Blair had a strong inclination that he would end up in hell when he finally snuffed it, but what he was about to do would guarantee him a one-way ticket.
He blinked at the cursor hovering above the pay button, one tiny little twitch of his finger, and it would be done. Barely any effort on his part for the enormity of the result it would produce.
He wasnβt sure how long he sat there for. Long enough for the bright screen of his laptop to be the only light in his room. Long enough for his muscles to go tight with the anticipation. Β
Fuck this, he needed some liquid courage.
A quick trip to the fridge and five minutes later he was back on his bed, open beer in hand and his laptop still open on the onlyfans page he had stumbled across last week.
It had been an accident, of course it was. Browsing through the profiles, trying to find someone that would finally, finally, take his mind off Eoin.
Fat lot of good that did him. Half an hour of searching only to have his beautiful face staring back at him from the tiny screen of his phone.
Xx_IrishBoy_xX
Belfast and Dublin, 6β2 and 6 Β½β π. Β
Was what lit up when he tapped on the profile, alongside a small photo of Eoin grinning into the camera. Blair felt sick when he recognised the crack in the wall of the background. It was Eoinβs bedroom.
Blair switched off his phone and flung it across his bed, ashamed of seeing as much as he did.
Now, a week later, he had looked at the profile every day. Eoin had posted one new video and two new photos. All blurred out for the unfortunate souls like Blair who hadnβt clicked the fifty-euro subscribe button.
Not that Blair needed to subscribe to see what Eoin looked like. He saw the lad practically every day as it was.
But he would never see him like this.
Because Eoin was smart and funny and good-looking, and although he was sweet on Blair, he could do way better than a man like him. And it was Blairβs duty as his best friend to make sure Eoin found someone perfect.
He really wasnβt planning to do anything about his newfound information, wasnβt even sure if he should bring it up with Eoin. βalright lad, sorry about this but I found your onlyfans, fancy another drink?β No, Blair would be keeping this to himself. It was for the best, he said. even though the sick feeling in his gut told him he was just being selfish.
And then of course, a new post tonight: Want to hear me moan your name?? Subscribe now for your own video!
Now Blair was conflicted. He always liked how Eoin said his name, somehow different from anyone else, like it had a deeper, more secret meaning. He had looked particularly lovely at the pub tonight, the flush from the beer staining his cheeks, the warm glow of the lamps casting a soft glow over the entirety of him. Blair could hardly remember anyone else there; he was so busy staring and then so busy trying to make sure nobody realised he was doing it.
Heβd set up his own account, another name obviously. βPaddyβ was still common enough yet connected to Blair for it to have an impact.
Taking a quick swig of beer, he pressed the button.
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New chapter of Quick To Tears, Slow to Love is now up.
I wrote like 70% of it half asleep, got annoyed at having to rewrite stuff Iβd had sitting around for months, and bits I didnβt plan for turned up. I donβt know whatβs going on anymore.
I have a book club meeting coming up and my book for the month is Damien Lewisβ SAS: Brothers in Arms (the first of the Paddy Mayne Trilogy).Β
This is the fourth book about the SAS I am presenting and need some help with what to actually present.Β
For context, I have presented reports onΒ
the ships of the fandom (featuring some heinous diagrams that still haunt me)Β
Paddy and Eoin and what we have done to them (including a live demonstration with a blender)Β
The importance of Paddon to the fandom (including the origins of the fandom on Ao3 and Paddonβs role in that)Β
(some screenshots of my previous reports. Also I call Paddon, McMayne)
The rules of my book club are no spoilers for the books at all, meaning I tend to stick to show/ fic related stuff as a loop hole. And as none of my mates have watched the show, each report is like a crash course.Β
If you have any suggestions, Iβd love to hear them.Β Your help is greatly appreciated and Iβll credit you at the end of the report.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/10
Fandom: SAS: Rogue Heroes (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Paddy Mayne & Ambrose McGonigal, Paddy Mayne/Eoin McGonigal
Characters: Paddy Mayne, Ambrose McGonigal, Eoin McGonigal, David Stirling, Jock Lewes, Johnny Cooper, Reg Seekings, Pat Riley (SAS: Rogue Heroes), Jim Almonds, Dave Kershaw
Additional Tags: alternate universe - ambrose mcgonigal joins the sas, part buddy comedy, part brotherly war story, part deep pining, Paddy Mayne is His Own Warning, Eoin McGonigal Lives, established paddyeoin, our darling eoin is alive but elsewhere
Summary:
Paddy Mayne agrees to join the SAS on the condition that David Stirling recruits Lieutenant McGonigal. The only problem? Stirling recruits the wrong one.
