#this occurred

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“Skrimm! Skrimm, wait! Hang on!”

Skrimm tried to tune him out. He marched onwards, gritting his teeth, focusing on the trail ahead and the shifting dirt under his feet. He couldn’t stay here, he had to leave, he had to get away, he couldn’t— fuck, no, he couldn’t stick around. Feelings, feelings, motherfucking feelings, he didn’t need them or want them— all feelings had ever done for him was fuck him up, and he didn’t need that, he couldn’t— no— he didn’t—

“Skrimm!”

Gricko’s hand closed around Skrimm’s elbow, holding tight enough that Skrimm couldn’t escape without a struggle. “Will ya stop running away? Please? We can talk, it’s okay—“

“It’s not fucking okay! Let me go!” Skrimm tried to wrench his arm away from Gricko, but the bastard held on tight. “I don’t wanna talk, I don’t wanna— I— Fucking let me go!”

Gricko flexed his grip on Skrimm’s arm, trying to pull him closer. He didn’t let go, and Skrimm knew that was because Gricko knew that he would bolt the second he did. “No! We needta fuckin’ talk. We needta talk about alla this!” Gricko pressed. “We’ve been sittin’ on this bullshit too long, and I’m not gonna let you run away from me again, y’hear?”

“Fucking— Godsdammit, Gricko, why won’t you let me go?!”

“‘Cause I care about you!” The desperation in Gricko’s voice was what caught Skrimm off guard. “I care about you! I always cared about you, but you would never fuckin’ let me. You ran back then the same way you’re runnin’ now. And, y’know what? I’m not letting you get away this time, Skrimm. You’re gonna give me an ex-plan-ashion this time, ‘cause I fuckin’ deserve it, and you know I do!”

A strangled sound of rage left Skrimm’s throat, and he finally turned on his heel, taking a step towards Gricko and jabbing his finger to his chest. “Y’wanna know why I left you the first time, Gricko?” He snarled, his burning red eyes glowing like coals in a fire. “I left you ‘cause I’m shit. I’m shit and I fuckin’ knew it. Everybody fuckin’ knew it but you, ‘cause you were too blind to see it. I’ve been burnin’ in the hells and I haven’t even died yet. I wasn’t gonna make you burn with me. I left you so you could do better.” 

Gricko just stood there, shellshocked, watching Skrimm unload the time bomb that had been sitting on his chest for years. “You don’t deserve to bear the consequences of my own fucking actions.” Skrimm’s voice broke, but he kept his head up. “You’re one of the few people I give a shit about, Gricko, and I’m not gonna fuck you up. So let me—“ He sighed, bringing his free hand to rub at his head, accidentally pushing his hat off in the process. He didn’t pick it up. “Just let me go, Gricko. Fucking please.”

Gricko didn’t let him go.

Gricko pulled him forward and kissed him.

With the hand still wrapped around Skrimm’s elbow, he’d yanked him forwards, making Skrimm crash into his chest with enough force to make Gricko take a stumbling step backwards. Unfazed, however, Gricko reached up to roughly grab Skrimm’s face, tilting his head and pressing their mouths together. The kiss itself wasn’t rough— just hard, firm, a symbolism in itself that Gricko— that bastard— wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

At first, Skrimm fought against it. He half-heartedly pushed at Gricko’s chest, his shoulders, trying to twist himself away, but Gricko held him tight. He wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. But, somewhere in the middle fighting against it, Skrimm started fighting for it— He scrabbled against Gricko for purchase, slinging his arms around Gricko’s shoulders, his claws slashing through Gricko’s clothes and biting into his skin; his tail lashed and whipped around Gricko’s leg, wrapping around him and holding tight; his kiss morphing into teeth and tongue as he kissed back, hard, desperate, clinging to him like a vice.

