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There's a delightful double-date vibe that pops up when Tina is in town. Farah's apartment is down the hall from Todd and Dirk's, but they share most of their waking hours, so the four of them end up spending a lot of time in one living room or another. They chase clues, watch movies, go out drinking, order pizzas, and end up sprawled in a pile on the couch more nights than not. (Dirk, Todd, and Tina do, at least. Farah sits on the back of the couch, one knee pressed against Tina's shoulder.)

It means that their laundry gets pretty mixed up, so each apartment has a catch-all pile for stuff that doesn't belong to the people who actually live there (Tina doesn't live in Seattle, but she's in town at least once a month anyway). Someone is always borrowing Tina's leggings or Dirk's shorts; Todd not-so-secretly loves to see Dirk in his sweatpants, and Farah gets dopey when Tina's swamped in one of her sweaters.

It also means that laundry day becomes somewhat communal.

"Did you remember the detergent?" Tina asks, distractedly chewing on one of her braids. She's got a big basket of clothes propped on one of her hips and a baggie of quarters dangling from the other.

"No, I forgot the one thing we actually need to do laundry," Dirk says, rolling his eyes and thumping the bottle of detergent on top of one of the dryers. The basement of their apartment building has a laundry room with six machines, and it means that they can wash all of the clothes at once, assuming no other tenants are doing laundry at the same time. This is partly why Tina and Dirk are in the laundry room at two am. Farah and Todd are both presumably asleep in their respective apartments, but Tina and Dirk had stayed up watching musicals until after midnight. After raiding the fridge for leftovers and determining that neither of them was sleepy yet, laundry seemed like the natural next step.

They load all of the clothes into three washers – lights, darks, and bedding – then perch together on one of the rumbling machines and watch shitty YouTube videos on Tina's phone (Dirk's screen cracked last week) until they all three buzz with completion.

"Pass me the dryer sheet," Dirk requests, and shoves two into each of the machines they're loading.

"Dude, you don't need that many," Tina says. "They make them extra strong nowadays."

He shrugs and adds a third. "I hate touching static. Better safe than sorry." Tina shrugs and pulls her phone back out.

An hour later, when they start pulling clothes out of the dryers and folding them on the long table down the middle of the room, Dirk pauses, distracted.

"What's this?" he asks, unexpected fascination in his voice. He's holding a small mesh bag filled with small bits of brightly colored fabric and lace.

"Oh, the bag's so my underwear doesn't get fucked up with the other stuff in the wash." She reaches out to snag it from him, but he pulls it back slightly and bites his lip.

"No, I mean. They're so… colorful. Are these all – all yours?"

"Well, they're not Farah's, unfortunately," Tina cracks, then pauses and reconsiders her tone. "Do you, uh. Do you want to see them?"

He almost drops the bag and gapes at her. "Can I? Is that alright?"

"Yeah, man!" She reaches out for the bag again, and this time he gives it to her. She unzips it and dumps all of the underwear onto the folding table, scraps of colored fabric fluttering into a pile. She plucks a few of them out and lays them flat and Dirk reaches forward, smooths out imaginary wrinkles in the fabric.

"They're lovely," he says simply, his fingers skimming over the garments. Some have bows, some have lace; some are sheer, and others are more practical. There are pairs of all colors of the rainbow – a few are all colors at once (and one of those says 'PRIDE' on the back in glittery letters). "I didn't know they made pants in so many – so many options!"

"Uh, do you mean panties ?"

"No," he replies, horrified. "I hate that word. They're 'pants'."

Tina shrugs. "They're pretty great, though, right? They're comfy and sexy as hell, and I feel like I can fight a bear when I'm wearing them!"

"I've never seen these for sale before," he says, curiously brushing his fingers over a bit of ribbon and rhinestones. "Do you have to get them somewhere special?"

"Nah!" Tina picks up a pair of bright red ones and folds them in half – Dirk joins her, savoring the texture of the silky fabric as they tidy up the pile. "Big stores have them, just maybe not in the same department as you get all of your clothes. I get mine online, though."

Dirk beams wildly – he loves how easy it is to find all kinds of stuff on the internet. "Oh, you'll have to link me! Do you have all of them? Is this the whole catalog?"

"Oh dude, no way." Tina grins back at him. "There are like, infinite kinds of undies online. Do you want help picking some out?"

"I would be so grateful," he says, not sarcastic at all.


The package comes two weeks later while Todd is out with Amanda, working to understand more of the intersection between witchakookoo powers and Pararibulitis attacks. Dirk rips open the envelope eagerly, dropping the shredded mailer on the kitchen table and pulling out his purchases. He's started with a small range of pairs to try on and see what he likes, at Tina's advice. It turns out there are several different cuts of underwear, and an almost infinite diversity of colors, fabrics, and patterns. He and Tina had spent two days texting links back and forth before he'd settled on five that he liked.

Dirk is too excited to wait until Todd comes home to show them off and eagerly folds most of the pairs, places them reverently in his top drawer. He keeps out a yellow pair, though – they feel like a good start – and immediately strips out of his trousers and boring grey boxer-briefs and slides on the new underwear. He cranes his neck in the mirror, admiring his backside and thighs. Really, they are very similar to his usual briefs, but there's something about wearing yellow pants that gives him a little frisson of excitement. What a world!

Todd comes home with a black eye and a foul mood, and in fluttering around with an ice-pack and painkillers, Dirk completely forgets to mention the underwear to him. He changes into his pajamas in the dark, after Todd has already fallen asleep, and wakes up to shower and dress long after Todd has already made it into the office.

A few days later, the bruise faded to a greenish stain on his cheekbone, Todd is picking up laundry from the floor of the bedroom and dumping it into the laundry basket when he spies a flash of color half-kicked under the dresser, under Dirk's socks. He fishes them up on the tip of one finger and frowns – it's a pair of buttercup yellow underwear with a wide white waistband.

"When did Tina come into the bedroom?" he calls to Dirk, who is combing his hair in the bathroom.

"Hm?" Dirk hums, a bit too far to hear him. Todd shrugs, tosses the underwear in the basket, and resolves to put them in the stack of stuff-to-give-back-to-Farah after laundry day.


Dirk doesn't want to wear all of the new underwear too quickly, too many days in a row. He's not quite sure why that's his inclination, but it almost feels like he wants to… save the specialness for days that he needs it. Not use up the silky magic. Thanks to the universe, he can kind of tell when he's going to need it.

