#maemi324

“Non-lethal!” you hurry to assure him as he whips open the door.

Doesn’t matter. He looks nearly feral as he falls to his knees before the couch, grabbing at any piece of you he can, all of you.

You give him your frigid fingers. He presses a smattering of kisses into your palm, then guides your hand to the warm column of his neck, trying to give you his heat.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, flexing your thumb. It brushes against his adams apple, the coarse tendons straining under his skin. “I got you.”

He’s still shaken by the afternoon, the message he received from his assistant after the dust had settled and the villain was in custody. You had been swept up in the melee, on your way to get coffee with a friend. He wasn’t even made aware until after the press briefing, as he was on his way back to the office to clean up.

Everything is fine, he was informed.

But it wasn’t. You had been hit, hurt, and he didn’t even know until an hour, maybe two, after the fact. It makes him seethe in his own skin, fills him with an impotent energy with no outlet.

He picks you up off the couch and carries you to the bathroom. As the tub fills with steaming water, he peels off your layers. Overcoat and sweater, leggings, two pairs of fleece socks. They pile on the floor, a limp accusation.

Every inch of skin revealed he kisses and pets and rubs, heats with his breath and his own body. Your temperature is still too low for his liking. He wants to press his own warmth into you, wants to bundle you up inside of him and keep you safe.

“You’re good to me, baby,” you tell him as he lifts you into the water, follows you down. The two of you do nothing, no cleaning involved at all, just sit in the simmering warmth, wrapped around each other.

When the water starts to cool he hauls you out again, sending a couple of feathers to grab some clothes and a blanket for you both. You don’t make it out of the bathroom. He’s too clingy to get distance, and he turns on the shower on the highest setting to warm the room again.

You end up curled into one another on the floor, you in his lap, facing each other.

It’s quiet for a long while. You’re not cold at all anymore, not with him wrapped around you so well. In your closeness you can feel the way he starts to fall apart. His chest shuddering with half-breaths, his mouth working in silent murmurs against your throat. With your arms wrapped around his middle your hands brush against his interior feathers as they tense and release sporadically. You brush a finger along one of the spines to remind him not to let them get sharp.

He’s not crying yet, but as his wings spread in response to your gentle prodding, you know it’s coming.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” you whisper.

His response is just a quiet, warbling, “Please.”

You don’t know what to do with that, so you stay silent. Just smooth out the knotted barbs, press stray kisses against his bare shoulders, his collar bones.

The lack of control is hard for him. There are darker, less tame parts of him that want to lock you up, force your safety. He admitted to you, once, that he’s thought about running, stealing you away to some secluded place where it would be just you and him and the sky. He has pictures on his phone. Sometimes he flicks through them when patrol is slow, a ranch out South, where you could both just slow down, rest. He wants it so bad. But he wants your happiness more than that. More than anything.

There’s no right answer. You’re soft, vulnerable-- there’s no helping it. You weren’t trained to survive, not like he was. There have been precautions taken. A surprising amount, actually. For someone as seemingly laid back as he is, Hawks does not take your security lightly. Still, there’s only so much he can do to keep the outside world from touching you. Life can’t be lived inside the penthouse alone, as much as he may try to convince you otherwise.

All that’s left to do is hold on and hold on and hold on. Keep each other warm in the aftermath, as best you’re able.

You feel yourself growing slurred with sleepiness. You can’t stay here forever, and you’d like to crawl into an actual bed after your strenuous day. Finally you try to pull yourself up, but his grip goes rigid and tight, his teeth brushing against your skin as he buries his mouth hard against you.

“Stay. Please.”

You settle back against him, your eyes creeping shut. You know he’ll take care of you, when you’re out. He always does.

Angus comes to a stop next to the bed and Taako can hear his breath shaking. Definitely nightmares, Taako thinks and his stomach sinks a bit because dammit, he’s not qualified to handle this shit. He wishes fiercely that Kravitz was awake. His boyfriend might be dead but he knows how to navigate around feelings whereas Taako is always putting his foot in his mouth.

Angus reaches up (the bed is high; Taako has slept on the cold, hard ground enough times to appreciate a good, thick mattress) to grab Taako’s arm. He gives it a little shake.

