[There's something familiar to the feeling. He's all instinct and no rationality now, he doesn't see it, he doesn't think it, but - he can feel it coursing through him, the sense of dread that crawls up his spine at that last moment before he can feel Mutt's wheels leave solid ground, engine roaring louder as Mike releases the pedals. That dread morphs into something, Chuck can't really pinpoint it most of the times, but when he's screamed his lungs out, so much so that his throat is raw and dry and he has to stop just so he can gasp for air, his blood isn't flowing to the right places and he loses sense of what's up and down, left and right anymore.
It tingles its way to his nerve endings. Except this time, he can feel his nerves connected almost directly into Mike's skin. He shakes, shivers, something unintelligible muffled loudly into the kiss as his muscles contract, hips still moving of their own accord and his hand clutching tighter around them.
Chuck doesn't stop moving, or touching, but he's not really there now. His brain's somewhere else, somewhere between the ground and the sky, the fall and the landing, Mike burning and grinding against him like an overheated engine, growling louder and driving him over the edge. Just like always.
(Were the moment different, and he would wonder if Mike grips the wheel in the same way he does Chuck.)]
[He drives them together over the edge once again but Chuck keeps fueling him further, with every nook and corner that darkens with Mike's own shadow, every ripple of his muscles under his fingers, every fold of rumpled clothing pressing and rubbing and aching against him, the low rumble of his voice on the strings of his neck and slipping into the back of his mouth. He feels he's not Chuck anymore, but a source of movement and energy that he cannot control, that would be foolish to even try. If he's driving them into a chasm of something they never knew, it's because Chuck had been holding tightly onto him after a claim of how it wouldn't make any sense if they weren't together when they did.
Because it's what they do. It's what they live for, it's what connects them, fuel and fire and rubber and gravel, holograms and fumes. And it's driving Mike crazy because he isn't sure who's making what sound, who's shivering and who's writhing, breaths and bodies in synch, words muffled and lost in translation against their skins and tongues but understood and replied.
He only wins some self-awareness when the heat and buzz coursing through his body stagnate, coil under his spine, making it tense, snapping his hips into an electrical storm that shuts down his brain, and there's only the liquid pleasure stretching too thin and breaking. The only thing he knows is that he stopped kissing Chuck because he suddenly needed air, then not so much - he doesn't realize he breathes his name into Chuck's cheek, spilling incoherence that dies in half within his own respiration [most things, feelings, thoughts or their lack, he didn't know, so it strikes him at the back of his mind, where it's not intoxicated by their scent and sounds, like a well-aimed punch to his gut, to reach and take a good grip of their existence before he lets go] as he spills into both their hands.
(He does. He holds on like this when he needs to grip onto what he cares about. Onto what he needs to justify his very own substance.) ]
[Crash and burn. And that's pretty much how it feels to Chuck right now - heat waves wash through him, lashing out through every hot exhale against Mike's skin. His clothes burn as if they were on fire, and he can feel every hem and crease with added pressure, shifting and tearing at his skin like a saw.
He only stops moving when he's sure the both of them landed, safely, and crawled away from the wreck unscathed. He doesn't let go, though, or pull away. He doesn't even dare open his eyes, his other hand moving only to rest over Mike's hipbone, fingers lightly playing across the skin. His breath comes in short, uneven rasps, Mike's breath tickling across his cheek and making him giggle just a bit into his sighs.]
... wow. [And wow really, because he wasn't planning on saying that out loud. It surprises him how hoarse and spent his own voice sounds too, and he swallows dry and clears his throat. It's kinda dumb and pointless now, he knows, but he can't help it as he feels a hint of a blush spread across his face. He honestly hopes this doesn't mean he just screamed a lot - he really can't remember, so hoping is all that's left.]
[He's breathing deeply, but slowly so, evenly as he climbs down from the ride, pretty sure his feet would shake and give way if he were standing up. He nuzzles Chuck's face slowly as he nods in agreement, clearing the knot in his throat before rasping back a "yeah".