or: ambrose mcgonigal joins the SAS. paddy mayne is not best pleased.
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Eoin was careful to keep his voice even when he said, βThe only thing I know at the moment is that youβre drunk.β
βThat I am,β Paddy said, and paused for a breath. βWant tβknow something else?β
βGo on.β
βYouβre blushing.β
(or, what happens when Eoin stays back at camp while Paddy gets spectacularly drunk on a night out in Cairo.)
Hey! For the fic asks: 'Because you're in my home, heart, head and bed' <3
I remembered I still had those in my inbox and figured it was the perfect way to ease back into writing after the sas reverse bang since these made-up fic title memes can be short.. anyway this is 5.2k of postwar Paddyeoin, I hope you'll enjoy <3
Given the length, it's also on AO3 for those who prefer β€οΈ
Belfast weather in March is predictable β it rains. Most days it isn't even a downpour that would have allowed Eoin to take out his notebook and let the rhythmic fall of water-drops guide his pen but a constant drizzle that turns the streets grey and soaks anyone who steps outside for longer than ten minutes. It brings its weight in humidity too, cold and harsh against Eoin's knee. Long gone are the days when Eoin could walk around with only a twinge of discomfort; the dry sun of Sicily has been replaced by Ireland's mist that wraps around his knee and covers it in what feels like a blanket of needles.
Well. Perhaps the rain isn't the only reason for the way the bone throbs. Concrete streets may be easier to navigate than sand but desert didn't have stairs, which have become one of Eoin's greatest enemies. A cottage in the countryside would be nice if only he still trusted himself with long drives β with the constant strain of getting around, his knee feels wobbly just from picking one of his nieces up. Eoin can't shake the fear it would give up on him if he ever needed to brake abruptly. Besides, the three flights of stairs to his and Ambrose's flat aren't that bad. It's a bit of a hassle when he has grocery bags or when the days grow colder and the pain harsher, but Eoin can manage. He's been living here alone for ten months and has only fallen four times β and one didn't count as it was more due to a fever than his capricious knee.
With a sigh, Eoin tilts his head back against the wall, forehead and right temple tingling with residue cold after being pressed against the window for so long. It's not even 7:55 pm yet; there's no need for Eoin to watch the passersby on the street below his flat. He finds himself glued to the window anyway, something soothing in the cold it radiates, in the reflection of the golden light coming from his living room lamp. Already dark outside, Eoin has closed every curtain but this one; it's an odd feeling, to be safe and warm in his home watching people hurrying under the rain with only streetlights to guide them β some days, Eoin can hardly believe that the past six years were real. That he's come home at all.
So many things have changed since. Even this flat, in which Eoin has lived since he was eighteen. Though the hallway is still the same as the one whose wooden floor creaked under one's feet no matter how gentle or careful, which used to wake Eoin up when Ambrose left for work before the war, it now remains dark. The living room lamp doesn't reach it, and Eoin doesn't bother to turn on the light on the hallway often. After all, unless it is to retrieve a book from the bookshelf that lines a portion of the hallway, Eoin doesn't walk through it, have little use of the two rooms the hallways hides; his bedroom, almost never used since he rarely sleeps these days, and Ambrose's, unused ever since Ambrose moved out after he got married. Nevertheless it'll always be Ambrose's bedroom, the same way this flat has always been Eoin and Ambrose's β even when Ambrose moved out and paid rent to keep it despite Eoin being MIA.