“Da- Taako,” he whispers and Taako can almost convince himself that his heart doesn’t skip a beat or two at the almost-word. “Taako!” Angus hisses, a bit louder and Taako makes a show of rousing himself from slumber, a part of him still hoping to avoid the situation entirely.

“Mmh… Whassap, little dude?” Taako says, making sure to mumble and blink his eyes blearily. Angus stands in front of him, his small pointed ears drooping and a blanket over his shoulders like a cape. His eyes are red-rimmed; he’s been crying. Taako is flooded with the intense desire to whirl around and shake Kravitz awake before escaping the room.

“I had a-,” the boy starts, hesitates and swallows thickly. “Can I- can I sleep here? Like, for a little bit?” His voice is barely loud enough to hear and after saying his piece, Angus turns to look away as if ashamed and there’s a whispered please that Taako wouldn’t have even heard if he was as sleepy as he was feigning to be. Taako feels like something is stuck in his throat and he’s cursing up a storm in his mind. He’s so bad at this.

“Sure thing, pumpkin. ‘s free real estate up here in Taako town,” Taako says, aiming for casual. He pats the bed with his palm but makes sure to yawn at the same time like he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t know the words he’s supposed to use here but if all the kid wants is to sleep in the same bed? That’s easy enough.

Angus’ smile looks watery still but he climbs up into the bed and curls under his blanket, his back towards Taako, who manages not to sigh in relief. Crisis averted, he thinks and closes his eyes.

Then he hears a sniffle.

He ignores it. Maybe the kid just has a stuffy nose and it will pass.

But then there’s another.

Taako takes a deep breath through his nose, preparing himself. Seems like he doesn’t have a choice here. He needs to do… something. He opens his eyes again and sees Angus trembling slightly under his blanket. He looks so small. He’s just a kid.

“Hey,” he whispers and Angus stills. “You wanna, like, come over here?”

“I don’t want to bother you, sir,” Angus says quietly, muffled by his blanket and something in Taako’s chest bends and breaks.

“You’re not a bother, Angus,” he says, honest for a change. “Come here baby, yeah?” He reaches for Angus who turns around, hesitates for a second, and then surges forward into Taako’s arms. He hides his face somewhere near Taako’s collarbone and sniffs.

“You’re okay kiddo,” Taako whispers against the top of Angus’ head, runs his fingers through curly hair; his touch lingering on the boy’s pointed ears. “Taako’s gotcha.”

Angus, still cocooned in his blanket lets out a deep, stuttering breath before relaxing in Taako’s arms. Taako closes his eyes, feeling drained and more than ready to go back to sleep. His fingers travel idly in Angus’ hair, straying to the back of his neck and around to brush against his little ears. He’s half asleep when he hears something.

Angus is purring.

It’s a quiet and unsure rumble at first like he hasn’t done it in a long time. Taako’s breath catches in his throat. It probably has been a while since Angus has felt comfortable enough to purr.

Taako’s hand stills in Angus’ hair as he is hit by a memory. He remembers being curled up next to Lup, together in some hidey-hole, feeling safe next to his sleeping sister and purring in unison with her, soothing each other.

And he can almost remember even further back, bundled up in the embrace of someone like a mother, lulled to sleep by the vibrations he felt, held against her chest.

Angus feels safe here, Taako realizes and bites his lip to ground himself. He can’t help it, he starts purring too, to let Angus know that there’s someone with him. Taako’s purr has a hesitant start but Angus’ purring kicks up a notch in response and the boy, fully asleep, presses closer. Without thinking, Taako lets out a reassuring trill and Angus settles down with a pleased noise.

Taako starts a little when he feels colds lips press a kiss behind his ear. It’s Kravitz, of course, the asshole. Has he been awake the whole time? If Angus wasn’t asleep (literally in his arms), Taako would kick his shitty boyfriend in the shin.

“Someone’s getting burned pancakes for breakfast,” he hisses. Kravitz chuckles against Taako’s shoulder, before kissing it. “I’m proud of you, love.”

“Fuck off,” Taako whispers half-heartedly because he’s Taako from TV, and he’s amazing at everything he does. Naturally, this parenting thing is no exception. 

He feels Kravitz move his arm to drape it over Angus as well and he grins to himself because his boyfriend is a friggin’ sap. And if Taako moves too, to hold Angus a little more securely, well, it’s not like Kravitz would tell anyone.