If Mike had been feeling lazy when he woke up, right now he was feeling languid, the constant weight on his shoulders gone from sight, away from them both. He opens his eyes, wide and alert, and finds himself taking in the sight of him for what seems the first time.
In the darkness and the haze, the flush surrounding the dark dust of Chuck's freckles makes them look like ground coffee, he almost doesn't realize he's doing it until he sees the hand that had been cupping the back of his neck reach around to try to swipe them from his cheek with his thumb. He smiles when they don't.
And Chuck looks relaxed, as relaxed as he's never seen him: shoulders slumped but not hunched over himself, uncovered eyes closed without wrinkling his lids and the skin around them, nothing between his brows, breaths even and full under his hand as it slides down his neck and places it between his collarbones. Something swells inside his own chest, even if he doesn't know what it is; he just wants him to cause that look on him more often.
[It's mostly instinct, the way he leans into Mike's touch, uttering a small contented noise as he does so. The swiping across his cheek leads him to open his eyes, just squinting at first, but eventually eyelids rising farther up as his sight focuses on his friend.
He's surprised and curious as he looks over Mike's face. They've certainly been this close before - probably even closer, all those times he clings desperately to Mike's shoulders, chin locked over Mike's neck as they both hang off a cliff, or even when they're just trying to choose what pizza to order out of the same menu. He can't imagine why he never noticed the wrinkles at the corner of Mike's eyes, or the almost microscopic scar, probably from a cut or a hit, at the edge of his upper lip. He can tell, as he swallows it down, the knot in his throat shifting to settle on his chest and stomach; somehow now it feels even worse because he's pretty sure that, if he breathes too deep or for long enough, it might just actually hurt.
His own hand finally lets go, though much to his discomfort, especially considering that, since it's covered in their own cum, he can't really rest it over Mike's stomach or move it up to cup his face either.]
Thanks. [Smooth, really. He's pretty sure that's not the right thing to say right now, and he immediately regrets it. Too bad that once they're out, Chuck can't really shove the words back in his mouth and swallow them whole. He bites his lip and looks away, staring at the wall just behind Mike.] Uh, I mean... that... didn't come out right. That's not what I meant.
I know. [And he does. He always does. The hand resting at the collarbone moves just enough to wrap around the gap between Chuck's neck and shoulder, reassuringly. He feels exhausted and spent, but he knows it is important for both of them to know where they're standing, especially since Mike was the one to make the first offer. More than knowing what Chuck means, he understands. He'd understand whichever path Chuck would feel more inclined to follow from then on.
He gives it a light squeeze.] You know I'm here for you... for whatever. Really.
[Chuck likes the silence that follows. It's comfortable, and it gives him time to assimilate the words, soaking over his skin and absorbed through his pores. He doesn't know what he wants from this, from Mike. Or maybe he does, but he's not sure he quite understands the full extent of it, and he's not sure if he should be so bold, act so selfish, especially when he's not even sure what he wants from himself, let alone someone else.
It's nice to know, though, and he also knows Mike will be there waiting. (For now, at least. And if he's too late, if at some point Mike decides he will no longer wait, then he figures that will be alright too.)
He smiles and nods, looking up at Mike again.] Yeah, I... I know.
[Mike smiles again, nodding back. They're both pretty clueless of where their feet will land on next, if it'll take them into yet another roller-coaster or steady ground, but they'll make it through, somehow, plan or no plan. They've always been good at improvising, particularly when they work together.
He looks a little lower sheepishly, but his gaze stops in the way to where it was supposed to land. He had wanted to look at his hand, and only ended up looking at the small curve of Chuck's smile. It's crooked, and makes his smile widen just a little, tuck his lower lip under his teeth.
Still, he admits it:] I didn't think you'd... [He pauses, searching for the right word] return it [and failing miserably], though.
[Chuck was not expecting Mike to point that out. In fact, he hadn't even thought about it that way when he did it. It was just an impulse he followed through, all guts and no logic, but now that it dawns on him through Mike's words, it doesn't fall short of embarrassing the living daylights out of him. Even if Mike says it was a nice surprise. Even if Mike had said it was the single greatest thing Chuck ever did in his life.]
