#first post hell yeah

Kieran

Kieran is soft and warm in his arms, shaking from whatever nightmare had tormented him enough to send him running for shelter in Killian’s arms. Killian doesn’t ask. He never does. Kieran doesn’t offer anything. This isn’t about the nightmares. It hardly ever is nowadays.

Kieran leans up and kisses him, and Killian lets out a soft hum, unsurprised by the gesture. “We have to do this with the lights on sometime.” He mumbles in Kieran’s ear. “I want to see you.” Kieran kisses him again and Killian can feel his grin.

Alexander

Alexander rolls over to face Killian, their faces mere inches apart. “You said this was your first time dating a man, but you seem very knowledgable.” Killian rolls onto his back, only partly due to Alexander’s breath hitting his face uncomfortably. He shrugs.

“Said this was my first time dating a man. Never said it was my first time fucking one.” He thinks about Kieran for the first time in a few days.

Alexander scoots closer. “What was his name?”

“Does it matter?” Killian resists the urge to put some distance between them again.

“Nah. He broke up with you, didn’t he?” Killian turns to face Alexander again, finds him grinning knowingly. He feels his chest tighten when he nods. It’s the first time he’s lied about what happened with Kieran. It won’t be the last.

Dustin

Dustin presses him against the back wall of the small closet, breath hot on his neck as he hisses, “This never leaves this room, got it?” Killian nods. “Swear to god, I’ll end your career if I find out it’s reached anyone.” Dustin presses him harder against the wall, punctuating his words with a hard bite to his shoulder. Killian doesn’t doubt that he’s serious.

“I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” Dustin pulls away from his neck and stares hard into Killian’s eyes, as if searching for any grain of untruth. He finds nothing, and celebrates this finding with a deep kiss that takes Killian’s breath away.

Later; much later, weeks later, when they’re lying in a cheap hotel bed together, Dustin breathes the words, “I know how we can make this work.” Killian rolls to face him. “Let me take you on vacation.” Killian nods.

Chelsea

Chelsea dresses like a 1950s housewife, and talks like one as well. Killian wonders where she learned it; how she perfected the balance of sickly sweet and deadly. Having met her family, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if they’d paid for classes for her or something. He has a feeling that this is all-natural though. In a way that makes it even scarier.

Killian feels distinctly vulnerable, lying between Chelsea and Dustin on an oversized bed in their parents’ lake house. If Chelsea is red lipstick and champagne and curves in all the right places, Dustin is harsh kisses and whiskey and hands that never seem satisfied no matter how many times they touch Killian. Chelsea sips her champagne and lets out a tinkling laugh at something Dustin said.

Killian hasn’t had any alcohol, but his brain feels fuzzy anyway. He thinks that Chelsea is someone he could marry. Someone just dangerous enough, just risky enough to satisfy him. He rolls over and asks her, his head next to her abdomen and a hand on her thigh. She lets out another tinkling, delighted laugh, and says yes.

Dashiell

Killian isn’t quite slumped over; not that far gone yet, but getting there. He hears himself ask for another beer as if listening to a stranger. He drove here; shouldn’t be getting so drunk, but right now he doesn’t care. “My name is Dashiell Johnson, but ya can call me Dash.” Killian looks up. The red haired, dark skinned man seems to be looking at him. There also seems to be three of him, though, so Killian doesn’t exactly trust what he’s seeing.

“You know who I am.” Even he isn’t sure whether he means it as a question or not, but Dash takes it in stride.

“Yeah. Heard about what happened to you, too. You need another round, I’ll buy it for you.” Killian looks at Dash, then at the smooth wood of the bar. Back at Dash. Back at the bar.

“‘m fine.” He mumbles at last. Dash smiles.

“Anything, then. Anything that’ll make you happy.” Killian turns his attention back to Dash. Thinks about how much he’d enjoy kissing him. Leans over and does it.

He doesn’t regret it. Not in the moment, and not even nine months later, when everything they built together disappears.

Kieran, Again

“Can I join you?” Killian shrugs a shoulder, contemplating how hard the delicate champagne flute in his hand would hit the ground if dropped from this height. Kieran’s apartment has a fantastic view of Times Square. Killian wonders how much he paid for it. Too much, probably. He remembers that Kieran had asked a question.

“Never said you couldn’t.” He turns his attention back to the champagne flute.

“You want a refill?” Kieran asks, joining him at the balcony railing and gesturing to the empty glass. He probably just wants Killian to stop holding it over the edge of the balcony. Killian acquises with a chuckle, handing Kieran the glass.

“If I have any more alcohol I’m going to lose the resolve that’s keeping me from climbing over this railing.” He means it to sound lighthearted, but his voice cracks and he knows Kieran is worried by the way he stiffens. “It’s not that bad, really.” He shrugs. “I shouldn’t be so upset.” Kieran is being awfully gracious, allowing him to stay the night at his apartment. He shouldn’t be acting like this. Knowing that just makes it worse.

“It’s okay. That’s why I don’t drink when I’m up here. I get drunk and convince myself I can fly.” Kieran’s voice is tight. Controlled. Killian wonders how many times he’s skated around these things before. He turns to Kieran.

“I’m not okay.” Saying the words is almost liberating. Almost. Killian forces a half smile. Kieran nods. Puts the champagne flute down on the patio table and opens his arms. Killian goes to him and lets Kieran hold him.