He wakes up on Tuesday with the sneaking suspicion that it's going to be a stressful day. They're on the trail of a missing group of rabbits – bunch of rabbits? ("Farah, what's the collective noun for rabbits?" "I don't know! Shut up and run!") – and it's been a surprisingly dangerous case, given the relative harmlessness of their quarry. He showers first and, while Todd is in the shower, slips on a pair of fawn brown underwear with tiny pink polka dots and little pink bows over his hip bones. He's already buttoning his trousers by the time Todd wanders back into their bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, and they trade damp kisses until they're almost late.

He's occasionally conscious of the silky slide of his backside against his trousers, but otherwise they're entirely unnoticeable. This is helpful as he spends the entire day alternating between running, hiding under cars, and bargaining for his life, and noticing his underwear would have been a distraction too far.

It turns out that the client uses rabbits to literally divine the future, like casting runes but with a greater need for fresh lettuce. ("What's casting runes?" Todd hisses in Dirk's ear. "Usually bones," he whispers back, and Todd does not look reassured.) She wants them back for complicated stock market purposes, and Dirk, Farah and Todd have a hastily whispered conversation about the ethics of that particular goal. They settle on 'she's paying us, fuck wall street', and give back the rabbits.

There's a final altercation with the client's personal assistant that ends with Dirk and Todd nearly crushed by a hay baler, then doused in unpasteurized milk; Farah makes them sit on a tarp in the backseat of her car for the entire two hour drive back to their apartment building, and they squirm and itch and pull bits of hay out from under their clothes.

Once inside, they both strip in a hurry and jump in the shower together; Todd heaves a sigh of relief to wash the sour smell down the drain, and Dirk amuses himself by giving Todd a shampoo fauxhawk, a la Ferris Bueller (he'd only seen it for the first time the previous week, so it's still especially amusing). Dirk feels clean first and steps out of the shower to let Todd soak his muscles a little longer; he uses a plastic bag to pick up their nasty clothes once he has pajamas on, and takes them right down to the laundry room. No sense letting them sit like this.

When he comes back up, Todd is dry and in pajamas as well; he's cleaned up the drippy trail from the door to the bathroom, and Dirk kisses him gratefully.


It's a Monday, but there's no case, no clues, no emergencies. Farah texts Dirk to be sure, but he joyfully responds that the universe is not tugging him anywhere. They all decide to take the day off, and Dirk and Todd tumble back into bed together for another few hours of sleep. When they wake up again, Todd shuffles sleepily into the kitchen to make a meal that's closer to brunch than to breakfast, by a fair bit.

While he cooks, Dirk takes a quick shower, combs his still-wet hair, and slips into the red boy shorts. He's somewhat baffled by the name – they’re cut alarmingly high in the back, nothing like the underwear he's used to finding in the "boy" section of department stores – but he likes the little bits of silky material between his thighs and the way they gently hug his arse. He experiments by sliding pajama bottoms over them, as opposed to his trousers, and makes a surprised noise of pleasure at the unexpected comfort. It's a delicious combination of decadence and coziness. He tops it with a worn-soft t-shirt of Todd's and almost wants to purr.

"My arse is happy," he announces to Todd, stepping up behind him at the stove. He's learned well enough that he can't hug or kiss Todd while he's actively working with hot food, so he waits for Todd to set down the spatula before he ducks his head to kiss the back of Todd's ear, nuzzles the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm… very happy for you," Todd responds diplomatically, then reaches forward to cover the omelette on the stove. "Five minutes until this is ready," he says.

"Perfect," Dirk says, and reaches for Todd's hips, spins him around and covers his mouth with his own.

They trade lazy kisses in front of the stove for a few minutes; Dirk strokes his fingers under the hem of Todd's shirt, runs his thumbs over the sharp jut of Todd's hips, hums contentedly when Todd presses closer. It's too soon before Todd is pulling away; Dirk chases his lips for another kiss before Todd pushes him back, and Dirk lets him go with a pout.

"Listen, if I burn the eggs, you'll whine at me," Todd reminds him, laughing, and Dirk scrunches up his nose in reluctant agreement.

At the table, they each scroll through social media on their own phones, but their feet overlap and Dirk steal's the last segment of Todd's clementine. They finish their food and Dirk tugs Todd closer, shows him a video of golden retrievers swimming. After they're finished, Dirk does the washing up while Todd showers and puts on clean pajamas, and he kisses drops of water from Todd's face.

"You're still tense," he murmurs, lips on Todd's ear. "Let me help, hm?"

"Yeah? How're you going to do that?" Todd asks, and Dirk tugs him down the hall and back to their bedroom.

"Take your shirt off," he says firmly, and watches to make sure that Todd complies before plugging his phone into the bedroom speaker and turning on –

"Is that my Velvet Underground playlist?" Todd asks, twisting around distractedly. Dirk nods, a pleased quirk to his lips.

"Yes – now, get on the bed." Todd raises a skeptical eyebrow at the demand, but complies. It's a palpable difference from the beginning of their relationship, where every conversation, every request, every touch, all came with hours of conversations and boundary settings. He trusts Dirk in a way that he doesn't trust many people, and it feels physically warming to see the evidence of that.

Todd climbs onto the bed and lays on his back, peers curiously at Dirk, and Dirk crawls on after him. "Not quite," he says, and tugs Todd's hip until he rolls over onto his front. He grabs the pillow and nudges at Todd again until he can shove it under his chest, and Todd doesn't make it easy for him, snickers privately at the small sounds of exertion that Dirk huffs. "You could make this easier for me," he grumps, and Todd grins and flops even more heavily on the bed.

"I don't know what you want from me," he says innocently, though he's quite sure what Dirk's up to by now. Dirk rolls his eyes with enough drama that Todd can tell and throws one leg over Todd's hip; he sits down heavily enough to make Todd say " oof ."

"Hush," Dirk says, and leans forward, grabs a jar from the headboard. He unscrews the lid and digs his fingers into thick coconut oil, scoops out a handful, and places the open jar back on the headboard. He rubs the oil together between his hands until it starts to thin out, and then he places his hands on Todd's back.

Todd gives a quiet, stifled sigh, and Dirk presses his lips together in a smile. He lets the oil warm up a little more until there's a pool of slick between Todd's shoulder blades, and then he runs his hands down Todd's back, spreading out the warm shine.

