#hellllpppppppmdsjnaks

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sleepless nights, empty bottles, dark skies.  all a familiar pattern in his life when things get a little too hot to handle, a little too much for his soul.  he’s a man burdened with sorrow and grief, masked in solitude and stoicism.  his shield-assigned therapist tells him there’s much he needs to work through, as if he doesn’t know his own brain.  he knows himself well enough.  knows how terribly far he falls from perfection, how he’s more of a stain than a pleasure.  yet tony often convinces him otherwise, trusting him with his heart, and connor treads carefully.  he’s no saint, no glorious lover.  he tries with intent, tries with action.  words often fall short, dead on his tongue before he even finds a way to phrase the very feelings he’s continually shoved into the hole in his heart.

if he’s the moon, then tony’s the sun.  they are often on different paths, though they meet together every so often.  those moments together are what make it worth it, but they are by far, not always joyous.  he’s come to check on tony, because it’s been a while, and he’s not one to pull him away from his work if he’s adamant about it.  boundaries are something he’s learned to work with, especially considering he’s got many of his own.

tonight the façade has cracked.  tonight, they eclipse each other.  tony, hungry and desperate, pulled against his body, and he understands.  he returns in fervour, a hand sliding under fabric against warm skin, fingers gripping lightly.  he grounds himself then, recognizes that this isn’t healthy, not for tony.  connor is no saint, but he refuses to pull a man deeper when he’s already drowning.  it’s difficult to tell him no, to pull his lips away and sway back onto his feet.  his free hand shifts to cup tony’s cheek.