Oh, I... [He lets out a strangled laugh, except it comes out more like a high-pitched whine, and he decidedly looks away from Mike again.] That was... uhm. I guess that was me kind of improvising, and I just... got carried away.
Chuck. [Mike shakes his head, hand sliding back up underneath his jaw.
[Only very later he will realize that he just really couldn't stop touching him, feel the skin underneath the pads of his fingers even when his head is clear and he isn't drunk on sensation. His mind immediately compared it to the metallic surface of their car, that it wasn't cool and smooth but warm and soft, save for a few nervous patches of their own youth, and he would actually never really question why he'd been so quickly to compare two things that only seem tenuously connected.]
He should've known he'd embarrass him so deeply with this, but he had to say it. He doesn't want him to justify it, no matter the reason Chuck probably had - or lacked.] I know--You saw me: I'm definitely not complaining.
[His eyes widen at a sudden realization, but he takes it in stride, shoulders slumping. "I don't think I'd ever complain." But that's something for later.] What I mean is: you don't have to explain it to me, just this was good. This is good.
[Chuck breathes in sharply, almost forced to lock sights with Mike when he speaks. Obviously, it causes him to turn a deeper shade of pink, and obviously, it pulls that insistent knot up to rest again on his throat. He thinks he knows what it is now, the way it keeps on pulsing rapidly behind his teeth and against his brain - it can only be his own heart threatening to jump right out of his mouth.
He shakes his head awkwardly, moving his hand from Mike's hip to close around his wrist.] No! No, I wasn't trying to explain it, Mikey, I was here so I know it was good. It was... [He takes a break, bites his lip, forcing any embarrassment down with a small smile.] ...very good.
[His thumb strokes the inside of Mike's wrist absentmindedly, and he shrugs.] I was just saying.
[The stroke of Chuck's thumb on his wrist makes him stop, and suddenly Mike feels a little silly. He grins, laughs a little, at himself, at the situation and how they are handling it, and how Chuck seems alright with it, too.
He tugs Chuck close, wrapping his arms - hand that's a mess away from his body but the rest of his arm pushing him towards him - around him, and nuzzling his ear. If it tickles, it tickles. It was tickling that got them here in the first place. He sighs through a smile, content.]
[It does tickle, and Chuck giggles and squirms, but lets himself get pulled closer. He even moves to also wrap his arm around Mike's waist. He sighs against his neck, but he won't give in to the feeling of warmth and comfort. Not when he can still feel his dirty hand resting awkwardly between them, upper arm locked under his own weight.
Even if the idea of lying here, forgetting whatever's happening outside of that door, or outside of those covers for that matter, just feeling Mike's chest heave with every breath, or assimilate every single smell and noise he makes, sounds like the best plan of action right now.
He tugs at the back of Mike's shirt, whining a little and trying to pull away.] You do know we really gotta get up now, right?
[He sighs and closes his eyes for a second, knowing this well and humming in acknowledgment. He also doesn't feel like it, but they'd have to do it sooner or later, he reasons with a tilt of his head.] We gotta at least take a shower.
[He pulls back just enough to look at Chuck in the eye, but not letting go of him just yet.] You go first. [Chuck can use the rest of the warm water. Mike could use a cold shower, actually. Otherwise he'd want to spend the rest of the day in bed.]
[Chuck suspects Mike just doesn't want to be the first to leave the warmth of the bed. For all his recklessness, endless energy and almost childish impatience, no one would guess Mike can be really hard to pull out of bed most mornings. Still, he's not about to complain. If he goes first then there's a lesser chance his water will get cold halfway through his shower.
He rolls his eyes a bit and pecks Mike's nose before answering.] If you insist...
[He pulls up his underwear - it had gotten a little misplaced in the process -, and reluctantly so, pries himself away from Mike. The cold air is painfully unwelcoming when he climbs out of bed, and he would complain about it if, with a couple of steps, he wasn't stepping on a particularly sharp piece of scrap. He hisses in pain, bites back a curse (because he knows Mike doesn't appreciate those), and looks back at the guy on the bed with a frown.]
