#intershipping

"I think you need to soak your back," the words fall from Driver's mouth with a quiet definitiveness. He's staring at Colt from across the stuntman's bedroom, his blue eyes narrowed with a silent determination. Colt stares back, his usually bright expression dulled with a melancholy emotion.

It had only been a few months since the worst day of Colt's life. The sound of his back breaking, the scream tearing from his throat, and the pain that followed were scorched into the stuntman's mind forever.

Colt had closed himself off from everyone after that day.

No visitors at the hospital. No family. No friends. No coworkers. No Driver. Colt wasn't sure what he had with the mechanic or where they had stood before the accident. They'd started fooling around a few months into filming a project together, but that's what it was.

Fooling around.

But it wasn't, and Colt knew that. Driver knew that. It was never just fooling around. The stuntmen cared for each other. Neither could say the three words that every relationship dreaded, but they didn't need to.

Not when Driver showed up to the hospital every day after Colt was hauled away from that set in an ambulance, throwing him a thumbs up with his neck stabilized in a brace. Colt wouldn't let him up to his room. Wouldn't let him in.

It had been a tense few weeks after his admission to the hospital. Colt was pissed. The nurses knew no visitors meant no visitors. Their patient wouldn't talk. Would barely eat. He would sit in his bed, seething.

It took Colt's doctors telling him he would have irreversible damage if he didn't get up and move for his perspective to shift. Only then did he listen. Barely.

And every day, Driver stopped at the front desk, asking for Colt. The receptionists knew his face by the second week after the accident. He didn't even have to say anything - the workers would just shake their heads left and right. No visitation today.

So Driver would sit in the waiting room, his gloved hands fiddling in quiet but anxious thought for the whole day until visiting hours were over. Because maybe, just maybe, Colt would change his mind one day.

And it happened. 2 months after the accident.

Colt had a lapse in judgment, as he called it. When the nurse stopped by his door to ask if he wanted to let a visitor up, he almost reflexively said no. But he paused. Who could be so dedicated to coming to see him every day for almost 2 months?

When the blonde mechanic walked through the door, Colt almost asked the nurse to have him leave. But he didn't. He didn't say anything to Driver. Driver didn't say anything to Colt.

They sat in silence for over a week.

Then, Driver spoke. He got no response. It stayed like that for another week. Driver didn't know what to say. What to do. What could he do? The brightest ray of sunshine in his life was dulled into an angry storm cloud, with winds blowing fast to keep everyone away.

A grunt was the first noise Colt made toward Driver. In reference to the weather, Driver thinks. It didn't really matter to him - all that mattered was that Colt answered him. Then, day by day, visit by visit, Colt spoke. The storm clouds lessened, and the wind stopped blowing as fiercely.

It had been a long and hard road for Colt to allow Driver back into his life, and now, at this point in his recovery, he got to go home. While he had been initially reluctant to interact with Driver post-fall, Colt was thankful the mechanic had silently pestered him and stuck by his side.

"I think a shower would be better," Colt grumbles, running a hand over his blonde locks. His hair was longer than it had ever been, but Driver didn't push him to cut it. Reclaiming himself was the thought process.

The blonde-haired mechanic frowns silently, his expression pulling downward. "A bath will be better. You need the long heat exposure," he reasons. "You need to relax, Colt. That's the only way to heal."

Driver's words ring with truth, and Colt knows it. And he knows he's been beaten. But Colt doesn't think he can do it alone. He takes a deep breath and nods, "Okay, you're right." A few moments pass between the stuntmen, and then Colt whispers pleadingly, "Join me?" To say the least, it surprises Driver. Colt had been very adamant about cleaning himself alone for the past few weeks. This was the first time he wanted anyone to be with him while he was so vulnerable. Stripped bare. And not just of his clothes.

"Of course," is Driver's quick response. He doesn't even have to think about it. He crosses the room in a few strides, silently gesturing toward the bathroom with his chin. "After you."