Todd's back is pale, with sparse hairs on his shoulders and lower back, and the muscles under his skin are locked tight. His attacks are fewer now than they were when he was younger, angrier, less sure of himself, but they still occur with enough frequency that his body is used to pain, expects it. It's distressing to watch, especially given that Todd's hallucinations tend to be electrical more often than not, and his muscles never really relax between attacks. His shoulders especially are knotted up; it makes him look defensive, scared, even on days when he's quite the opposite.

Dirk lets all of these observations and knowledge flow through him as he smooths out the oil; once he feels satisfied with the distribution, he wiggles his fingers for a moment, then digs them in on either side of Todd's spine.

Todd grunts.

Dirk makes a soft, apologetic noise, but he doesn't let up. He's done this enough times that he knows what Todd wants, what Todd needs, and he uses the strength of his shoulders to lean in and press down, to slowly and firmly work at the knots that he can feel. "Crunchy," he remarks lightly, using his right thumb to dig especially deep under Todd's shoulder blade, and Todd chokes out a laugh.

"That could be appealing," he tries, and Dirk snorts.

"I like when granola is crunchy," he says. "Not my boyfriend."

"Well, fix it then," Todd says, melting further into the pillow, and Dirk makes an affirming noise.

"That's the idea," he says.

They lose time like that as the sun changes angles, tipping them from late morning into early afternoon. Dirk works from Todd's back down to his sacrum and up to the nape of his neck – works his way across his shoulders, down his arms, and to his fingers. By the time Dirk's hands are aching, Todd is a boneless puddle beneath him, and he breathes small " uh uh uh " noises that Dirk suspects he isn't even aware he's making. Dirk wraps up by gentling his touch and sweeping his hands up and down Todd's back for a few minutes, lightening further to comb his fingers into his hair, and finally ends by leaning down and covering Todd's body with his, resting most of his weight on his forearms, but letting the warmth of his torso bleed through to Todd's skin. He kisses the back of Todd's shoulder, and Todd sighs deeply.

"Wow," he says thickly. He swallows, and tries again. " Wow ."

Dirk beams.

They lay there for a few minutes, connected from shoulders to thighs, and then Dirk notices that Todd is snoring very quietly. It's a point of contention between them, as Todd claims he doesn't snore, but Dirk finds it so unbearably charming that he doesn't mind in the slightest. He huffs out a laugh, and it's enough to rouse Todd, just a bit.

"I'm not asleep," he says, mostly asleep.

"It's okay," Dirk murmurs. "Be asleep. I'll be here."

Todd looks for a moment like he's going to try for stubborn and wake himself up fully, but Dirk pets a soothing hand through his hair a few times, and he gives in and drops back off. Dirk gives him another few minutes to start snoring again and dip more deeply into sleep, then he carefully, slowly disentangles himself and rolls onto the side of the bed.

It's a warm afternoon, and the curtains are open, bathing the bed in sunlight (Dirk had positioned it especially for sunny afternoon naps). He hasn't done much today, but the exertion of massaging and the heat of Todd's body beneath him has raised his core temperature to just a smidge above comfortable. He pulls his shirt off and walks to the kitchen for a glass of cold water and drinks it standing over the sink. He drains it in one long pull, the muscles in his throat moving with each swallow, and fills it again.

Back in the bedroom, he sets the glass on the nightstand and stands in front of the mirror, admires his own smooth chest. It's been a few years of steady meals and good sleep, and he's filled out a bit from his scrawny "on the run" days. He brushes a hand down his hip and is suddenly reminded of his wonderful, decadent underwear. They're still hugging his skin, clinging deliciously, and he pulls his pajama bottoms down without a second thought, stands in front of the mirror in nothing but the smooth, red fabric. A frisson of delight shivers up his back and he's suddenly grinning, wildly pleased. Who could have imagined that this could be him – colorful and fancy and lovely, in nothing but pants! He turns to admire his arse again, and a giggle escapes his throat. Dirk Gently, Holistic Detective and Fancy Pants!

Todd stirs at the sound, and Dirk stifles another laugh, turns back to the bed to admire his sleeping boyfriend. Todd is a wild sleeper, limbs in all directions and head halfway off the pillow. For such a small man, he takes up an awful lot of bed! Dirk is just grateful that Todd gets both a lie-in and a nap today; the case they just wrapped up involved an awful lot — an absurd amount — of running, and Todd had borne the brunt of lifting furniture as well as digging up a grave (Dirk would have helped, truly he would have, but he'd been tied up and suspended over a lake at the time). It's good to see his face lax in sleep, hair mussed across his forehead and eyes fluttering gently.

Suddenly, Dirk can't stand to be so far from Todd. He steps closer and slides onto his side of the bed, pulls the sheet over his lap. He lets his foot graze Todd's thigh, and the contact thrills him, even years in. He grabs the book he's reading off the nightstand and leans back against the headboard, opens it to his dog-eared page. It's his day off too, after all.

Lou Reed sings in the background, and he loses himself between the pages.

Todd wakes up after an hour or so and is gravelly with sleep when he turns his head to the side and says, "hi."

"Hi," Dirk says, and he folds down the corner of the page he's on, drops the book next to his empty glass.

"That was –" Todd rolls over and scrubs at his face, takes a few deep breaths before levering himself to a seated position. "That was amazing. I don't think I've ever felt this good."

"That's what you said last time," Dirk says, affection bleeding onto his tongue, and Todd laughs.

"I meant it last time, too. You just keep getting better at that."

"I should do it more often. I like you like this." Todd's warm from the nap, so Dirk can't tell if he's flushed or blushing, but he's pleased either way. "Want a snack?"

"Mm," Todd grunts, thinks it over. "No, but I want to brush my teeth and drink some water." He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pauses for a moment, lets his body get used to movement again, then teeters to standing and sets off for the bathroom. He closes the door and Dirk can hear him lift the toilet lid.

Dirk gets out of bed as well and reluctantly slips his pajama pants back on, knows that the kitchen is colder than the bedroom. He's contemplating the shirt by the time Todd comes back, and he's pleased to feel Todd's arms wrap around his waist. "Leave it off," he mumbles happily. "I'll keep you warm."


Dirk has to admit, he's been saving the last two pairs of underwear for a little longer than he needs to. The yellow, pink, and red have all been through the wash a few times, he's worn them on days when he needs an extra boost, but the last two pairs just seem... special. Like he should save them for a really fancy day.

