’re still hurt.”
Emmett’s pupils are blown wide as he looks up. “Don’t even think about it,” he says, his voice husky with desire and Brendan shivers at the wave of arousal it sends through him.
“Okay,” he says, “okay, just, just wait.” He takes an unsteady breath, stepping away from Emmett and holding up a finger to stop the protest he can see Emmett about to make. He aims the showerhead toward the wall, turning the heat to high for a few moments, letting his arousal settle into a delicious hum low in his belly before turning the water to a less scalding temperature. He moves Emmett toward the wall, pressing him back against it. “Stay there,” he whispers, grinning when Emmett just nods, eyes wide.
Brendan presses close, one arm braced on the wall by Emmett’s head as he takes both of their cocks in his free hand. They both hiss at the first stroke and Brendan trails his mouth along Emmett’s jaw to his ear. “That’s it, let me take care of you,” he murmurs, nipping Emmett’s earlobe before sealing their mouths together and swallowing Emmett’s moan as Brendan thumbs the head of his cock.
“Fuck, Brendan, oh god,” Emmett mutters against his mouth, his cheek, his neck. Emmett comes first, fingers gripping Brendan’s hips hard enough to bruise as he shudders his release between them.
“Jesus,” Brendan breathes, curling his hand in Emmett’s hair and pulling him into a heated kiss. It doesn’t take long for Brendan to follow him over, and soon his come is painting their skin alongside Emmett’s.
They stay propped against one another while they catch their breath and then Brendan pulls away, places a gentle kiss to Emmett’s mouth as his hands trail from Emmett’s shoulders to his hands. He tugs Emmett toward the door with a hoarse, “Come on.”
Brendan quickly towel dries their hair and wraps a towel around both their waists and then helps Emmett into his robe before slipping into his own. He leads Emmett to his bedroom and helps him into bed, the combination of pain medication and an orgasm making him compliant as Brendan manhandles him under the covers, towel, robe and all. “Sleep,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Emmett’s mouth.
“Stay,” Emmett mumbles, his fingers curling around Brendan’s wrist and tugging him closer.
“You sure?” Brendan asks.
Emmett’s eyes are slits of blue as he grins tiredly at Brendan, squeezing his wrist. “Get in the bed, Brendan,” he rasps. “I have plans.”
Brendan snorts, sliding under the duvet beside Emmett. “Plans huh?”
Emmett grins crookedly. “You’re going to love my plans,” he slurs.
Brendan bites his lips to keep from laughing. “You think so?” he asks, shifting closer.
“Hmmm,” Emmett hums sleepily, wrapping an arm around Brendan’s chest and sliding a thigh between Brendan’s legs. “I’m very flexible,” he mumbles, shifting his leg a little higher.
Brendan hisses, trying not thrust against Emmett’s thigh. “Right,” he mutters. He can wait. He clenches his eyes shut and lets out a shaky breath. Emmett shifts again, rubbing his thigh against Brendan’s interested cock. “Emmett,” Brendan groans. A soft snore is the only response he gets.
It’s going to be a long night.