The thought still has Eoin's throat tighten painfully. Twenty-one months of additional rent just so Eoin would have a place to come back to. So he'd know Ambrose had never stopped believing he would come home. Eoin's never thanked him for it.
He and Ambrose never talk about those months.
Yet for all that Eoin misses having his brother so near, it's probably all for the better that Ambrose moved out; the last thing Eoin wants is to hold his brother back. Ambrose's married now. He has bairns waiting for him to come home from work. The reminder never ceases to make Eoin's head spin but marriage and fatherhood sit well on Ambrose. And were Ambrose to live with Eoin still, it would have been impossible for Paddy and him to do what they do. Even Ambrose would be bound to say something if he knew Paddy slept in Eoin's bed every Friday night. Eoin's mouth twists.
How cruel is it that he was freer miles deep into Nazi territory than safe at home? An army uniform that would have burned like the rope around his neck if anyone found out about them let him kiss Paddy every night whereas the soft fabric of civilian clothes chains him to a friend's distance care. Familiar bitterness coils in his gut, and Eoin has to take a deep breath to remind himself he is glad to be back home.
A cutting figure strides forward in the street, catching Eoin's eye and snapping him out of his thoughts β 8 p.m. must have rang without him hearing. The man has his head bowed against the rain but Eoin doesn't need to see his face to recognize him.
Paddy's strides are determined as he approaches, barely slowing when passersby step in his way. With his broad shoulders and the scowl that no doubt pulls his lips downwards from having to face the evening crowd, he makes for an impressive figure. It mustn't take him thirty seconds to reach the spot parallel to Eoin's window were he on the ground floor.
It's too dark for Eoin to make out Paddy's expression, the sun having long since set to be replaced by streetlights that don't lighten much but his stomach flutters all the same as Paddy looks up. Even through the glass Eoin is sure Paddy has seen him, the weight of his gaze settling over him like a promise Eoin can't hold back a smile at. If the excitement of secrecy has faded months ago, the same cannot be said for the thrill of love.
You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, and soar with them above a common bound, Eoin thinks, with no small amount of trepidation.
Paddy must feel some of it too; he is just shy of running to cross the road, a sort of restrained trot that Eoin wants to giggle at while he eyes the crosswalk Paddy didn't bother to take, just twenty steps from where he was standing. Then he disappears out of Eoin's sight, and Eoin isn't so mad as to open the window to lean on the bannister and keep Paddy in his sight. Had it not been raining he would have, if only to hear Paddy's fond huff once he enters the flat β 'impatience is the trait of reckless youth' he'd say despite being worse than Eoin at both impatience and recklessness.
The window stays closed but a jittery energy still courses through Eoin's veins. Already, Paddy's steps echo in the staircase, quick and heavy like he too cannot bear to be apart a second longer. Drawing the curtain produces a high shrill as the rings drag over the pole; the sound only cements the reality of Paddy's footsteps coming nearer, and Eoin cannot bring himself to care about how tender his knee feels when he gets up, the bone protesting the strain after an hour at rest.
Eoin doesn't let the ache stop him from reaching the front door before Paddy.
This building is old β older than Eoin himself β and the stairs always creak, particularly between the first and second floor. Paddy has just finished passing those.
Just one flight of stairs left. Thirty steps before Paddy is back in his arms, after seven long days without the warmth of him against Eoin, the softness of his lips against his, his broad palms all over Eoin. The prospect of it has his heart thundering in his chest, like this is the first time Paddy comes ever. For a second he thinks he might be sick, impatience bleeding into nausea as the knot in his stomach grows tighter with every step Paddy takes β he's taking the stairs two by two, and just hearing it brings a smile to Eoin's lips. At least he isn't alone in his heartache.