The two work in silence, getting the bathroom put together. Colt runs water into the tub, stripping himself bare before slipping in, unable to meet Driver's gaze. The blonde mechanic, on the other hand, grabs a pair of clothes for each of them, setting them on the counter before following in Colt's footsteps.

Driver stands bare next to the bath for a moment, waiting for Colt to acknowledge him. He knows not to push. Not to rush him. Colt had leaned forward to fiddle with the water temperature, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see Driver.

"Sorry," Colt murmurs, slipping forward, leaving a large gap behind him. His cheeks are a little flushed as he offers, "Hold me?" Driver dips his chin in response before moving to the edge of the tub. He slides in behind Colt, using his grip on the lip of the tub to gently lower himself in behind the larger stuntman.

"Is this okay?" Driver asks quietly, parting his legs so that Colt can slot in between them. Colt hums in thought, turning the steaming hot water off before slowly leaning back. Driver catches sight of the angry red line near the bottom of Colt's spine, and he swallows thickly, tearing his eyes away from it.

Colt nods once as a groan falls from his lips, slowly but surely guiding himself to lean against Driver's bare chest, "Y-yeah." It's followed by a hiss, and Driver can't help the way his hands slip into the water, grasping at Colt's waist to steady him.

The larger stuntman shivers at the feeling of Driver's hands, but he does nothing to stop him. If anything, the touch is something he's needed but hasn't allowed himself to ask for. He had kept Driver at a distance for so long. He had barely been touched by his fellow stuntman in the months since the accident.

The two of them sit in silence as Colt gets comfortable, and Driver lets him take his time. There's no rush. No hurry. Just the two of them and the rest of the evening.

Driver finds some comfort in the hot water, gently swiping his thumbs over the delicate skin on Colt's waist. Colt, however, is still wound as tight as a coil. His frame is rigid despite being submerged in the pleasantly warm water, the smell of Epsom salts filling the bathroom.

Colt's tense figure makes Driver frown. This is supposed to be helping. And it's not. No sooner does Driver have the thought do Colt's hands find his own. Colt's fingers are large and thick, and they slot through Driver's satisfyingly. Like a zipper clicking together.

The silence grows. It shifts from being tolerable to being stifling in the span of a few seconds. Colt's the one to break it. He interlocks his fingers with Driver's, pulling one of the mechanic's hands up to rest on his chest. The other, he guides down to rest on Colt's thigh.

The movements cause water to lap at the edge of the tub, gently splashing, but neither stuntman says anything. A shaky breath falls from Colt's lips as he guides Driver's hands to truly touch him for the first time in months.

It's a little overwhelming for Colt at first, but Driver is patient. So, so patient. He lets Colt guide his hands at a slow, methodical pace, gently feeling over the smooth skin for lumps in the muscles that he can try to work out with the pads of his fingers. Driver's fingers circle over Colt's leg and over his abdomen, soaking in the feeling of his partner in his hands.

Colt then releases Driver's hand on his abdomen with a quiet whimper. Driver's gaze instantly widens, thinking that Colt is in some type of pain or upset at something he did. The mechanic moves his hand upwards, but that's when he bumps against Colt.

Both of them freeze at the contact. Driver's mind swirls. He hadn't touched anyone or even himself since Colt's accident. Colt is no different. He's afraid he'll scare Driver off. They were meant to be relaxing. And here he was, taunt and on the muscle.

Then Driver surprises both of them. His fingers float downward through the hot water for a moment before they dip forward. His fingers make soft contact with Colt's cock, gently grasping it and rubbing at the tip with his thumb.

He's already hard. That was what the whimper was from.

Colt whines, his head falling forward and his hips jerking at the sudden touch. Driver swears it's one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking sounds he's ever heard. So he continues.

Driver carefully pumps Colt's cock in his hand, the movements long and slow as if to not overwhelm him. This time, Colt moans as Driver gently squeezes his cock down at the base, and it fills Driver with an emotion he hasn't felt in a while.