Unfortunately, the life of a holistic detective isn't especially conducive to being fancy. There's a lot of crawling through windows, running for his life, getting treed by angry dogs, and plain old fist-fights, but not so much with the sports-coat-and-shiny-shoes events. So the last two pairs sit in his top drawer, waiting for the perfect occasion.

He trudges home, covered in jam, on a Thursday, and Todd greets him at the door with a sympathetic look and takes his bag from him. "Get into the shower," he says, unsuccessful at stifling his amusement. "I'll take care of dinner tonight."

"I was going to make lasagna, though," Dirk protests, not very hard, and Todd grins while hanging up the bag.

"The ingredients will keep until tomorrow," he promises. "I'll just defrost the salmon now, it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Dirk asks, already moving towards the bathroom.

"Dirk, you have goop in your hair." He does. "It's halfway down your back." It is. "Get clean, put on something comfortable, and we'll finish season two of Bake-Off."

"You're too nice to me," he says, loosening his tie and hearing it squelch. They both grimace.

"I'll make you review the security tapes tomorrow," Todd promises, shoving him the rest of the way into the bathroom and shutting the door between them.

Dirk drops his jammy clothes into the bag they keep in the bathroom for exactly this purpose (not exactly , rather, they hadn't expected the jam. Just, after the milk, and then the motor oil, and then the garbage juice, and then the – well, you get the idea, it seemed like a smart thing to have on hand) and turns the shower to hot. He jumps even before it even gets close to warm, and shivers for the first thirty seconds until it heats up properly, already frantically scrubbing at his hair.

It takes a full five minutes to feel like he's been de-gooped, then he grabs his bottle of shampoo to lather up. He clicks open the lid, then eyes the shower-rack and reconsiders, grabs Todd's shampoo instead. Todd's shampoo and conditioner leave his hair a little too fine to style into his preferred aesthetic, but they smell like Todd, like tea tree oil and eucalyptus, and he can feel his muscles relaxing as the scent permeates the steamy air. He bypasses his own body wash as well – in for a penny, and all – and scrubs himself down with Todd's bar of peppermint soap. By the time he's rinsed off and twisting the faucet, his earlier grumpy mood has vanished down the drain with the suds.

He wraps a towel around his waist and dashes into the kitchen to press a quick kiss – okay, two – into the corner of Todd's mouth, then allows himself to be shoved away with a giggle, and dashes back down the hall to the bedroom. He drops the towel and stands naked by the bed for a moment, scrolling through his phone, until he remembers what he's meant to be doing.

Something comfortable, Todd had said. Well, that immediately means his own pajama bottoms and one of Todd's old shirts, that's obvious. He digs in Todd's dresser for a clean one and pulls out a New Order shirt – that one he's allowed to wear (they'd come to an agreement that Dirk could wear a band shirt once he'd listened to a full album by that artist; so far, he can wear this one, plus Lou Reed, Siouxie and the Banshees, and the Clash). He opens his own underwear drawer, intending to grab some old, possibly saggy briefs, for maximum relaxing-at-home comfort, but suddenly pauses at the sight of a peek of green lace.

Dirk reaches into the drawer, rubs the bit of fabric between his fingers, and is startled at the reminder that it's soft. Shockingly so. He had in his head the vague assumption that lace was supposed to be stiff and scratchy, but this is stretchy, even slinky. He tugs it out of the drawer and holds it up, admires the moss green garment. French cut, he remembers. That's what it's called.

Almost without thinking, he drops Todd's shirt on the dresser and pulls on the green underwear in one smooth movement. They come up surprisingly far, almost to his naval, and are cut high over his thighs. Actually, they make his legs look incredible , damn. They're snug, that's a commonality among all of their new pairs, and the hug to his lower abdomen is – it's –

– it's lovely.

Dirk beams softly, his eyes crinkling, and he looks in the mirror for a moment. His hair is flopping into his eyes, the underwear are such a soft, comfortable green, and he's smiling. He's smiling and he looks so much like the person he wants to be. It's a sweet, soft picture, almost painful in how gentle it is. Dirk Gently indeed – ha.

He steps into the pajama bottoms, slips into thick, fuzzy socks, and walks into the hall, pulling the worn shirt over his head.

Todd is just plating the salmon, some minute rice, and microwaved broccoli, and he carries the plates over to the coffee table, then dashes back to the kitchen for large glasses of water, and then again for a beer (for Todd) and a mug of wine (for Dirk). Dirk settles against the arm of the couch, pulls a blanket over his lap, and Todd drops down right next to him, pulls up a corner of the blanket to wiggle under as well. The Great British Bake-Off is already queued up to the penultimate episode of season two, and Dirk almost wells up at how perfect it all is.

"Don't get all soppy on me," Todd says, eyeing him up, and Dirk laughs at the sheer hypocrisy of the statement.

They eat their dinner, sip their drinks, and finish season two, and Todd leans up against Dirk's chest, pulls one arm over his shoulders. "I still can't get over how ripped you are," he remarks, while Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood kindly ruin some poor amateur baker's dreams. "When we met, I only saw you in your jackets, and you looked scrawny as shit."

"You've been able to see me nude for almost three years," Dirk reminds him. "How can this still surprise you?" He flexes his bicep anyway, a bit smug.

"I didn't say I'm surprised by it," Todd says. "Just that I can't get over it. You don't even, like, lift weights or anything."

"I do enough running for my life – and climbing for my life, I guess. And lifting, uh, for my – life?" He puzzles over that for a moment, then shrugs. "Anyway, I think that's rather better than going to the gym."

"Ha. I guess I can't argue with that."

They fall back into a companionable silence, and watch a few episodes of season three before Dirk catches himself yawning. Todd's shoulders shake in amusement, but then he gets caught by the yawn as well. Once they've started, they can't quite tamp them down, and Todd clicks off the tv after the technical challenge. Dirk makes an indignant sound but stands with Todd anyway, carries the plates to the kitchen.

They both stop by the bathroom on their way to bed and Dirk brushes a speck of toothpaste off Todd's cheek with his thumb, follows it up with a kiss. Todd suffers the indignity of it, but then turns his head, catches Dirk's lips with his own, and then they're pressed so closely together that Dirk can feel Todd's chest moving with each breath, can feel his pulse beating slowly, calmly. He slides one hand into Todd's hair, rests the other on his shoulder and lets himself relax into warmth and pressure and touch. Todd's hands slide up and down Dirk's back a few times, chasing his small sighs, and finally lets his palms settle solidly on his hips. Dirk hums and scratches his blunt nails across Todd's scalp, and now both men are intertwined and sighing and shivering with the sheer pleasure of physical contact and affection and closeness.