One of Gricko’s hands found the back of Skrimm’s head and dug his claws into his scalp, almost like a cat grabbing the scruff of her kitten. Gricko pulled him back just enough to get a breath, then he lurched forward with almost just as much intensity. Skrimm stumbled backwards a little, the hand in his hair helping to keep him steady, but he didn’t lose his focus. Skrimm’s kiss was like he was trying to suck Gricko into his body to keep him there forever. Their bodies pushed against each other, clashing together in waves of heat and emotion, both somehow fighting for both control and submissiveness. Eventually, they both lost their scattered footing and fell, Gricko atop of Skrimm.

The hand at the back of Skrimm’s head protected his skull from rattling against the ground, though the impact still jostled him a little. He shook his head, pushing himself up on his forearms. Gricko hardly missed a beat. He sat up on his knees, both of which were straddling Skrimm’s hips, before leaning over him with his palms against the dirt.

“Tha’ cute lil’ speech ya jus’ gave?” Gricko began, breathlessly, his accent thicker with both emotion and adrenaline, “I wonder how much of it is fuckin’ bullshit. I know ya, Skrimm Stabbaskotch, and I know yer one’a the most selfish people out there. You didn’ leave me ‘cause ya thought I deserved better. You left me ‘cause you didn’ want me ta figure out that I did deserved better and left ya first. You wanted ta beat me to it, huh? Didn’ wanna deal with tha’ hum-lily-ashion of gettin’ left behind, didja? Don’ play stupid, love. I know you.”

Skrimm’s mouth slackened in shock, struggling to reply. It wasn’t the truth, couldn’t have been the truth, but why couldn’t he deny it?  He just looked up at Gricko, panting, his claws digging into his palms. The silence stretched on, and Gricko chuffed, leaning his face closer to Skrimm’s. 

“Betcha I’m right, ain’t I?” Gricko tilted his head, grinning down at him.

Skrimm swallowed, forcing a response. “I think we both are.”

Gricko reached up with one hand, grabbing Skrimm’s jaw. His grip didn’t hurt, but it was still firm, keeping Skrimm’s face tilted up and so he had no choice but to meet his eyes.  “Well, guess what? I don’ think I want any better. I was perfectly conten’ an’ sass-i-fied wit’ you, an’ I wanna be conten’ an’ sass-i-fied wit’ you again.” 

Skrimm tried to find words, but they dissipated like smoke in his mouth, fleeting at the sight of Gricko’s furious eyes. He ultimately gave up on speaking and hooked a leg around Gricko’s hip, his tail winding around his waist as he lurched upwards to kiss him. Gricko lowered himself to an elbow,  his other hand digging into Skrimm’s hair, kissing back with just as much feverish urgency. Skrimm threw his arms around Gricko’s neck and shoulders, holding him close, feeling Gricko’s fanged necklace press into his own chest. Skrimm didn’t realized just how much he missed the feeling.

Skrimm kissed Gricko like he had been drowning and Gricko was fresh air. His claws dug into him, his tail tightened around his waist hard enough to leave marks tomorrow, the leg around his hip dragging him down so much that Gricko was entirely pressed into him. Gricko did nothing but let Skrimm drink him in while holding him tight, their mutual desperation caught in sharp claws and sharper teeth.

Eventually, the kiss softened. Skrimm pulled away for a breath and Gricko chased him, pressing a gentler kiss to Skrimm’s lips before trailing them over his jaw, holding his face with one hand to hold him still. Skrimm felt his heart seize, his eyes burning anew with tears he’d fought from falling.

“Fuck.” Skrimm mumbled, balling his fingers into Gricko’s hair and pushing his forehead into the crook of Gricko’s neck— trying to both get away from Gricko’s loving mouth and be closer to him. Gricko pressed his chin to the top of Skrimm’s head, letting himself and the twitchy goblin underneath him to breathe. 

“Stay wit’ me tonight.” It was less of a question than it was a statement. Gricko’s hand was running through Skrimm’s hair, scratching his scalp as he went along. “It don’t hafta be for every night. Jus’ for tonight.”

Skrimm knew there would be no “just for tonight.” If he stayed, there would be no leaving. Staying would mean staying forever, because Skrimm would lose his courage to go. His bravery would be taken apart, piece by piece, broken and shattered by Gricko’s loving kisses and sweet words. 

