Page 24 of Mystic Wonderful

Tris’s voice was rough in a whole new way, low, and deep, and ragged with unchecked emotion. “You almost died.” His throat moved as he swallowed with an audible click. “I thought you were going to die before I got the chance to tell you.”

“Tell…tell me what?”

“That you’re beautiful,” Tris said, and kissed him.

He was dreaming, Francis decided. The warm water, the exertion of getting to the bathroom, the mind-numbing shock of having Tris being so gentle with him – he’d succumbed to sleep, and this was a dream, another fantasy. Because Tris might feel guilt and pity, but he didn’t think Francis was beautiful, and definitely didn’t want to kiss him. How often had he imagined this, after all?

Only, in his imaginings, there had always been a bed, and clothes to pull hungrily off one another. He’d never had a dull throbbing in a bandaged stump of an arm; never been dizzy and weak, and dripping with water while Tris knelt on the floor of a shower. And, to be honest, he’d never expected a man like Tris to saybeautiful.Hot, maybe. He’d imagined growling, and grunting, and muttered curses, hands rough with hunger.

But not this: the fingertips against his skin, carefully angling his head; the press of damp lips to his own; the shuddering of an unsteady breath that wasn’t his own.

Because…because this was real. Tris was kissing him. Was pressing in closer, deeper when Francis let his jaw soften with shock. A soft kiss, a sweet one. Over too soon.

Francis trembled when Tris drew back a fraction, expression questioning – and so earnest, so pained, sorry, and warm, and worried, and…and…caring.

“I knew,” Tris said, haltingly, “that if I wasn’t careful, that if I didn’t keep you back – I knew it would kill me, if I let you in, and then you…” His gaze dropped to Francis’s mouth, thumb shifting up to skim along the edge of his lower lip. “Nobody gets to have what they want. Not in this world; not in this line of work.”

Francis swallowed, throat aching. “Not even for a little while?”

Tris’s gaze returned.

“Isn’t a little while better than never?” He tried to smile.

“Fuck,” Tris breathed. “Yeah. Yeah – I’m sorry.” He swooped back in to kiss him again.

Francis was ready this time, his mouth parting right away for the immediate, hot thrust of Tris’s tongue. It was aggressive, desperate, messy and uncoordinated.

With an inward smile, Francis realized that Tris didn’t kiss like someone who’d done it very often. But it was glorious, anyway. He wrapped his arm around strong shoulders and held on, let himself fall forward into the hot press of lips, and teeth, and tongue –

Except, wait, he really was falling, the shower titling crazily around him.

Tris pulled back right away, and caught him by the shoulders. “Whoa.” Eased him back upright.

“Water’s a little hot, I think,” Francis said, weakly. Nausea rolled in his belly. “Don’t feel so great.”

“You overdid it,” Tris said, back to his usual sour self – though his hands still telegraphed great feeling as he helped Francis slump back against the wall. As he turned off the water, and fetched a towel, and dried him off.

Francis drifted, a little, but underneath the fatigue and vague sickness, he felt warm, and cared for, went along as Tris helped him into a fresh gown and back into bed.

“Thank you,” he murmured, sleep already pulling at him.

Before his eyes slipped shut, he saw Tris smile at him, an expression so tender and unguarded Francis felt his heart actually skip a beat.

Tris leaned in to kiss his forehead, lingering there a moment, breathing. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he was.

vi.

Francis spent another week in the hospital wing, getting stronger every day – strong enough to take a shower by himself, which, while a victory, was far less enjoyable than showing with Tris’s steady touch keeping him grounded, reaching all the places he’d never anticipated struggling to get to. They kissed, a lot, enough that Francis grew sure that Tris had rarely kissed anyone in his life, and Tris was always stroking his face, or throat, or arm, petting his hair; he was shockingly tactile, and couldn’t seem to touch him enough. But nothing ever drifted into more passionate territory.

That was okay, Francis resolved. They had time, now, and honesty between them.

The others started insisting that Tris take care of himself, too, though. Forcing him out of the room so he could lie down in an actual bed, or shave, or eat a decent meal at the mess.

“Dude,” Gavin said one day while he and Rose were visiting, Gavin in Tris’s usual chair and Rose perched on the foot of the bed. “Why didn’t you just tell me you preferred guys?” There’d been no disguising what Tris’s attentiveness meant, though Rose still got this doubtful, worried look on her face, like she wasn’t sure of Tris’s intentions. But she hadn’t been there, that day in the shower, hadn’t seen the naked heartbreak and longing on his face.

Francis rolled his eyes. “Because you would have still dragged me to a brothel, but you would have sent me a Donny instead of a Dolly, and I didn’t want that.”

---