They lose minutes like that, stroking and holding and petting, their lips never truly parting. Dirk's head is tilted down and he feels so holding and connected, getting to see Todd like this – soft and vulnerable and open. Todd is making quiet, pleased noises, and it sounds like heaven. There's an electric current running between them, but it's gentle, like a staticky warm sweater, fresh from the dryer.

Then Todd drags his thumbs against Dirk's hip bones, over his shirt, and Dirk's breath hitches in his throat; he catches himself digging his fingers into Todd's hair, his shoulder, and he pulls back a bit, a flush staining his face.

"I, er – oh god. I need a – need a second." He's almost calm, his heart isn't quite racing, but he's warm under the collar, and feels a bit squirmy. Todd bites his lip and nods, presses his lips chastely to the corner of Dirk's mouth, and takes a step back. Dirk immediately misses the contact, the heat, but he takes the opportunity to lean up against the cool wood of the door and take deep, calming breaths.

There's a moment, and then Todd says, "is this, um. Okay?" He hasn't moved too far away, but he's looking at the floor; Dirk instantly steps forward again, captures one of Todd's hands in both of his.

"Yes," he reassures Todd. "It is okay. It will never stop being okay." He continues quickly, to forestall Todd's objections. "And yes, if it ever stopped being okay, I would tell you. I would use my words, like an adult, and talk to you."

The conversation is rote, practiced by now, but Dirk will never begrudge the routine, knows that Todd needs it sometimes. Todd has been in so many relationships with people he liked, some he even loved, and he'd always felt like his lack of interest in sex was a flaw or a personal failing, a sign that he wasn't invested. It scares him sometimes, to be in a committed relationship with someone who likes sex, to imagine that being asexual means that he's not satisfying Dirk, or giving him what he needs. It scares him more when Dirk is clearly turned on, clearly interested in something more than light petting; not that he's afraid that Dirk will push, but more that he's afraid that Dirk won't push, won't ask for what he wants.

Dirk is just so, so grateful that Todd trusts him enough to be honest about his boundaries. That he and Todd have spent hours talking, and that he knows where Todd's limits fall, that he won't accidentally tread all over them in a rush of hormones and stickiness. Sure, he likes sex, but he can scratch that itch himself, and he would never, never trade that for what he has with Todd: an imperfect relationship that takes hard work and effort, and holds him so wonderfully, so wholly, that he can scarcely believe it some days.

He sits on the edge of the bed, still holding Todd's hand in his, and he holds Todd's wide blue eyes with his own. "I'm well and I'm happy," Dirk says, and Todd presses his lips together, but he believes him. Todd ducks closer and presses his lips to Dirk's cheek, to his nose, to his chin, and Dirk chuckles, soft and tired, and they lie down together. Todd uses his free hand to tug a sheet up, and Dirk lets go of Todd just long enough to turn off the bedside lamp; they fall asleep on their sides, like parentheses, holding a thought between them.


Dirk wakes up quite early, unusual for a weekday, but takes the opportunity to brew and drink a quiet cup of tea while the coffee machine burbles. He makes a second tea and carries it back to the bedroom with a mug of coffee for Todd (one sugar, no creamer), sets the coffee on Todd's night stand. In the fifteen minutes Dirk's been gone, Todd has migrated to the center of the bed, and has Dirk's pillow hugged to his chest. He gently tugs it back and shoves Todd's legs back to his side of the bed, and lays his head down again, just next to Todd's.

"Good morning," he whispers, admiring the way Todd's hair looks in the morning sunlight. Todd frowns and shakes his head, burying his face further in the bed, but Dirk doesn't relent. "I brought coffee," he says, his voice cajoling. "It's hot now, but it won't be later."

"No," Todd says.

"We're not done with the halibut-stroke- stolen-bus case," Dirk reminds him. "You won't want to go out today without coffee, will you?"

"I quit being a detective," Todd says.

"No you don't," Dirk says. "You'd hate missing the fun parts, and you'd miss seeing me get my arse handed to me on a regular basis."

Todd's silent for a moment, then his forehead furrows. "I wouldn't miss the fun parts that much," he tries, and Dirk laughs.

"Yes you would, you love when shit gets weird. And I have a feeling shit's going to be especially weird today," he adds thoughtfully.

Todd reluctantly cracks open one eye. "A hunch?"

"I got covered in jam yesterday," Dirk says. "There's no way that's going to be the most absurd part of this case. Do you really want to miss something more absurd than jam?"

"I guess not," Todd grumbles, and begins the slow process of opening his other eye, sitting up, and starting on his coffee. By the time he's conversant, he's halfway through the mug and his eyes are clear. Dirk drinks his second cup of tea fairly slowly, and he plays on his phone while he waits for Todd to go to the bathroom and come back.

Todd hops back into the bed with enthusiasm, though, and Dirk has to scramble to not splash lukewarm tea down his front, hurriedly places the mug on the side table. " Todd ," he complains, but he's laughing. Todd plucks his phone out of his hands and drops it on the bed next to him; he straddles Dirk's lap, sitting heavily on his thighs, and leans in for dozens of small, absurd kisses. He tastes like toothpaste, with a hint of coffee underneath, and Dirk glows in the attention.

"Take this off," Todd eventually demands, tugging at Dirk's shirt, and Dirk scrambles to comply, eager to feel Todd's warm hands on his chest and back. He pulls the shirt up and over his head and twists to drop it on the floor; when he turns back, though, Todd is staring at his stomach in confusion.

Dirk makes a noise of confusion, and Todd looks up at his face. "Is that – is that lace ?"

Lace? Dirk looks down and realizes that, with his shirt off, the green underwear are visible, a good few inches above the waist pant of his pajama bottoms. "Oh yes, these are the green ones!" he says with enthusiasm, but Todd doesn't look any less puzzled.

"The green – are you, um – are you wearing women's underwear, Dirk?" He sounds careful, like he's not sure what the right tone of voice to use is, and Dirk is confused as well.

" No , they're mine, duh ," he says. "Why would I wear someone else's pants? That would be incredibly unhygienic. Well, not technically ," he adds, thinking it over, "the washing machine is a phenomenal invention, but I don't think I'd be comfortable sharing intimate garments with anyone but you."

"So these are... yours?" Todd tries.