Skrimm looked up at Gricko, pulling his face back to look at him. “… Okay.”

Gricko exhaled a long breath, like he was relieved, and stood up. He offered Skrimm a hand, which he took. Gricko dropped Skrimm’s hands to stoop down and pick up Skrimm’s hat, brushing off the sand and putting it back on his head for him. Then Gricko picked Skrimm’s hand up again, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Skrimm swallowed the lump in his throat,  looking down at where their hands were interlinked and hardly believed it was real.

Gricko tugged him back through the winding trail they’d ran through, back to Kremy’s ever-growing carnival caravan. Skrimm bowed his head, his hat tipping over his eyes as they passed campfire after campfire of people staying up late or folks taking a watch, their eyes lingering on Skrimm and Gricko out of curiosity. Gricko led them through their firelight, starkly different from Skrimm’s urge to slink around them from the shadows.

The walk to Gricko’s wagon was short by then, and Skrimm spotted it when he saw the hulking owlbear lying nearby the entrance in a makeshift tent Gricko had pitched for her sometime earlier. Hootsie looked up at them blearily when she heard their footsteps, but she paid them little mind, just giving a happy coo when Gricko leaned down to pat her head.

The insides of Gricko’s wagon had been, like the others, magicked to be larger than it appeared on the outside. It was now a moderately-sized living quarters. A bed was at it’s center, with so many blankets atop of it that it looked more like a nest than anything else. It had no headboard, pressed firm into the wall just behind the jockey box outside. Chests full of storage were settled along the curved walls, filled with things Skrimm couldn’t even comprehend. There was a rather large dresser along the walls— big enough to fit the clothes of two people. Skrimm tried to ignore how that made him feel. 

The scattering of owl feathers on the floor and furniture suggested that a much-too-large owlbear must’ve tried to squeeze her way into the wagon to spend time with her Papa, but was ultimately forced to stay outside. Skrimm felt a little bad for her.

There was a comfortable-looking chair in the corner— the kind that would lean way back if you put your weight against it. It was cushioned, a few pillows and blankets strewn over it, big enough for Gricko to sleep in. There was a rumpled rug stretching underneath it and across the floor, fuzzy and stitched together in a few places. A lantern hung from the ceiling, dangling securely, offering light and just a little bit of warmth.

Gricko immediately made himself at home. He shrugged off his vest and slung it aside, letting it hit the ground somewhere random. He pulled his shirt up and over his chest, not missing the way Skrimm’s eyes caught on his pecs and drug all the way down to the happy trail peaking out from his shorts. He chose not to say anything for once, but he filed away the memory of the twitch of Skrimm’s ears and tail as he tore his eyes away, his face flushed. 

Gricko didn’t sleep in anything but his underwear back in the day, and it seemed like that still hadn’t changed. Not even the stupid heart-shaped boxers that made Skrimm almost bark out a laugh. He hoped it was a new pair, at least. Once Gricko had dressed himself down enough for bed, he hopped into it, curling into the covers and rustling up his makeshift nest even more. He almost burrowed himself under blankets, sheets, and pillows, with only his tail peaking out from the mass as it flicked from side to side.

Skrimm was a little slower to join him, but he undressed just the same. He shoved off his coat and threw it onto the nearby chair, setting his hat gently down next to it on the arm. He pulled off his own shirt and traded it for something of Gricko’s on the floor, not caring much for how long it’d been there, then undid his shoes and threw them aside. He kicked off his pants to leave himself in his boxers. He pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the fuzzy— yet almost wholly uncanny— feeling of how familiar it all was. 

It was a nighttime ritual repeated after years of disuse— years later, in a different setting, in an entirely different room, but still the exact same ritual. Skrimm found something to stand on to reach the hanging lantern to blow it out, just how he used to. Gricko smoothed out the side of the bed where Skrimm would sleep, preparing it for when he joined him, just how he used to. Old habits that had died hard, but came back to life with an air of sweetness. 

