Leo slips into the booth behind Fiat’s, bracketed on either side by Type and his friends. For a brief second he thinks Fiat will see them, but Fiat’s head is down, looking down at his drink and nothing else. Leo can’t risk keeping watch as he sees Cir approach to sit down.
Type’s loud friend firmly pops a glass of whiskey on the table in front of Leo and wiggles his eyebrows in a way he must think communicates something, but Leo has no idea about any of these people. The fact that they’d do any of this—an elaborate team effort just on Type’s say-so, with a suspicious efficiency, has been giving him weird feelings, to say the least.
Leo feels more indecisive than he ever has in his whole life. It feels dishonest to be here in secret, but he couldn’t see any way that he could just confess to Fiat that wouldn’t risk everything they'd built between them for years. Type had taken that sentiment with a smirk.
“Fiat needs a reality check. If you can listen to that without cracking then it’s your business,” he’d said, meeting Leo’s eyes solidly. Then his eyes flickered over Leo’s clenched fists. “But if I were betting, you won’t last 5 minutes.”
After that everything had moved so fast, and now he hears Cir ask if Fiat needs company. Leo reaches for the whiskey after all, but it stops at his lips when he can hear the tears in Fiat’s voice. He stays frozen, listening to Fiat say that no one has ever really wanted him in his whole life, words choked with barely contained sobs, and someone takes the glass out of his hand. Which is convenient before he smashes it into the table.
All Type’s friends shift out of the way as Leo pushes out of the plush seats, not hearing a thing they’re saying, not even hearing the music over the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears. He’d tried to give Fiat a place to be cared for when his own home was a trap. Every morning after a relationship exploded, he’d find Fiat in his bed curled up against him and thought that was enough to give. Fiat had never asked for anything else, and Leo hadn’t wanted to presume, but for Fiat to think that it hadn’t meant—
“Do you want me to stay?” Cir asks Fiat before he sees Leo approaching.
“It’s all I’m good for,” Fiat says with a wet chuckle, raises his head, and sees Leo standing on the other side of the table.
Leo looks Cir in the eye and jerks his head. Cir doesn’t need to be told twice.
“Who says this is all you’re good for?” Leo asks, sitting heavily on the side opposite where Cir’s drink still sits.
Fiat, drunk and surprised, stumbles over his words. “What? Why are you here—”
Trying not to hold his breath, Leo reaches out and grabs Fiat’s hand. “You said you never got who you wanted.”
Blinking, Fiat’s eyes shine with new tears. “It’s true.”
“I don’t know if you’ve ever,” his throat closes up, and Leo can only jerk his free had at himself. But Leo will never know if he doesn’t try, and if it could be more, he wants it, more than he’s ever wanted anything. “There hasn’t been a time I haven’t wanted you.”
Fiat’s hand jolts in his, but he shakes his head. “I know you’ve always been there, Leo, but I know you don’t—”
“No, you don’t,” Leo answers, pulling on the hand in his until he can reach Fiat’s jaw with his free hand. He stops a breath away from Fiat’s face and waits, aware that there’s alcohol and a lot of other assumptions to get through. “Say no.”
Fiat surges forward immediately and without Leo’s guiding hand might have missed completely. Leo’s heart feels like it might burst, or like it might have finally been put together right, he’s not sure, but Fiat gasps a little and Leo leans in and licks against his lip. Fiat opens completely on a felt but unheard groan, and as good as it feels Leo can taste the liquor and it brings him back, though Fiat nips at his lip as he pulls away and it almost undoes his composure. Almost.
Fiat goes to chase his mouth and Leo puts his thumb against his sharp chin. “Slowly.”
For a long moment Fiat says, and does, nothing but stare with those wide liquid eyes. “Is this real?”
It had never occurred to Leo that Fiat might have been wanting this as long, maybe, as he has. And for as fiery and whip-fast as he knows Fiat can be, there’s a lot of hurt and fear under that bravado. The idea that this might be something he can have is intoxicating enough, Leo’s glad he hadn’t had any of the alcohol offered him, but he needs Fiat to be absolutely sure he’s getting what he wants.
And he’s pretty sure Fiat needs that, too.