Happiness.

He's happy that his touch is making Colt feel good. Lord knows Colt hasn't felt good in months. "It's okay," Driver soothes as he feels Colt's hips jolt forward in want, and then rapidly leans back in reprieve from Driver's touch. "It's okay." A ragged gasp tears from Colt's throat as he processes Driver's words, the mechanic's hand still slowly working up and down the length of his cock.

Tears flood Colt's eyes. He can't help it. It's too much. It's too much. It's. Too. Much. "It is okay," Driver's voice cuts in, his voice low and gentle. A sob pulls from deep in Colt's chest, and he manages to cry out, "You know, you don't have to do this for me..."

"...I want to," is Driver's sturdy response. Colt doesn't say anything, biting at his bottom lip, and Driver leans forward, pressing his chest firmly against Colt's back. Then he repeats it, "I want to."

At the end of his words, Driver swipes his thumb over the flushed, swollen tip of Colt's cock to further his point. Colt whimpers again at Driver's touch, leaning back into the mechanic's constant presence. Both of them needed this. Without saying anything, Driver continues sliding his hand up and down, his fingers running over the thick vein on the underside.

Colt's hips rut in time with Driver's hand pumping and squeezing, and the mechanic watches keenly over Colt's shoulder. He presses a few soft kisses to the sensitive skin there, along with some murmured encouragements.

That's my boy.

You're doing so good.

It's alright.

Let go.

Faster than Colt ever has, the coil burning deep in his stomach snaps, and he cums hard in Driver's hand. A moan of Driver's name morphs into a muffled cry as Colt's hands come up to cover sobs pulling from his lips.

Driver works Colt's heavy cock through his orgasm, milking all of the cum from him and draining him of the tears, sadness, loneliness, and heartbreak. The mechanic presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to Colt's shoulder as his hand eventually starts to slow.

Colt's body shudders under Driver's ministrations, his sobs growing louder until Driver wraps his other arm around Colt's waist. Only when Colt squirms and his cock starts to grow soft does Driver relent, bringing his damp hand up to cup Colt's cheek.

With all of the love and tenderness Driver can muster, he gently lifts Colt's chin and tilts the blonde stuntman's head around. He leans forward and around him, closing the distance between them for the first time in months.

Driver's mouth hits Colt's slow. He can taste the salt from Colt's tears on his lips, but he doesn't care. And Colt, his cries settle down at the encompassing feeling of Driver's mouth on his after so long.

Their lips chase each other with no hurry, no rush. Driver's brow furrows in concentration as he ever so slightly twitches his fingers on Colt's chin. That single movement is enough for his mind to give in, and he fully cups Colt's bearded cheek.

Colt isn't sure what to do with his hands, so he opts to rest them on Driver's legs on either side of his waist. It's more than enough for Driver. He wasn't worried about himself or his own pleasure. This was for Colt. This was for his partner.

When Driver pulls back a minute later, his lips burn with the passion from the kiss. And before he knows it, Colt is following his mouth. Colt rolls from leaning back against Driver to lying on his stomach.

The cries that had once quieted now come back full swing. But Driver doesn't panic. This is good. Colt weeps. All of his pain. All of his fear. All of it unleashes.

The mechanic slips his hands around Colt's back, gently soothing up and down the atrophied muscles. He hopes that this release, his touch, and this moment will help Colt realize he's never been alone. He's not a dud. Not broken. Not worthless.

Driver wonders for a moment if there is something he should say to Colt. Some ask to whisper. If he's feeling some type of relief or weight lifted off his shoulders. Then, he considers otherwise. Maybe there is nothing to say.

So the blonde mechanic does what he knows best - he holds Colt close. He holds him for a long, long time. The water will run cool, and with neither of them having scrubbed up, a shower inevitable.

But for now, the stuntmen are content to hold onto one another as all of the tension releases. Because to each of them - the other is all that is important.