The wooden door is hard and cold under his forehead when Eoin rests against it, breathing deep through his nose as he massages at the space of his heart. He has learned many things since he's first kissed Paddy, the first of which is that the longer the distance, the easier it is to bear. It wouldn't be so bad if it was countries between them that prevented him from touching Paddy β distance is hardly a human product. But to know the one he loves is a two-minute walk or a bus ride away and yet not be allowed to take either of those more than once a week is the worst pain Eoin has ever felt. He'd break his leg a thousand time ever β give it, even β not to hide this love that's healed him more than morphine and gauze ever could. Let him never walk again if it means he can kiss Paddy whenever he pleases, be it dark or daylight, secluded or crowded.
Paddy's footsteps slow, the echo no longer hollow ; he's out of the staircase and onto the landing, walking to Eoin's door. Eoin can see it in his mind, how Paddy uses both hands to card his hair back, then down to straighten his collar and readjust the knot of his tie.
When they'd just gone home last May, Eoin could imagine that this was their official weekly date, that he and Paddy were dating, a word Eoin has always known he could never use β not the way his friends and siblings do anyway. As the days had grown shorter and his mother's fussing overbearing, Eoin lost joy in the pretence. He's sure it is the same for Paddy too, the tension in his jaw growing sharper every time Eoin sees him. Yet there's no point in wallowing in misery when neither of them can change the way the world works. It's enough that he and Paddy can have lunch together every Tuesday, and a night at Eoin's flat every Friday, with the occasional walks scattered across the week. It's enough that Paddy always comes as soon as he can without a minute of delay. That Eoin can kiss and hold him all night, even if it is only one night out of seven.
It has to be enough. It's more than his twenty year old self had dared to dream of. Eoin won't ruin their night with his sullen mood.
Just like he does every Friday, he breathes deep before exhaling, and imagines all his heartache to leave him as he does so. Only then does he open the door, ready to welcome Paddy in what is their home only on Friday nights. Leaning on the doorway to peek his head through, Eoin doesn't have to force the smile that curves his mouth when he finds Paddy barely two steps away.
"The dead arose and appeared to many."
"Is this to be my greeting every Friday?" Paddy asks even as his face softens, a small twitch of his lips betraying a smile. Just as Eoin had thought, his damp hair has been carded back, and his collar is straight.
In another world perhaps this would be Paddy picking Eoin up to take him to the theatre, to watch a movie Paddy has no interest in but will make him smile for the way it brings sparks to Eoin's eyes.
"It fits doesn't it?" Before bitterness can bleed into his tone β and really, had he seen Paddy just a few hours ago he would have greeted him the same β Eoin closes his hand around Paddy's wrist and tugs him inside. "Welcome home."
He's said these words before, what feels like an eternity ago. There had been sand and a gazelle soup, and Paddy had smiled but insisted 11 Commando hadn't been home. There's comfort in the way Paddy doesn't deny that Eoin's flat is his home and lets himself be crowded against the shutting door, a quick flash of teeth betraying a grin before Eoin kisses him.
Paddy hums against him, a low sound that manages to be both content and desperate, and speaks to Eoin's soul β they may not talk of it, but Eoin knows Paddy suffers just as he does from their sneaking around. All this bloodshed for the motherland and Eoin can't even kiss his love in the streets he almost lost a leg for. Grunting in frustration at the path his thoughts have taken when Paddy is right there, a hand tangled in his curls and nose digging hard in his cheek, Eoin tilts his head to the side, licks into Paddy's mouth until the taste of whisky coupled with the rough drag of stubble against his mouth kills any thought that isn't Blair.