"Of course! I told you, these are one of the pairs that I bought with Tina ohmygod I completely forgot to show you." He shoves Todd off his lap, possibly a bit abruptly, given his hurt expression, and scrambles to his feet. "Look look look !" He shoves his pajama bottoms off his hips and down to the floor, and stands there proudly, bottoms pooled around his ankles, hands on his hips, grinning wildly. "They're green !"

"I can see that they're green," Todd says diplomatically, eyes narrowed. "They're also, um. lace?" Dirk nods, pleased at his boyfriend's powers of observation. There's a moment of silence that hangs in the air between them, and then Todd asks, "um. Why are you wearing women's, uh, women's style underwear?"

"Well, they're so much more stylish than the boring ones that I found in the department stores," Dirk says logically. "And they're shockingly comfortable; I know they don't look it, but feel ." He grabs Todd's hand and drags it to his hip, and pets himself with Todd's hand, like he's playing with a doll. Once he's confident that Todd is appropriately feeling up his hip, he drops his hand. Todd obediently pets the edge of the underwear a few more times, like he's just humoring Dirk, but then his expression softens with something like surprise.

"These, uh, these are nice," he says, and Dirk beams. There's a long pause before Todd realizes that he's still absently petting Dirk's hip, and he slowly drops his hand, like he's reluctant to do it. "So, um. You said 'the green pair'. Does that mean you have – you have more?"

"Oh, yes!" Dirk lunges towards the dresser but forgets that his ankles are tangled in his pajama bottoms – he goes lurching forwards and tumbles to the floor, a surprised squawk following after. Todd bursts out laughing at the indignation on Dirk's face when he pops back up, and entirely fails to school his expression to something more appropriately sympathetic. Dirk sneers dramatically in his direction, but does pause to slide the bottoms off before he stands again, and grabs the handful of garments from his top drawer.

"Aren't these Tina's?" Todd asks in confusion when Dirk lays the five pairs out on the bed in front of him. Then he answers his own question. "No, nope, these were always yours, and I kept giving them back to Farah."

"I wondered why you kept putting them in the Farah-pile," Dirk says, then laughs. "I completely forgot to tell you about them, I really thought I already had, and you were just horribly forgetful!"

"And I thought Tina had just left her underwear in our room, like, seven times," Todd admits. "This makes way more sense, which is not a sentence I ever thought I would say about my boyfriend wearing women's underwear."

" My underwear," Dirk reminds him. "They've never belonged to a woman."

"That's, that's honestly, uh – that's honestly a really good point." Todd looks thoughtfully at the bits of colored fabric on the bed, brushes a cautious finger over the yellow pair, then looks at his knees. "They're pretty sexy," he says carefully. "You're not, um. You're not wearing them to, uh. To seduce me, are you?"

"No!" Dirk assures him quickly. "I honestly didn't think of you at all when I chose them. No offense," he adds, and Todd waves his hand, relief softening his face. "I just liked the way they looked, and I wanted to get to wear more bright colors. It's like a jacket or a tie, but for my arse!"

Todd shakes his head slowly, processing that sentence a few times, then snorts. "Like a jacket or a tie for your ass. Okay, sure. Why not."

"I didn't get them for you," Dirk says again, perches on the bed next to Todd. "But I like when you like things that I like. Do you, erm. Like them?"

Todd thinks about that more seriously than Dirk expects, looks over the clean pairs on the bed and the green lace adorning his body, then he meets Dirk's eyes. "I really do," he says. "They suit you. A lot."

Dirk beams, more relieved than he wants to admit, and scootches a little closer to Todd. "Then could we possibly pick back up where we left off?" he tries. "I really wasn't done kissing you."

"Sorry Dirk," Todd says flippantly, but climbs back onto Dirk's lap anyway. "My freak-out took a little too long, we need to get our asses in gear if we want to meet Farah at the office before we go interview Ms. Jefferson's nephew." He presses one, two, three quick, wet kisses to Dirk's lips, then climbs off again. He pulls open his own dresser and yanks out clean clothes for the day, drops them on the bed, pulls off his pajamas. Dirk makes a soft noise of appreciation, and Todd doesn't look back at him, but blushes a bit.

"Todd," Dirk says, and Todd tilts his head to one side, balls up his pajamas and tosses them into the hamper. "I just want to check – you are okay with me wearing these? It doesn't make you uncomfortable, or anything?"

"No Dirk," Todd says, and Dirk knows him, can hear the fondness in his tone. "I'm really happy that you like them. I like them a lot, really I do. I was telling the truth."

"I know you were," Dirk says. "I always know you are."


Dirk is ironing his trousers when he hears the front door slam open, and he carefully turns the iron off before going to greet Todd, that lesson learned the hard way (the comforter still has a burn mark on the bottom). "Hello," he sings out, and hums pleasantly to himself as he walks down the hall and turns the corner, but he stops dead when he sees Todd.

Todd looks like shit. The knees of his trousers are scuffed and dirty, the palms of his hands are scraped and red, and his face is so drawn and pale that Dirk would be worried about him keeling right over if he weren't already slumped on the floor by the front door, his jacket and backpack still on.

"Oh shit," Dirk swears, and scrambles forward, drops to his knees in front of Todd. "Shit shit, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Todd mumbles, then presses his lips together in obvious pain.

"That sounds like a lie," Dirk sasses, but his hands are gentle as he pulls Todd forward a bit, guides his arms out of the straps of his bag, the sleeves of his jacket. He drops them uncaringly aside, and Todd makes a soft, wounded noise.

"The teeth are in there," he protests. "I found all the, the fuckin' – all the fuckin' molars, I found all of them."

"I knew you would," Dirk promises, lets Todd lean back again now that he's not tangled up. "They're fine, I won't break them." Todd nods and tilts his head back, slumps against the wall.

Todd's Pararibulitis attacks have never really reduced in frequency, despite a good balance of medication and taking care of his body, and Dirk hates the reminder that he gets them when he's off on his own sometimes. He used to try and tail Todd everywhere, to always take care of elements of cases together, but Todd put a swift end to that once he realized why Dirk was sticking so close to him. By now, he knows that he can't complain or guilt Todd about going off on his own and having an attack, that all he can do is care for Todd in the wake of an attack and try to make him feel safe and held.

He gives Todd a few minutes to stay slumped there, still knelt at his feet, then reaches forward and gathers Todd's hands in his own. "Darling," he says softly. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable." Todd frowns, but it's a stubborn frown, not a disagreeing one, and Dirk smiles softly, his eyebrows tilted up in sympathy. "May I?"