Seriously Mikey, how many times do I gotta tell you to stop leaving junk on the floor? [Spoken like the room is just as his, but whatever. With a bit of a limp, he walks out of the room and heads down to the bathroom.]
[The peck gets him. It gets him and he grins and looks down, like a kid who just got his hair mussed. He watches the way Chuck eases out of the bed, how he hesitates for a moment at the first spark of cold air, and he stifles the urge to pull him back again, where it's warm and safe and fun and comfortable. He shakes his head to ease that from his mind and fingers, knowing that there'll be a time and a place for that.
... he hopes.
He's about to stretch like a lazy dog who can't get a decent dose of a shut-eye when he hears the yelp, eyes wide and body ready to bolt at the worst. He smiles, a little relieved, nodding in that "yeah, yeah, I know" manner.] My bad. You alright, Chuckles?
I'm fine![He replies from down the corridor, then adds, more to himself than anything else.] Could'a lost a foot, though...
[He goes into his own room and grabs a change of clothes before getting into the bathroom. He's hoping the hot water will compensate for the warmth he left behind, even when all the while he can still feel Mike's hands where they were resting, like he's still there.]
[With Chuck out of the room, he suddenly feels everything is too quiet. Without his breath to fill his ears, or the little hums he lets out once in a while with a sigh, the absent tapping of his fingers on everything he could touch - even his own thigh - he thinks he hears emptiness.
Even the room smells different, he figures as he looks to the ceiling, arms spread out. He's under the blanket, still, but he feels a little cold. It irks him, makes him restless. He curls onto his side and he catches a whiff of the same shampoo they use on the pillowcase, except mingled with Chuck's own scent.
[It's sticking to him like the image in the back of his eyelids of said hair spread over it, Chuck's mouth parting as he rubs his temple on the pillow.]
He turns again, goes back to watching the ceiling, eyes wide, thoughts and heart getting into a sure third gear.
The click of Chuck's door shuts the whole engine off, though. He hears the padding towards the bathroom - the limp is slowly leaving, thankfully - and hears the customary creak from the bathroom door as it opens. He sighs, shakes his head. It's no use thinking too much about it. He was just resting idle and without Chuck around he had nothing to pay attention to but his own mind, and the burn marks resting underneath his skin.
He pries himself off the bed, rolling his shoulders at the cold and the sudden position. Takes off his boxers and wipes his hand with them, at least to get an older but clean pair to make the trip to the bathroom. After that he looks down at his shirt. It was hanging off loosely, the collar showing a bit more of his shoulder than it used to.
He shrugs and leaves it on, clears up the floor of his room a little while he waits for Chuck to shower for a bit - he can tell when he's about to finish, anyway.]
[Chuck wills himself not to think about it either. It's a good thing he's used to thinking about everything and anything, and quickly he can replace thoughts of Mike's calluses running across his skin, and memories of his name being whispered and breathed in gasps against his own cheek - he focuses on other things.
He thinks of the cars' safety systems. He plays the various noises Mutt makes when Mike switches gears, and he replays the feeling when the wheels hit a bump. In his mind he pulls up the holograms and works on the endless programming, hiding all other thoughts behind lines of numbers, letters, barely intelligible symbols. It's much easier like that, and before he knows it he's finished and climbing out of the shower, grabbing his towel to dry himself.
He stares at the rack. Mike's towel is right there. He has to fight the urge to lean closer and take a sniff, maybe even bury his face into it a little. (He manages not to do it; mostly because he knows Mike would be able to tell later.)
He swats the thoughts away and quickly moves to put on his clothes and fix his hair. Not that he needs to do much, it always falls in the same way, even when Chuck doesn't comb it.]
[And he's making his way to the bathroom, hearing the piping soothe down from the rush of the water after it's closed. He rasps his knuckles on the door, opening it without waiting for an answer - normally he would, but Mike and Chuck have shared the bathroom, the room, the food, the car [everything now], plenty of times, and he figures it's not any different.