His hands shake as they trail over Paddy's torso β hips, sides, chest β then slide over his shoulders and under his damp coat. Without breaking the kiss, Paddy pulls away from the door a fraction, hands leaving Eoin's hair and waist to help him take the coat off. Eoin hasn't put it on the nearby coat hanger yet that Paddy is pulling him closer again, warm palm settling perfectly against his jaw; the coat is tossed in the vague direction of the hanger.
Snaking a leg between Paddy's, Eoin steps closer until they're pressed together as much as they can, forcing a groan out of him. Paddy's warm and solid against him, his breath heavy on Eoin's cheek.
Eoin can't get enough. He and Paddy had lunch together Tuesday as they always do but Eoin can't get him like this on Tuesday. He can't kiss Paddy's cheek as he goes to sit down, can't kiss his lips before they part. Can't even wrap an arm around his shoulders for longer than a few seconds. His eyes clench shut to better feel Paddy β the smell of him filling Eoin's nostrils, the softness of his lips against Eoin's, the grunts and breathless sounds he can't hold back. In a few hours he'll go and all of that will disappear until next Friday. Desperation builds in Eoin's chest, a whirlwind of frustration and ache that has a wounded noise spill from his throat while he licks into Paddy's mouth. Paddy retreats immediately, pulling back just out of reach and keeping Eoin at a distance with the hand on his nape despite the whine that leaves him at the loss.
"Alright?" Paddy pants, breath fanning warm against Eoin's face. Eoin can't bring himself to open his eyes, especially not when a callused palm cradles his cheek, thumb stroking the thin skin under his eye that he knows is painted lilac.
"Yeah." His voice is hoarse, too close to breaking to be believable. Paddy makes a small noise at the back of his throat, something sad and worried, and wounded all at the same time. Eoin forces himself to open his eyes. Faced with the frown marring Paddy's brow, Eoin presses a soft kiss to the corner of Paddy's mouth. "I missed you," he speaks against that tender spot, feeling Paddy's hand drift to his jaw.
"Eoinβ"
"I know." He kisses Paddy's cheek, in hope to soothe the guilt he heard in the unusual call of his name. It isn't Paddy's fault any more than it is Eoin's. "Have you eaten yet?"
A beat passes during which Paddy seems to be studying him, eyes darting all over Eoin's face and lingering on the faint bruises under his eyes before Paddy slowly shakes his head.
"Later," he mumbles against Eoin's lips. "There's a lad I've only seen in dreams lately that I want to kiss." That brings a small chuckle out of Eoin, which seems to please Paddy if the twitch of his mouth is anything to go by.
"Are you dreaming now, Paddy?"
"Dreams aren't as sweet as this." Warm hands sneak under Eoin's shirt to settle on his waist and spine, making him shiver. "Though you do make them sweeter."
"Dream of me often, do you?"
"Oh, I only dream of you," Paddy drawls, stealing a kiss from him that Eoin can hardly pull away from.
"Well, aren't you sweet today. Something happened that I should know about?"
Paddy huffs, then leans forward to nip at Eoin's bottom lip. "I'll show you sweet, boy."
True to his word, Paddy is nothing if not sweet that night. If the trip to Eoin's bedroom is a short one, he takes his time divesting Eoin of every cloth he wears, kissing every inch of skin that appears like it is something sacred. Paddy hasn't undressed himself that Eoin already feels close to coming, naked and flushed on his bed with Paddy's hot mouth on the inside of his thigh, getting closer to where Eoin needs him most. Time seems to stretch endlessly as Paddy pulls him over the brink of pleasure once, twice, then again as Paddy falls over the edge with him, breathy moans muffled into his neck. Paddy settles over him like a heavy blanket that Eoin welcomes, muscles deliciously loose and mind quiet as post-coital warmth spreads through his body.
Head turning a fraction, he brushes a kiss to the tip of Paddy's ear, to which Paddy hums into his skin before he hoists himself on his elbows, hovering above Eoin excruciatingly close. He's debating pouting his lips in silent query when Paddy steals the choice from him and presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, achingly tender.