Leo reaches up and tweaks his ear like he’s been itching to do for over a week, and Fiat winces and makes a sharply annoyed noise. “You need to sober up. You can let me know when you feel like it’s real.” He runs his thumb over Fiat’s knuckles. “Ready to go home?”
Fiat nods fast at that, and Leo helps him to his feet and out past the table. Type’s loud friend is completely turned around in his seat and staring. “You are not subtle,” Leo hisses, then settles his arm around Fiat to keep a handle on the wobbling as they leave.
As Leo lets them into his house, Fiat seems to shrink in on himself, hunching his shoulders even slimmer and pulls his shirtsleeves over his fingers. Leo wants to wrap him up in a hug and not let go until he relaxes, but Fiat is still drunk and still too upset to trust that immediately.
But he hadn’t said no. So this is Leo’s chance to start—something. Carefully.
Leo shepherds him to the bathroom. “I think you got more alcohol on you than in you,” he comments, and Fiat sneers for a moment, and something in Leo’s gut unclenches. “Take a shower, hm?” Fiat turns to stare at him. “I’m not going to disappear.”
Fiat leans down to drag off his socks and immediately overbalances. “Um,” he mumbles into Leo’s arm as he’s saved from completely falling and re-injuring his knee. “I am not sober.”
Leo huffs and leans all Fiat’s weight onto one shoulder so he can get rid of the socks while he’s there. “All right. Down to your boxers then.” Leo waits until Fiat can demonstrably handle shirt buttons before dealing with his own.
“Boxers? Like we’ve never seen each other naked.” The pout in Fiat’s voice makes Leo close his eyes, telling himself that he’ll probably have another chance at what’s being offered, but he needs to be patient.
“You’re drunk,” Leo explains, stripping off both tie and shirt. Fiat stops with his hands on the waist of his jeans and opens his mouth to argue. Leo steps close enough to look down at him, pressing a hand to Fiat’s neck, thumb heavy over the pulse under his jaw. “I want you to know this is real. I don’t want there to be any doubt. Be good for me.”
He feels the pulse kick up, rabbit fast. Fiat’s lips part but no sound comes out, and then he nods. “Good boy,” Leo confirms, stroking his hand up over Fiat’s cheek and back into his hair. “I know you are.”
Fiat mouth stays just a little open but his eyes track Leo's every move.
After that there’s no complaining, just waiting for the water to be the right temperature and for Leo to get two towels ready for afterwards. The water feels good after the day Leo’s had, and scrubbing his hand through his hair helps him remember to relax before he gives his tension headache something to really latch onto.
Fiat again is scrunching into himself, and Leo reaches out to pull him into the warm spray. He hands Fiat a bottle. “Soap.” Fiat gets some before fumbling the bottle back to Leo, who takes some soap and decides he’s in charge of putting things away for now. He’s turned away when he feels slick, soapy hands on his shoulders, running down the backs of his arms.
For a second he freezes, blocking most of the water with his chest as Fiat starts to work his hands down Leo’s shoulder blades. “Fiat,” he says and tries to will himself not to go instantly and painfully hard.
“I’m being good,” Fiat says, stopping at Leo’s ribs and then tugging his arm to turn him around. “I promise. Being good.” Honestly, Fiat would probably take Leo’s condition as a compliment, as long as Leo can keep either of them from acting on it, and Leo hesitantly turns. Fiat smiles up at him and starts the process again at Leo’s shoulders. If he notices anything about the way Leo’s abs jump under his fingers or the way soaked boxers hide exactly nothing—genius idea, Leo—Fiat doesn’t say anything as he stops a hands-breadth above Leo’s waist and examines his work. He rubs more soap on Leo’s left bicep, and then stops, tucking his hands at his throat, and stares at Leo's face. Waiting.
Leo breathes heavily through his nose. “Thank you. That was perfect.” Fiat’s whole body jolts and his eyes drift shut for a moment. Feeling painfully sober, Leo notices Fiat is not unaffected either. Fuck. “Your turn.” Leo takes advantage of his height blocking the water to efficiently get soap over Fiat’s front before swinging them around again.
As he spreads soap over Fiat’s back, Fiat starts to go boneless in front of him in a way that has Leo instantly worried. “Fiat?” He takes Fiat’s weight and pulls him back so the spray won’t be in his face. No response. “Fiat?”
