#crill

This is the first time I post my drawing here. The first reason is that I lack the confidence to send it here. By the way, this picture was inspired by a picture I saw on Pinterest. And sorry if my picture is very bad. I drew this on October 5th by the way. Haha

Since moving on from Natalie, Will can honestly say there’s more love in his life. All kinds of it, really. He went to therapy- which is how he realized how unhealthy things were- and learned some decently healthy coping mechanisms as well as that he’s deserving of love, regardless of whether or not it’s romantic. He deserves to be loved for the person he is. He deserves to be loved for the person he tries to be. He deserves to be loved for his good qualities and his bad, while also acknowledging that his bad qualities are things he should work on when they’re destructive. It’s a lot, really, but he’s started to feel lighter than he has since he first thought he was in love with Natalie. 

And of course, it’s not just his own progress with his emotional health. He’s learned what real, honest, fulfilling romantic love is like. Crockett Marcel, full of southern charm and maybe a little heavy of a drinker, has shown him what that kind of love feels like. He loved Natalie, he did, but it didn’t feel like this. Waking up next to her didn’t feel the same way it does to wake up in bed with Crockett.

Every time he sees him, his entire body feels warm all over. His coworkers have started calling him out for the expression he makes when he sees him, Noah having dubbed it his “gay face.” His heart beats faster when Crockett calls him sugar or kisses him hello when he comes on shift. While they’ve had their fights, like any couple, they never go to sleep angry and every time they resolve it, they remind each other how much they love each other.

He doesn’t mean to say that anything that happened between them was entirely Natalie’s fault; some of it wasn’t even partially her fault, but rather all his. When she “kicked him out” over the gun, she was being reasonable. She has a small child, and she didn’t feel safe with the gun in the same house as her or her son. Sure it hurt, but Will is the one who made the choice that the gun was more important than her feelings. That was fucked up of him. And he can admit that now, as well as the fact that while his feelings, his… his PTSD are valid, that doesn’t mean they were healthy.

Maybe things would have been different with her if he had been healthier, but he doesn’t know for sure. What really matters is that he’s come to love himself, and almost as importantly, he’s experienced what real love feels like. Love isn’t hurting each other but coming back every time anyway for more pain. Love isn’t trying to make decisions for each other. Love isn’t thinking they know better what the other one needs.

Love is the way Crockett kisses him awake when he sleeps through his alarm. Love is the sunlight on Crockett’s face when they eat lunch outside on a fair-weathered day. Love is sharing the blanket and laughing instead of fighting when Crockett’s feet are cold against his legs. Love is cooking breakfast together almost every morning. Love is feeling safer than he ever has before when he’s in Crockett’s arms. Love is holding Crockett when he has a bad day and being held back on his own. Love is being able to talk through their fights and still kiss each other goodnight and mean it afterward. Love is the smell of Crockett’s fresh baked bread on a Saturday. Love is Crockett.

Crockett can’t help but feel alone sometimes. Even if he has more friends now in Chicago than he’s had every year leading up to this, and he’s in bed with the love of his life, and he’s finally started at least trying to cope with his issues, he feels isolated and abandoned for reasons he can’t explain. The sheets feel cold with Will’s absence, despite him being just a room away to brush his teeth the way he always does after he goes down on Crockett. 

He buries his face in Will’s pillow, reveling in the scent of his cologne as though he’s not soon to come back to bed and they haven’t spent the day wrapped up tightly in each other’s arms. Logically knowing that he’s not alone and not actually feeling alone are two very distinctly separate things. 

Will comes back to bed and wraps an arm around him, but it doesn’t work to make him feel better. Nothing really does when he sinks into moods like this. At least he’s held, though, and Will knows him well enough to recognize that something’s off, but also not to push it. He just holds him for a few moments, and when Crockett doesn’t say anything, he starts humming.

It’s not often that he hums, let alone sings, but every time he does is a treat. His voice is surprisingly smooth and warm, like honeyed bourbon that goes down easy and kisses in sweet summer sunlight. The best way to describe the way it sounds is that it sounds like home.

I dub them Crill //

“Take a deep breath.”

Crockett does as told. In. Out. The world is clear and sharp now, more so than usual. It’s been a while since he’s come off a shift and not immediately buried it in whatever he could get his hands on, but he’s supposed to be getting better. Living again. Being a person again, and doing things like having a night in with his boyfriend and let the world outside slow down. He’s too aware of everything. The cool air on his skin, Will’s warm body, aftertastes of the sandwich he ate for lunch. It’s sharp.

“It’s okay to want this,” Will reminds him. He touches so gently, like Crockett might break. “It’s okay to need it. You deserve good things.”

“Does that mean you’ll actually spank me now?”

Will laughs. A beautiful sound. He doesn’t say yes, but he moves his arms to get ready. One over the small of his back to hold him in place, the other presumably in the air, because Crockett can’t feel his hand anywhere.

He takes another deep breath, and then Will hits him. Not hard. But enough to sting, to make him flinch and bite back a swear. It’s not like a high, not like booze heavy in his veins. It brings him here. Brings him home. Home, where he’s safe and Will is doing this because he loves him and because Crockett asked. 

“Did you want to count?”

Crockett shakes his head. It’s enough. Will strikes him again. There’s a ring on his right hand, something sentimental he takes off at work but has on now, and will leave an extra mark on him. It’s a beautiful thing. He craves it. Crockett hangs his head, and it’s not in shame. Right now, all he has to do is relax and let Will take care of him like always.

He jumps hard at the third and the fourth. Will started light, but he’s become heavy handed, and it’s better. It’s easier to focus on. Everything else, it vanishes so the world becomes Will and pain, and then the curl in his stomach from his body reacting. That part’s strange. The pain becoming pleasure in a way he’s not used to. It’s almost embarrassing and that’s not the point of this. He isn’t supposed to be burning up inside like this. 

Then Will pauses and strokes the heated skin on his ass, touches the marks left and presses down on them to make Crockett hiss and squirm, inadvertently grinding against Will’s thigh in the process.

“You want me to take care of that?” Will asks. He doesn’t sound upset or disgusted. “Or after?”

“I don’t know.”

Will’s hands return to their original positions, and he spanks him another time. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know.”