[And it's not any different really - Chuck jumps a little in surprise, but it's more out of habit than anything. He's happy to notice that, even when everything changes, it all still remains the same.
He nods as he moves to grab his toothbrush.] Yeah, come in.
Thanks. [He's already inside as Chuck tells him to come in, tugging at his shirt with one arm and reaching for the water knob with the other, stopping when his stretched arm makes it only able to slip out of his back and head, and then finally taking it off fully - dropping it on the floor, uops, he'll pick it up, Chuck, don't worry - to test the water with his hand.] How's the water when you had yours?
It was-- [He looks up from the sink to answer Mike and gets treated to a reflection of Mike's back. Okay, so maybe he should have been expected that, but still it came as a surprise. He nearly chokes on the toothpaste, and leans back down to both spit it out and break eye contact.] ... hot.
[Chuck just shoots a thumbs-up, making it a point to not lift his gaze until Mike is actually inside the shower and out of view.] I'm cool, no worries!!
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It tingles its way to his nerve endings. Except this time, he can feel his nerves connected almost directly into Mike's skin. He shakes, shivers, something unintelligible muffled loudly into the kiss as his muscles contract, hips still moving of their own accord and his hand clutching tighter around them.
Chuck doesn't stop moving, or touching, but he's not really there now. His brain's somewhere else, somewhere between the ground and the sky, the fall and the landing, Mike burning and grinding against him like an overheated engine, growling louder and driving him over the edge. Just like always.
(Were the moment different, and he would wonder if Mike grips the wheel in the same way he does Chuck.)]
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Because it's what they do. It's what they live for, it's what connects them, fuel and fire and rubber and gravel, holograms and fumes. And it's driving Mike crazy because he isn't sure who's making what sound, who's shivering and who's writhing, breaths and bodies in synch, words muffled and lost in translation against their skins and tongues but understood and replied.
He only wins some self-awareness when the heat and buzz coursing through his body stagnate, coil under his spine, making it tense, snapping his hips into an electrical storm that shuts down his brain, and there's only the liquid pleasure stretching too thin and breaking. The only thing he knows is that he stopped kissing Chuck because he suddenly needed air, then not so much - he doesn't realize he breathes his name into Chuck's cheek, spilling incoherence that dies in half within his own respiration [most things, feelings, thoughts or their lack, he didn't know, so it strikes him at the back of his mind, where it's not intoxicated by their scent and sounds, like a well-aimed punch to his gut, to reach and take a good grip of their existence before he lets go] as he spills into both their hands.
(He does. He holds on like this when he needs to grip onto what he cares about. Onto what he needs to justify his very own substance.) ]
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He only stops moving when he's sure the both of them landed, safely, and crawled away from the wreck unscathed. He doesn't let go, though, or pull away. He doesn't even dare open his eyes, his other hand moving only to rest over Mike's hipbone, fingers lightly playing across the skin. His breath comes in short, uneven rasps, Mike's breath tickling across his cheek and making him giggle just a bit into his sighs.]
... wow. [And wow really, because he wasn't planning on saying that out loud. It surprises him how hoarse and spent his own voice sounds too, and he swallows dry and clears his throat. It's kinda dumb and pointless now, he knows, but he can't help it as he feels a hint of a blush spread across his face. He honestly hopes this doesn't mean he just screamed a lot - he really can't remember, so hoping is all that's left.]
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If Mike had been feeling lazy when he woke up, right now he was feeling languid, the constant weight on his shoulders gone from sight, away from them both. He opens his eyes, wide and alert, and finds himself taking in the sight of him for what seems the first time.
In the darkness and the haze, the flush surrounding the dark dust of Chuck's freckles makes them look like ground coffee, he almost doesn't realize he's doing it until he sees the hand that had been cupping the back of his neck reach around to try to swipe them from his cheek with his thumb. He smiles when they don't.