Tilting his head back slowly, Fiat smiles up at him, pressing his arm over Leo’s and curling his shoulders in so that he fits completely under Leo’s shoulders and makes an attempt to cuddle even closer.
Leo’s seen a lot of Fiat’s smiles. Quick sharp ones at someone’s expense, beaming huge grins at making the perfect shot, laughing smirks joking with the team, and fake coquettes at boys he’s interested in. This smile he’s seen before, but it occurs to Leo that maybe it’s a smile that’s only for him. It’s peaceful, trusting, warm, and it reaches Fiat’s dark eyes. “Okay.” Leo isn’t sure who he’s saying that to. “Okay.”
He reaches around to turn the water off and does the work to get Fiat out of the shower. He doesn’t want to see him hurt his leg again, after all. Doing the most cursory dry off of himself, he drapes the other towel over Fiat’s shoulders and does his best to towel him mostly dry. Despite Fiat’s attempt to melt into Leo’s arms, which he would normally appreciate but just—Fiat is more steady now, some of the alcohol must be working itself out.
“Come on, you can change yourself, I think.” Fiat pouts again but as long as Leo doesn’t let go of him completely he willingly walks himself wherever Leo nudges him to stand. They manage the change, though Fiat is clearly of the opinion that shirts are no longer needed. Leo is absolutely sure they are needed For right now.
Leo makes him drink a whole glass of water and then puts another on his nightstand. Fiat never stays on his side of the bed anyway. Leo’s side of the bed is always Fiat’s.
Fiat slides in under the covers first, pulling his fists up under his chin and then stares at Leo as he turns off the light and climbs in after him. Leo usually sleeps on his back with Fiat just sprawled wherever, but that’s not what he wants right now, and he has a hunch that neither does Fiat.
He can’t exactly see Fiat like this, but he puts his hands on his shoulders and tugs. “Other side.” Fiat takes a second and then rolls over so his back is to Leo. Leo can count on one hand the number of times this has happened and it’s usually been in anger, but it would be nice if tonight could maybe be about a new tradition.
Leo threads his left arm under Fiat’s neck and then reaches over with his other arm and pulls Fiat bodily back until they’re somewhat like they were in the shower, Leo’s shoulders folded over Fiat’s and his nose just brushing the back of Fiat’s still damp hair, knees pulled up close to each others. Leo really, really likes how well Fiat just...fits into place, like he was always meant to be there.
Fiat, though, is tense, almost vibrating in place, not moving at all on his own. Leo waits for a moment but asks, “What do you want?”
Fiat hesitantly curls one arm over Leo’s and uses it to tuck his hand against his own chest, but he reaches up with the other hand and curls it into Leo’s, threading their fingers together. He is not any less tense, but Leo thinks he’s starting to understand. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
Leo feels that go through Fiat like an electric current, and Fiat makes a noise like a half-moan, and Leo discovers he is really into that reaction and wants to do that again. Later. His dick doesn’t get the message though, and Fiat does notice that with how they’re curled together. Fiat sucks in a breath and rolls his hips—
Leo wants that, he really does, fuck, but— “Not tonight,” he says, deeper than he expected as he reaches out and holds Fiat’s hip still, but he doesn’t otherwise move away or unthread their clasped hands from each other.
“I’ll be good,” Fiat whispers hoarsely, and Leo rubs a thumb over his hipbone soothingly, before putting his arm back over Fiat’s chest and letting him relax back into him again. “Tonight.”
Leo grins to himself. “Tomorrow, you can be sure it’s real.” Fiat melts entirely at that, not trying to make any sort of moves other than relaxing. In the wrist that Leo has pinned against Fiat’s chest, he feels the pulse slowing down.
Pressed together like this, Leo feels himself start to relax against all odds, because it’s been a long day and because for once the feeling of curling in bed with Fiat isn’t an ache of longing or denial. He breathes in the smell of Fiat, safe in his bed—their bed now—and feels himself start to flag and drift.
Leo smiles and presses a soft kiss to the nape of Fiat’s neck, and Fiat murmurs, slurred with sleep, “Already real.”