"Sleep, love."
And doesn't it sound like heaven, to sleep with Paddy blanketing him, as close to Eoin as he'll ever be. To sleep in the arms of the one he loves and holding him in return. If only every night was as sweet as this. Perhaps there's still some unknown country where the sun doesn't shine and it's forever night, her dark shadows stretching to hold and hide them from view for as long as they want.
"Stay," Eoin mumbles, hooking a hand at Paddy's nape to pull him down against his neck once again. He can feel Paddy open his mouth in protest and he hums in rebuttal, already settling his head against Paddy's and closing his eyes. "We'll clean up in the morning."
He's asleep before Paddy's answer reaches him.
It's the most peaceful sleep Eoin's had since the last time Paddy came over β a deep, undisturbed sleep that clings to him even as it fades in favour of consciousness. Rain still falls outside, unceasing and uncaring of human woes. Eoin shivers, feeling oddly cold. It was safer before. Shifting on his side, Eoin blinks several times to have his eyes adjust to the light β weak and grey, barely passing through the thick curtains of Eoin's bedroom. Just enough thar Eoin can see Paddy's silhouette as he sits on the edge of the bed, shirtless but with his trousers back on.
Paranoia has him fleeing Eoin's bed before sunrise.
Heart twisting painfully, Eoin reaches out a hand until his fingers brush against Paddy's back, seeing Paddy's muscles jump at the touch before Paddy twists to face him. They look at each other in silence, Eoin keeping his face carefully blank while Paddy frowns, gaze dropping to Eoin's outstretched hand on the sheets like it pains him to look Eoin in the eyes.
"I have to go, lad," he whispers, apology and excuse all at once. Eoin's jaw twitches.
Lad. The name Paddy calls him when love would have them hung. And now the name Paddy calls him when 'love' is too painful for the action that has to follow his words too. As if calling him lad might have Eoin accept to let him go easier. Or perhaps it is that Paddy wouldn't have the strength to leave if he called him love.
Either way, Eoin's tired of it.
"It's not morning, yet."
"Your neighbour will wonder why she sees me leaving your home every Saturday morning."
"You ran into someone?" Eoin asks, mind still foggy with sleep.
Paddy shifts, seemingly uncomfortable.
"Last week. The lady on the first floor. With a Jack Russel."
"Oh."
Mrs O'Neill and her beloved dog β Quinn. She's always been sweet to Eoin, inviting him for tea every time she runs into him. She's never seen him with Paddy though, and Eoin frowns, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"She lives on the first floor. For all she knows you could have been coming down from the second or fifth."
Paddy's mouth twists and Eoin has to hold back a sigh. There's no pattern to Mrs O'Neill outings; leaving Eoin's flat before 6 a.m., when Paddy left last week, does not guarantee not meeting her this time. If Quinn decides 5 a.m. or whatever ungodly hour Paddy settled was safest is time for a walk, then Mrs O'Neill will be going out for a walk.
"Stay for lunch. If you run into her again, she'll think you just came to eat with me. I cooked yesterday, so we can stay inside." A hand takes hold of his, warm like the last embers of a dying fire.
"You know I can't," Paddy whispers. His hair falls limply over his forehead, hiding his eyes though Eoin can tell they haven't left their joined hands.
He wants to argue. Why can't Paddy stay? Eoin's windows may be clean but no one can see through them to note Eoin's foot hooked around Paddy's ankle as they sit at the dinner table or the kiss Paddy bestows on his cheek after complimenting his cooking. No one would ever know that once the dishes have been washed, they'd drift to the couch to read, Paddy's head on his lap.
Eoin bites his bottom lip until the familiar taste of iron meets his tongue.
He knows why Paddy can't stay; rumours are easy to spread, especially as time passes. People look at Paddy and don't see a decorated war hero anymore. They see a thirty-one year old man who still lives in his mother's house and goes to dinner with his best friend every Friday. No girlfriend. No wife.