And Chuck looks relaxed, as relaxed as he's never seen him: shoulders slumped but not hunched over himself, uncovered eyes closed without wrinkling his lids and the skin around them, nothing between his brows, breaths even and full under his hand as it slides down his neck and places it between his collarbones. Something swells inside his own chest, even if he doesn't know what it is; he just wants him to cause that look on him more often.
He repeats.] Yeah...
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He's surprised and curious as he looks over Mike's face. They've certainly been this close before - probably even closer, all those times he clings desperately to Mike's shoulders, chin locked over Mike's neck as they both hang off a cliff, or even when they're just trying to choose what pizza to order out of the same menu. He can't imagine why he never noticed the wrinkles at the corner of Mike's eyes, or the almost microscopic scar, probably from a cut or a hit, at the edge of his upper lip. He can tell, as he swallows it down, the knot in his throat shifting to settle on his chest and stomach; somehow now it feels even worse because he's pretty sure that, if he breathes too deep or for long enough, it might just actually hurt.
His own hand finally lets go, though much to his discomfort, especially considering that, since it's covered in their own cum, he can't really rest it over Mike's stomach or move it up to cup his face either.]
Thanks. [Smooth, really. He's pretty sure that's not the right thing to say right now, and he immediately regrets it. Too bad that once they're out, Chuck can't really shove the words back in his mouth and swallow them whole. He bites his lip and looks away, staring at the wall just behind Mike.] Uh, I mean... that... didn't come out right. That's not what I meant.
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He gives it a light squeeze.] You know I'm here for you... for whatever. Really.
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It's nice to know, though, and he also knows Mike will be there waiting. (For now, at least. And if he's too late, if at some point Mike decides he will no longer wait, then he figures that will be alright too.)
He smiles and nods, looking up at Mike again.] Yeah, I... I know.
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He looks a little lower sheepishly, but his gaze stops in the way to where it was supposed to land. He had wanted to look at his hand, and only ended up looking at the small curve of Chuck's smile. It's crooked, and makes his smile widen just a little, tuck his lower lip under his teeth.
Still, he admits it:] I didn't think you'd... [He pauses, searching for the right word] return it [and failing miserably], though.
That was a nice surprise...
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Oh, I... [He lets out a strangled laugh, except it comes out more like a high-pitched whine, and he decidedly looks away from Mike again.] That was... uhm. I guess that was me kind of improvising, and I just... got carried away.
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[Only very later he will realize that he just really couldn't stop touching him, feel the skin underneath the pads of his fingers even when his head is clear and he isn't drunk on sensation. His mind immediately compared it to the metallic surface of their car, that it wasn't cool and smooth but warm and soft, save for a few nervous patches of their own youth, and he would actually never really question why he'd been so quickly to compare two things that only seem tenuously connected.]
He should've known he'd embarrass him so deeply with this, but he had to say it. He doesn't want him to justify it, no matter the reason Chuck probably had - or lacked.] I know--You saw me: I'm definitely not complaining.
[His eyes widen at a sudden realization, but he takes it in stride, shoulders slumping. "I don't think I'd ever complain." But that's something for later.] What I mean is: you don't have to explain it to me, just this was good. This is good.
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He shakes his head awkwardly, moving his hand from Mike's hip to close around his wrist.] No! No, I wasn't trying to explain it, Mikey, I was here so I know it was good. It was... [He takes a break, bites his lip, forcing any embarrassment down with a small smile.] ...very good.
[His thumb strokes the inside of Mike's wrist absentmindedly, and he shrugs.] I was just saying.
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He tugs Chuck close, wrapping his arms - hand that's a mess away from his body but the rest of his arm pushing him towards him - around him, and nuzzling his ear. If it tickles, it tickles. It was tickling that got them here in the first place. He sighs through a smile, content.]
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Even if the idea of lying here, forgetting whatever's happening outside of that door, or outside of those covers for that matter, just feeling Mike's chest heave with every breath, or assimilate every single smell and noise he makes, sounds like the best plan of action right now.
He tugs at the back of Mike's shirt, whining a little and trying to pull away.] You do know we really gotta get up now, right?