Skrimm clambered into bed, pulling the covers to his chin as wriggled to be eye level with Gricko. There was a space between them— not much of one, but a tentative gap that Skrimm had been sure to make. Gricko grinned at him, a hand coming over to rest on Skrimm’s hip. 

“You’re all the way ova’ there,” He pouted, sliding his hand over Skrimm’s hip and up his back as he both scooted towards him and pushed Skrimm forwards, earning little resistance from Skrimm himself as he became flushed to Gricko’s chest.

Skrimm thought he’d might die. His breath

felt like it was stuck inside his throat, crammed up and unable to come out. His arms reached out and latched around Gricko, clinging to the skin of his back like a vice. The other let out a soft grunt of pain as Skrimm’s claws pricked him, but made no move to get away, and Skrimm didn’t relieve the pressure. 

Gricko dunked his head, pressing soft kisses to the curve of Skrimm’s jaw. Skrimm let out a shuddering gasp, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck, there he goes, fuck— Skrimm tried to keep his composure as Gricko pressed his lips to the column of his throat, his tail winding around Gricko’s thigh and squeezing. 

“S’alright, love.” Gricko smoothed a hand over Skrimm’s back in up and down strokes, trying to be as soothing as he could manage. “Y’so tense.. Kinda like’a spring, y’know? Ya ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout ‘ere, love. S’just me n’ you. You can relax.”

Skrimm made a noise in the back of his throat, but he kept his mouth uncharacteristically shut. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t want to hear how weak his voice would sound when he used it, or that pathetic tremor, either. He just tried to ease his grip on Gricko’s back, to let his tail fall slack from where it’d nearly knotted around Gricko’s leg.

“Atta boy, there ya are,” Gricko praised, pressing another kiss to Skrimm’s neck. Skrimm simultaneously wanted him to stop and keep kissing him at the same time. They made him feel so ridiculous— like his heart was exploding inside his chest, like his eyes were on fire from the pressure of unshed tears burning in his waterline. Regardless, he still clung to Gricko, because he was too selfish to let go.

Gricko skimmed his nose along Skrimm’s throat, eventually settling into the crook of Skrimm’s neck and pressing another kiss there. Skrimm swallowed, turning his face to press himself into Gricko’s hair. The hand on his back stilled, instead just wrapping around Skrimm’s waist entirely, holding him tight to Gricko’s chest.

“Skrimm.” Gricko spoke, his voice soft against Skrimm’s skin. Skrimm hummed in response, still attempting to coax himself to relax his death-grip on Gricko’s back.

“Alla those stories that Barnabos tells— Those ‘orrible ones ‘bout Drakkar— they’re all true, ain’t they?” 

Skrimm froze, not expecting the question, his mouth drying out so much that it felt like a fucking desert. Gricko pulled back to look at Skrimm, his expression soft, looking like he knew the answer just based on Skrimm’s reaction. But he still waited.

Skrimm swallowed. His first reaction was to lie, to deflect— He didn’t want the sympathy, he didn’t want to humor the possibility that Gricko would treat him diferently— but he thought against it. He didn’t want to lie to Gricko. And that surprised him more than anything.

“Yeah.” Skrimm nodded, looking over Gricko’s head and behind him, refusing to look him in the eye. “Yeah, they’re true. All of them. Everything you heard really happened. Except it was a lot worse than how you think it is.” Just saying it felt like peeling off his skin and exposing his organs and bones. He wanted to crawl under the blankets and hide in them like the coward he was, hiding from the truth and the help and the kindness he knew Gricko could offer him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Gricko to know about Drakkar. Not that it mattered, though— Barnabos told tales of their horrors in the form of watered down sailor’s tales, spinning them like fiction to disguise their truth. Gricko had listened to every single one. He probably knew most of what Skrimm and his friends had gone through just by being observant.