Eoin looks at Paddy and sees the man who cares for him with the kind of love Eoin thought could only exist in books and poems. A man who's terrified of being found out because reality is unbearable even to himself.
Sometimes, when Eoin goes to have tea with Paddy and his mother at Mount Pleasant, he wonders what Paddy's ma sees when she looks at Paddy. When she looks at them. Ever since they've come home, she's had a knowing glint in her eyes whenever she hands Eoin his cup of tea β perhaps she already knows. She knows her son best, and for all that Paddy tries to hide it, Eoin knows he receives special treatment from him. It's in the way Paddy looks at him, tender and awed like Eoin is the brightest star in the universe, the Muse Paddy has always looked for. It's a dangerous look. Incriminating. Eoin wants to scoff at his own blindness. Of course Paddy's mother already knows β why else is Paddy exempt from any inquiry about a future wife when his brother isn't? Deep down, Eoin knows it's the same reason why she didn't bat an eye at Paddy telling her Friday were his and Eoin's pub nights nor at his poor excuse of Eoin's flat being closer and the buses to Newtownards stopping at ten to sleep at Eoin's every time.
She wouldn't say anything to Paddy staying for lunch.
Gently, Eoin swipes his thumb over Paddy's knuckles, prompting Paddy to look at him. There, in the dark blue of his eyes β Paddy knows it too.
In the darkness of dawn, he looks more afraid than Eoin's ever seen him. Like a scared little boy who clutches at his hand as though Eoin is his red thread to find his way out of the maze. Squeezing at Paddy's hand, Eoin takes a deep breath. Fear lodges thick in his throat, blocking the words he wants to say.
He's always known secrecy would come hand in hand with anything Paddy could ever give him, but maybe if Eoin can reach through the cracks fear has broken across his heart to seize just a little bit more bravery, secrecy doesn't have to be all that they have. Eoin's escaped a POW camp, survived a war for this. For a chance at a life with Paddy.
He'll seize it with both hands.
"You could move in."
Paddy's hand twitches in his even as Paddy himself freezes with a sharp breath. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet Eoin's.
"What?"
Eoin sits up, squeezes Paddy's hands in hope it will soothe the bewildered look on his face. Soreness spreads between his legs. "Ambrose's room is up for the taking. No one has to know you're sleeping in mine."
Silence fills the room, only disturbed by Eoin's heart that pounds in his ears and the heavy patter of rain outside. Paddy remains still, eyes wide and lips parted, and Eoin threatens to choke on his desperation.
"It wouldn't be odd," he insists, fiercer than he remembers being in a long time. "Didn't Pat move in with Jim?"
Something shatters in Paddy's eyes. When he speaks, his voice is pained. "Jim's married, lad."
There it is. The reason why Eoin only sees Paddy for their Tuesday lunches at the same isolated pub in a quiet street and for their Friday evening at 8 o'clock sharp. Routine. Routine can be explained.
Eoin clenches his jaw. Bites back the urge to take away the hand holding Paddy's. Gravity has Paddy's come leaking out of him, slow and uncomfortable β he can feel it staining the sheets under his thighs.
"So I should find a wife for you to stay?"
"That's not what I said," Paddy cuts off sharply, anger laced in panic twisting his mouth before he softens, shoulders dropping like he's carrying the weight of the world. Still, his hand clenches Eoin's so tight it's bordering on painful and guilt churns in Eoin's gut, chasing away the anger that's taken hold of him. In its place, weariness that he's barely able to withstand.
"Why can't youβ," he breaks off with a sigh. "It wouldn't be odd." His gaze drop to their joined hands, and his thumb strokes Paddy's knuckles again in apology. Slowly, Paddy's hold relaxes; a feeble smile makes its way on Eoin's face as he leans forward until their eyes meet. "We can say my knee's too fucked for me to live alone. It wouldn't be a lie anyway," he adds, shutting down the protest on the tip of Paddy's tongue.
