Page 40 of Speak in Fever
Rath's phone, charging on the nightstand beside Percy's, lights up with the time: 7:23 AM. They have team breakfast at nine, which means they should probably start thinking about getting up, getting ready, transitioning back into their professionalroles. But the bed is warm and comfortable, Percy's presence is soothing in a way that makes Rath want to stay exactly where he is.
For a few more minutes, he can pretend this is normal, that waking up in Percy's arms is something that happens regularly rather than a one-time accident of shared accommodations. He can pretend that the way Percy holds him means something beyond unconscious comfort-seeking, that the intimacy between them is building toward something real rather than just confusing both of them.
Percy shifts again, and this time Rath feels him starting to wake up—the change in breathing pattern, the slight tension that creeps into his muscles as consciousness returns. Rath's pulse spikes with anticipation and anxiety. How will Percy react to finding them like this? Will he be embarrassed? Apologetic? Will he pull away immediately and pretend it hasn't happened?
"Mmm," Percy mumbles against Rath's neck, the sound vibrating through Rath's skin and making him shiver. Percy's arm tightens around him briefly, an unconscious gesture of comfort and possession that makes Rath's heart race.
Then Percy seems to become aware of their position, because his body goes very still behind Rath. The easy relaxation of sleep is replaced by careful tension, like Percy is trying to figure out how to extract himself without making the situation more awkward than it already is.
But he doesn't pull away immediately. Instead, Rath feels Percy's breathing change, feels him become fully awake and aware of exactly how they are tangled together. Percy's hand remains between Rath's thighs, his face stays pressed into Rath's neck, and for several heartbeats they lie there in the gray morning light, both awake but neither willing to be the first to acknowledge what is happening.
Rath can feel Percy's pulse against his back, can feel the moment when Percy's breathing shifts from the deep rhythm of sleep to something more conscious, more controlled. There is a tension in Percy's body now that suggests he is fighting some internal battle, torn between the intimacy of the moment and the professional boundaries they are supposed to maintain.
"Rath," Percy says quietly, his voice rough with sleep and something else that makes Rath's stomach flip with anticipation and nervousness.
"Yeah," Rath manages, his own voice barely more than a whisper. He is afraid to say anything else, afraid that words will break whatever spell is keeping Percy close to him.
Percy's thumb moves against Rath's inner thigh, just the slightest pressure, and Rath can't tell if it is intentional or unconscious. The touch sends heat racing through his body, making him aware of every point where they are connected, every place where Percy's skin touches his own.
"We should..." Percy starts, but the sentence trails off, unfinished. Rath can hear the conflict in his voice, the war between what they should do and what they both seem to want.
"Should what?" Rath asks, though he is pretty sure he knows what Percy is going to say. They should get up, should separate, should pretend this hasn't happened and go back to being captain and player, professionals who definitely don't sleep wrapped around each other like lovers.
Instead of answering immediately, Percy is quiet for a long moment, his breath warm against Rath's neck. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet Rath almost misses it.
"How did you sleep?"
The question is innocuous enough, the kind of polite morning inquiry that roommates make to each other. But something in Percy's tone suggests it means more than that, like he is reallyasking if Rath has been comfortable, if this arrangement has worked for him, if he minds waking up in Percy's arms.
"Good," Rath says honestly. "Really good."
And that is the truth. Despite all the anxiety and uncertainty about sharing a bed with Percy, Rath has slept better than he has in weeks. The warmth and security of Percy's presence has quieted the restless energy that usually keeps him tossing and turning, has provided the kind of deep, restful sleep that leaves him feeling actually refreshed instead of groggy and tired.
Percy makes a small sound of agreement, something satisfied and pleased, and his arm tightens around Rath again, like he is reluctant to let go of this peaceful moment. "Good," he says, and there is satisfaction in his voice that makes Rath wonder if Percy has been worried about how Rath would handle the sleeping arrangements.
"Did you sleep okay?" Rath asks, suddenly concerned that maybe Percy has been uncomfortable, that maybe Rath has been the one to initiate the cuddling and Percy has just been too polite to extract himself.
"Best I've slept in months," Percy admits, and there is something vulnerable in the confession that makes Rath's chest warm with unexpected tenderness.
They should get up. They should disentangle themselves and return to their respective sides of the bed, should start the process of getting ready for team breakfast and the day's preparation for tonight's game. But neither of them moves, both seemingly content to exist in this quiet bubble of intimacy for just a little longer.
Rath can feel Percy's body relaxing again, the tension seeping out of his muscles as if he's made some internal decision to stop fighting this moment. Percy's face presses deeper into the curve of Rath's neck, and Rath feels the soft brush of his lips against skin that is usually hidden by jersey collars and equipment.
"Percy," Rath whispers, not sure if it is a question or a plea.
Percy's hand shifts against Rath's thigh, and this time the movement is definitely deliberate, fingers pressing more firmly against his skin through the thin fabric of his sleep shorts. The touch sends heat racing through Rath's body, pooling low in his belly.
"Is this okay?" Percy asks.
Rath can barely breathe, let alone speak, but he manages to nod. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, it's okay."
Percy's thumb traces a small circle against Rath's inner thigh, and Rath has to bite back a gasp at the spike of sensation. It is such a simple touch, barely more than a caress, but it’s the most intimate thing that has ever happened to him.
Percy’s hand untangles from his own and slides upwards. He knows he’s holding his breath, but he can’t help it. He’s terrified of Percy finding out how hard he is just from being next to him, just from feeling Percy’s cock pressed against his ass through their thin shorts.
But Percy’s hand is gentle, just feeling. Rath can’t help but to gasp as Percy cups him through his shorts, and he has to dig blunt nails into his own palm to keep from rocking up into the friction. He can feel how tense he’s gone in Percy’s grasp, like he’s waiting for him to tear him apart, and he can’t fucking breathe.
Percy nuzzles into his neck again and breathes out, voice ragged, “Fuck, Rath.”