"...fine," Todd says reluctantly, still not opening his eyes.

Dirk pushes himself to standing and rolls his ankles and feet for a moment, makes sure that he's feeling sturdy, then crouches and slides his arms under Todd's thighs and back, scoops him up in one fluid motion. Todd hisses softly in pain but doesn't complain, and Dirk's heart breaks, knows that Todd is stifling noises he might otherwise let loose so Dirk won't feel bad about jostling him. He walks as smoothly as he can, is glad he hadn't shut the bedroom door, and slowly, cautiously lowers Todd to the bed. He gets him settled in as well as he can before pulling his arms back, then unlaces Todd's shoes and slips those off as well.

Todd loves to be held and carried when he's not in pain, enjoys objectifying Dirk for his arms and likes making him carry Todd around, but Dirk knows that it feels undignified or weak to Todd, to need it when he's in pain. He's beyond grateful that he's at the point where he's permitted to see Todd like this, to actually help him.

"Do you need anything, darling?"

Todd opens his eyes and looks up at him, a bit of a quirk to his lips. "I wouldn't say no to some pain killers," he says pointedly, and Dirk scrambles to the bathroom for the bottle behind the mirror, is back at Todd's side in a flash. Todd swallows them dry; he doesn't seem to have the strength yet to sit up, and Dirk foolishly hadn't grabbed a straw. He mentally berates himself for the miss, stupid Dirk, can't even help his boyfriend with the most simple of tasks, but Todd lays a hand on his sleeve and brings him back to the moment.

"I'm fine," Todd says again, but it feels more honest this time. "It wasn't as bad as it looks – it was just right outside, so I wasn't quite over it when I got in here." He grimaces, but it turns into a bit of a pained laugh. "I would've just sat there until I could come in on my own, but I was by the dumpster and Mrs. Calebson saw me go down; she insisted on walking me back to the apartment. I told her I tripped," he adds.

Dirk hisses sympathetically. If Todd can just... can just lay there for a few minutes after an attack, can let his body calm back to equilibrium, he's usually in pretty decent shape fairly quickly. Pretending to keep his shit together, though, or that he's fine, that confuses the nerves that he's forcing to work, and the pain signals that he's ignoring. They get louder and angrier and more insistent, and it can turn a Pararibulitis attack into actual physical damage, not just a hallucination of pain. He tries hard to not do that, but it's sometimes dangerous to show that he's suffering while they're on a case, or it feels too vulnerable to do so in front of someone they don't know well.

"Rotten luck," Dirk says lightly, kneeling on the floor next to the bed, his hands clasped together, almost like he's praying. "I told you that you should have let me murder her dog."

Todd laughs again, a bit more freely, though he's hoarse. "She was trying to help, Dirk," he says pointedly. "And you can't murder Henry. He's a good dog."

"Eh. He'd be a better dog if he were a cat," Dirk says, looking to make Todd keep laughing, and succeeding. He prods and teases, cajoles and presses, and gets Todd to smile, to reach out for Dirk's hand, to relax, to try and forget about whatever he'd hallucinated in the cold alley outside of their apartment. He doesn't ask what it was; he doesn't need to. It could have been fire or water, he could have been shot or smothered or eaten, or his flesh crumbled from his bones. It's a horrifying experience no matter what, and Todd usually doesn't want to tell him. Dirk knows that his curiosity is loving, isn't prurient (mostly), but that Todd doesn't feel a need to tell him, and he can accept that.

After twenty minutes of softly speaking, of laughing, of letting Todd lie still and soft, his face isn't lined with pain, and there's only a touch of exhaustion lingering at the corners of his eyes. Dirk feels warm and proud and loving, and his gaze is so fierce and pleased.

Todd takes a moment to pull his phone out of his pocket, doesn't wince at the movement, but then his eyes widen when he gets a glimpse of the lock screen. "Dirk! It's almost six-thirty!"

"Shit," Dirk swears.

They'd just wrapped up a case for a young woman who was contesting her brother's will, claimed that it was a fake submitted by her husband, and that the money was supposed to go to fund an art gallery and not her husband's business. It was a surprisingly interesting case for what seemed like a simple forgery, and involved a team of sled dogs, an auction-house smuggling ring, two acrobats, and a county landfill, but had ended with their client's husband moving to Germany and a fully funded art gallery.

And a celebratory party.

"We have to get ready," Todd says earnestly. "You're the guest of honor. Eileen said it was for you!"

"I can't make you go to a party like this," Dirk says, alarmed. "You need a relaxing night, and all the tea you can drink, and a pizza with pineapple."

"Oh, I need a pizza with pineapple, huh?" Todd asks, laughing.

"It's ideal for an optimal healing process," Dirk says firmly, and Todd flicks his shoulder.

"I'm coming to celebrate you, asshole ," Todd says, not angry in the slightest. "You're not leaving me behind."

"I could stay here with you," Dirk tries without much hope, and Todd rolls his eyes.

"You're not leaving yourself behind," Todd says, and braces his hands by his hips to lever himself to sitting. Dirk squeaks in alarm and rushes to grab Todd's biceps, carefully supports him to a sitting position, and then busies himself shoving pillows behind Todd's back. "I'm fine," Todd reminds him, swats him away, and turns to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

"But Todd –" Dirk tries and Todd grabs his fluttering hands out of the air.

"Listen," Todd says. "This was a really tough case. You had an awful time for almost three weeks, and now a room full of people want to celebrate you. I want to celebrate you. I want to see you wear your amazing new outfit, and see you dance like an idiot, and I want to be your terribly unattractive participation-trophy boyfriend." Dirk snorts despite himself, and Todd knows he's won. "You can help me get ready – I'll admit, I am kind of sore and would appreciate the help – and we'll get a cab there so neither of us has to DD. And we'll enjoy the gallery opening."

"Will you wear your new blazer?" Dirk asks, and Todd shoves him away, laughing.

"You're pushing it, Gently. I did not agree to own that thing, let alone wear it." He lets Dirk pull him carefully to standing, and tangles his fingers in Dirk's shirt buttons. "Shower with me," he says. "Help me wash my hair. We can be a little bit late."

"It's fashionable," Dirk agrees, starting on Todd's belt. "We couldn't possibly arrive on time."

"It would be totally rude of us," Todd laughs, opens the last button, pulls Dirk's shirt out from his trousers and off his shoulders. "It's better to show up once the party is in full swing so no one feels awkward about how great we are."