After more than four years living with his wrecked knee, Eoin can admit to the truth. The same cannot be said for Paddy, whose back causes him too much trouble to live alone too but that's not a battle Eoin's ready to fight just yet. It'll be enough to get Paddy to stay at least a day longer.
The tip of his nose brushes Paddy's, forcing a shudder of him that Eoin smiles sadly at. If he had it his way, Paddy would never have to crave tender touch again.
"Stay," he whispers, lips ghosting Paddy's. "At least today."
If Paddy gives him today, Eoin knows he'll never be satisfied with Tuesday lunch and Friday night anymore; he's greedy like that. But he's also twenty-five, and most nights he chooses the company of books over that of twisted, bloodied faces and explosions that shape his dreams β it should be alright, to hold the one he loves for one night. Against him Paddy closes his eyes with a shaky breath before he tilts his head until his forehead rests against Eoin's. The proximity settles Eoin's heart and he wiggles just a little bit closer so he can better rest against Paddy. He still hasn't decided if it is cruelty on His part to have made them fit perfectly together only to put a world between them.
A palm cups his cheeks, the tips of Paddy's fingers cradling his jaw; the touch is so comforting, Eoin has half a mind to fall back asleep here. He would have had Paddy not pulled back, his hand leaving Eoin's cheek to trail down his naked arm.
"You're cold," he frowns, already leaning back to take his trousers off. Eoin blinks, surprised to find that Paddy is right. He is cold. Faint shivers has his shoulders shake, calling goosebumps that he hasn't noticed to spread over the skin of his forearms. Before he can open his mouth, Paddy slides under the bedsheets again, one arm going around Eoin's shoulders to pull him against his chest.
Relief leaving him equal parts lightheaded and exhausted, Eoin melts against him. Paddy's warmth bleeds into him, as though it was always meant to be shared with Eoin. Eoin will never feel safer than here. If he settles on top of Paddy to make sure he doesn't go away again, neither of them mention it. If anything, Paddy only clutches at him tighter.
A broad hand draws back and forth on his spine, with every stroke having Eoin's eyelids grow heavier. Yet a thought keeps on nagging at him no matter how hard he tries to chase it away. Like an insect that's been following him for weeks, it keeps on buzzing around in his mind. Eoin's too tired to fight it for long. Head buried in Paddy's neck, he shifts until Paddy's pulse thrums against his lips then struggles to find his voice. When he succeeds, the words sound small and fragile.
"It's still worth it, right?"
The hand on his back stills at once, a sharp intake of breath above him disturbing the silence. Eoin clenches his eyes shut around the dread that seizes his heart, and braces for the blow.
A barely there kiss lands against the crown of his head, soon followed by a hand on his nape that squeezes gently. A small noise spills from Eoin's throat; another kiss is pressed against his temple, where Paddy stays as he speaks.
"I lost you to the desert once. Tis not Ireland that will take you from me."
Fierce devotion wraps around every word, turning confession into vow.
It's enough.
In the morning β actual morning, with faint sunlight passing through both clouds and curtains β Eoin wakes up to slender fingers playing with his hair, and he doesn't need to ask to know Paddy hasn't slept. Instead he takes his time stretching his limbs, ignores the twinge his knee gives, and spends hours kissing Paddy, lazy and unhurried. Only when both their stomachs are growling does he get up to make tea while Paddy showers.
Eoin doesn't think he's ever had a slow morning like this.
When Paddy comes out of the shower with his skin still flushed and damp, he doesn't put on his coat again but wanders barefoot in Eoin's kitchen until he's plastered against Eoin's back, arms around his waist as Eoin pours them both tea. Paddy's face rests against his shoulder before lips drift to his back of his neck and stay there. Not quite a kiss so much as a lingering presence Eoin relishes in.