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[He pulls back just enough to look at Chuck in the eye, but not letting go of him just yet.] You go first. [Chuck can use the rest of the warm water. Mike could use a cold shower, actually. Otherwise he'd want to spend the rest of the day in bed.]
/slowly fishes mind out of the gutter....
He rolls his eyes a bit and pecks Mike's nose before answering.] If you insist...
[He pulls up his underwear - it had gotten a little misplaced in the process -, and reluctantly so, pries himself away from Mike. The cold air is painfully unwelcoming when he climbs out of bed, and he would complain about it if, with a couple of steps, he wasn't stepping on a particularly sharp piece of scrap. He hisses in pain, bites back a curse (because he knows Mike doesn't appreciate those), and looks back at the guy on the bed with a frown.]
Seriously Mikey, how many times do I gotta tell you to stop leaving junk on the floor? [Spoken like the room is just as his, but whatever. With a bit of a limp, he walks out of the room and heads down to the bathroom.]
which one
... he hopes.
He's about to stretch like a lazy dog who can't get a decent dose of a shut-eye when he hears the yelp, eyes wide and body ready to bolt at the worst. He smiles, a little relieved, nodding in that "yeah, yeah, I know" manner.] My bad. You alright, Chuckles?
I don't even know anymore
[He goes into his own room and grabs a change of clothes before getting into the bathroom. He's hoping the hot water will compensate for the warmth he left behind, even when all the while he can still feel Mike's hands where they were resting, like he's still there.]
lmaksdlkas oh you <3
Even the room smells different, he figures as he looks to the ceiling, arms spread out. He's under the blanket, still, but he feels a little cold. It irks him, makes him restless. He curls onto his side and he catches a whiff of the same shampoo they use on the pillowcase, except mingled with Chuck's own scent.
[It's sticking to him like the image in the back of his eyelids of said hair spread over it, Chuck's mouth parting as he rubs his temple on the pillow.]
He turns again, goes back to watching the ceiling, eyes wide, thoughts and heart getting into a sure third gear.
The click of Chuck's door shuts the whole engine off, though. He hears the padding towards the bathroom - the limp is slowly leaving, thankfully - and hears the customary creak from the bathroom door as it opens. He sighs, shakes his head. It's no use thinking too much about it. He was just resting idle and without Chuck around he had nothing to pay attention to but his own mind, and the burn marks resting underneath his skin.
He pries himself off the bed, rolling his shoulders at the cold and the sudden position. Takes off his boxers and wipes his hand with them, at least to get an older but clean pair to make the trip to the bathroom. After that he looks down at his shirt. It was hanging off loosely, the collar showing a bit more of his shoulder than it used to.
He shrugs and leaves it on, clears up the floor of his room a little while he waits for Chuck to shower for a bit - he can tell when he's about to finish, anyway.]
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He thinks of the cars' safety systems. He plays the various noises Mutt makes when Mike switches gears, and he replays the feeling when the wheels hit a bump. In his mind he pulls up the holograms and works on the endless programming, hiding all other thoughts behind lines of numbers, letters, barely intelligible symbols. It's much easier like that, and before he knows it he's finished and climbing out of the shower, grabbing his towel to dry himself.
He stares at the rack. Mike's towel is right there. He has to fight the urge to lean closer and take a sniff, maybe even bury his face into it a little. (He manages not to do it; mostly because he knows Mike would be able to tell later.)
He swats the thoughts away and quickly moves to put on his clothes and fix his hair. Not that he needs to do much, it always falls in the same way, even when Chuck doesn't comb it.]
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He peeks his head in, grinning.] You decent?
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He nods as he moves to grab his toothbrush.] Yeah, come in.
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... it was hot.
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heheheheheheheheheheheheh
goddamnit.
HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEH
GO TO YOUR ROOM
NNNNO
BAD PUPPY
WROOF
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I'm laughing like a lunatic
yes perfect
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I literally just squeaked
Pretty sure it didn't sound worse than me when I read that tag
I wouldn't be so sure
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