Gricko just nodded, slowly, bringing his hands up from where they were around Skrimm’s waist to cup his cheeks. Skrimm leaned heavily into his touch without even thinking about it.  Gricko brought him forward and kissed him, soft but firm, his thumbs lightly tracing across Skrimm’s cheekbones in an absentminded manner. Skrimm’s grip tightened on Gricko again, making Gricko give a soft grunt against his lips in pain, but he didn’t lean away from him.

When Gricko pulled away, he didn’t go far— he stayed close that Skrimm could feel his breath against his lips. “Y’don’ hafta tell me ‘bout it, if ya don’t want to.”

Skrimm swallowed again. “You want me too, though.”

Gricko winced. “I mean, yeah. ‘Course I do. I wanna know ev’rythin’ tha’ happened ta ya when I wasn’t there t’help you. But I also

want’cha ta tell me at your own pace, too.”

Skrimm nodded, slowly. He then narrowed his eyes at Gricko, slightly, ironing down the split-second upwards quirk in his lips whenever Gricko narrowed his eyes back. He wanted out of that daunting conversation, so he focused his attention elsewhere. “Your accent’s thicker.”

Gricko blinked, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Your accent. It’s thicker than usual.” Skrimm chose not to mention just how thick Gricko’s accent had gotten when they were rolling around on the ground making out like teenagers, or just how hot Skrimm thought it

had been. 

Gricko furrowed his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yup. Ya sound like you’re about to say

somethin’ stupid, like, ‘innit, bruv. Odd, that is.’” He dramatized the accent, making it sound dumber than reality. He fucking loved Gricko’s accent, but he would not be admitting that piece of information aloud.

“I ain’t never said innit in me entire life!” Gricko deflected, a grin growing on his face with the pleasant banter. His smile lines tugged at his face as his grin took it’s

usual place in his expression. Skrimm’s face flushed at the sight of him.

“You did. Just then.” Skrimm moved one

hand from around Gricko’s waist to poke

him accusingly in the chest with a claw. “It ain’t no where near as thick as it was when I first met you, though. I could hardly make out what you were sayin’ then.”

“Nuh-uh! My eng-ill-ish is perfect!” 

“English.”

“Shaddup.”

“Shut up.”

“See, now ya sound like Frosty. ‘Cept a lot more obnoxious.”

“Insulting me? Really? I guess I’ll just—“ Skrimm rolled over, looking like he was about to sit up and get out of the bed, but was playfully stopped by Gricko’s arms wrapping tight around his midsection, refusing to let him go. He was pulled back, his back against Gricko’s chest, Gricko’s claws twisting into the fabric of his shirt.

 “Hush,” Gricko said, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a chide.

He buried his face against the back of Skrimm’s neck, pressing a kiss to his nape.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your dick in a twist.” Skrimm couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice, and to be honest, he almost didn’t care. He found himself leaning back into Gricko, pulling the blankets up around the both of them, soaking in the feeling of Gricko’s arms around him. 

Skrimm listened intently to Gricko behind him, basking in the comforting silence as Gricko began to drift off, his breathing evening out and his grip on the front of Skrimm’s shirt relaxing. Their tails had tangled and wrapped around one another, holding onto one another tightly. The only time there was true silence, it seemed, was when Gricko was sleeping— and even then, it wasn’t actually all quiet. Gricko snored in his sleep, the sound familiar and just as mildly annoying as it had been when he first heard it. Well, that was a lie— When Skrimm first heard the sound, he’d almost slit Gricko’s throat in the night because of how loud it could be— but now, the Skrimm hardly minded the sound. After the eerie silence of Drakkar, he welcomed Gricko’s noise.

Skrimm hesitated for a second, letting his hand hover over Gricko’s against his chest. Eventually, Skrimm decided to roll over in Gricko’s arms to face him, reaching around his neck to curl his fingers into the hair at Gricko’s nape, bringing him forward half-way gently until Gricko’s face met Skrimm’s shoulder. Gricko mumbled in his sleep, but didn’t stir. Skrimm held him there in his awkward hug, closing his eyes.