"You really are the clever one," Dirk says, pressing his lips to Todd's shoulder while he tugs his pants and boxers down at the same time.


Todd claims a chair by the emergency exit as Dirk goes to greet their hostess, Eileen. He had conceded to sit until he feels "up to not-sitting," and Dirk is grateful enough that his smile is unfeigned when he hugs Eileen, lets himself be introduced around the room. He flags down one of the catering staff and lets her know that Todd would appreciate a steady stream of whatever beer they're serving at the open bar, and Todd shoots him a grateful look the next time he makes eye contact, toasts him with a bottle of something insufferably bitter and small batch.

Dirk is incredibly extroverted, and it serves him well as a detective. He's never happier than when he's meeting new people, learning who they are and what's interesting about them. There's rarely a case when he doesn't bump into some hapless bumpkin, drags them along until their connection to the case is revealed, finds them on Instagram and likes their every post going forward.

Parties are especially a treat for him; it's like a buffet of new people to meet and chat up, to find out what makes them tick, to follow them on social media. He gets two phone numbers written on napkins, one promise of a custom Spotify playlist, and one potential new mystery to follow up on the next week. He also tries to flit back to Todd between every conversation, just to check up on him.

"Leave me alone," Todd finally says, pink and warm and pleased. "I'm fine. I'm kicking Amanda's ass at Draw Something. She doesn't have a stylus," he adds, smug. "It really makes a difference."

"I'm not just checking up on you," Dirk says. "I like being around you."

"I like being around you too," Todd says tolerantly, already turning back to his phone, but Dirk reaches forward, captures Todd's sleeve between two of his fingers.

"Todd," he whispers, darting a glance to the side to make sure no one is too close. "Todd, they still feel weird ."

"Hm?" Todd's a bit fuzzy around the edges, has had nothing but beer since lunch, and doesn't mind it. "What does?"

" My pants ," Dirk hisses.

"Your pants? What's wrong with your – oh, your underwear ," he says, and then says, "oh my god ," a bit too loudly, suddenly getting it. "Are you wearing the blue ones?"

"Shhhh, shh shh, yes," Dirk agrees, holds a hand up to Todd's mouth and now he's pink himself. "Yes, I’m wearing the blue ones."

The blue ones are the last pair that he'd gotten in the mail. They're a lovely royal blue, and a soft, stretchy satin. There's scalloped lace along the edges, and a tiny bow in the center of the front. They're also cut in such a way that most of his backside is visible, and some of the fabric is between his arse cheeks. He can feel the slide of the seat of his trousers over his skin with every step.

Todd's eyes light up and he looks mischievous, delighted. "I can't believe it," he says, slightly quieter, tugs Dirk down into the chair next to him. "You said you were going to wear the yellow ones."

"Well, I just thought that if you were wearing something you weren't sure about…"

A few weeks ago, Dirk had stopped into one of his favorite thrift shops to peruse the leather jackets, and had come home with a dark blue velvet blazer that was a little short in the arms for him, and the perfect size for Todd. Todd laughed and put it in the back of his closet, but here he is, looking handsome and incredibly pettable.

"Well, you'll just have to get used to them," Todd says slyly. "Maybe you need to move around a little more."

"I think it's time for me to stay sat down, actually," Dirk says, patting the chair he's perched on. "This is probably the best place for me. Right here, next to you. Not moving."

"Not moving, huh?"

"Right by your side, yes."

"Oh, you want to stay close to me?" Dirk nods, and Todd smirks. He puts his half-empty bottle down on the floor by his feet, stands up, and tugs Dirk up with him. "Then I guess you'll need to come dance."

Dirk gapes, but it's delighted, it's wondering, and Todd pulls him into the next room. The DJ has just started playing something bizarre, with plucked strings and a warbling synth; it's hardly suited for dancing, but Todd pulls Dirk's hands back and forth, moves to something resembling the beat, and Dirk luxuriously curls his fingers into Todd's lapels, rubs his thumbs against the velvet and beams down at him. The other party goers smile indulgently at them, dancing alone in a corner, and they ignore the possibility that anyone else in the room even notices they're there.

"How do they feel now?" Todd asks, after that song ends and another fades in, sweeping them along with the fiddle.

"Still strange," Dirk admits. "But good-strange. It feels like I… can't ignore them."

"If it helps, now that I know you're wearing them, I can't ignore them either," Todd admits, a smile still tucked in the corner of his mouth. "I wish I'd known at home; I would have ogled you a little more before we left."

"We'd never have made it here, then," Dirk says, and Todd laughs.

"Okay, you're not wrong. But when we get home, I'm not going to want you to take them off for a while. I have some ogling to catch up on."

"Oh, do you?"

"Maybe even some touching," Todd says. "I can't say for sure; anything could come up between now and then."

"Anything, hm?" Dirk's eyes are so bright, and he's enraptured.

"We could find a case. Our clothes could catch fire. My hands could fall off." Todd shrugs dramatically.

"Bite your tongue," Dirk scolds, laughing. "I don't want your hands to fall off."

"But you're fine with our clothes catching fire?"

"I suppose not. I do like this blazer on you." He untangles his fingers from the lapels and smooths them over Todd's shoulders, down his back, holds Todd close against him.

"I guess it's okay," Todd admits, dropping his hands to Dirk's waist and resting his forehead against Dirk's collarbone. "I wouldn't want it to burst into flame, at least."

The DJ shifts the song seamlessly again, and they're swaying to the music, something slow enough to allow them to indulge in the movement while pressed together. They don't notice Eileen beaming from the doorway, or one of the artists tugging her partner into a slow dance as well, or the lights dimming a bit. They only notice how good it feels, how right it feels, to be here together at this moment. To celebrate their embrace, their successes, and the touch of skin to fabric, fabric to skin.

Soon, they'll hail a cab. They'll giggle in the back seat, press cool fingers to warm faces, tip the driver extra to excuse their affection. The bed is made, ready for them, and Todd will strip Dirk's clothes off, lay him down in the bed, and admire him dressed in royal blue. Dirk will blush, unused to being laid out and touched, kissed, held, and they'll forget that there was anything before this moment, any time that they weren't wrapped up together, any time that they weren't beautiful and here and now.

They are both present in ways that they’ve never before experienced. 

“Fuck the future,” Dirk murmurs, and Todd somehow knows exactly what he means. “Thank you for being in my now.”