#toarcher

“What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you. What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way. What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you”

The realisation comes all at once, hitting him squarely in the heart, so hard that he’s speechless. Confusion, anger, betrayal are all emotions that swim through his head, a strange concoction that overwhelms him as he stands there, fingernails digging firmly into his palms. He feels lost, abandoned and most of all alone.

He’s only felt this kind of pain twice before. The first time he’d been in the hospital, a fifteen year old kid who refused to leave his mom’s bedside. The doctors had told him he was too young, that he was cutting school and every time his stepdad dragged him back home Chris would just come running back. His mom was his world, the light in his fuckin’ life and no one was getting in the way of that. No one but the cancer anyway. He still could feel the sting of that pain when her hand was limp in his when hours before its grip had been so tight. He could still remember the monotone drone of the EKG machine, could still feel his stepdad’s arms around him even when Chris himself was numb with grief. He’d been lost without her, without the only family he’d ever really known. He’d felt two feet tall, a tiny fish in a world that simply didn’t give a shit about him anymore.

The second time he’d felt this betrayed was when Jess left him for college. He’d always known that her family didn’t approve of him, didn’t see him as anything close to ‘boyfriend’ material. His life was going nowhere, stuck between shitty modelling gigs and his dismal grade point average in school. With his reputation no one had ever expected the school ‘bad boy’ would ever fall in love with the shy and studious Jess, always too lost in her after school clubs to ever notice anyone else. Without thinking, they’d both fallen hard and fast in love and a year later they’d imagined sharing everything together from marriage to even kids. Chris might had been Jess’ first for a lot of things and he was content for her to be his last. He didn’t even want to imagine a future that didn’t have her in it.

But then she left, all at once with so little explanation that it made his head spin. She needed to go to college, didn’t want to them to become some long distance failure story. All at once he was just reduced to being another loose end she needed to tie up before she packed her bags and left, the future they’d imagined together evaporating as soon as it was no longer convenient. For the second time, Chris’ heart had broken in two.

Then and there, Chris had decided that he didn’t need that kind of pain, that he could live on his own happier than taking his chance on ever including anyone else. He made himself an island, jumped between different groups of friends so that he never found himself too attached to anyone. Sex returned to being something casual and fun, his focus shifting back to seeing his partners as conquests rather than emotional connections. He was happy like that for a long time, even as he grew older, joined the 141 and found himself forced into a small town and even smaller team of soldiers. His walls broke down if only a little and he found himself making friends and connections again, a family of sorts that surrounded him. Some he slept with, others he didn’t, but that wasn’t important. He was no longer an island and yet he hadn’t given anyone the power to break him either.

Until Jeff.

They might have started as a sniper team, but they didn’t stay that way for long. They were complete opposites and in truth the day they’d been paired together everyone had thought that it was some cruel joke of MacTavish and Riley’s making. Chris the FNG, loud, brash, arrogant to a fault paired with one of the founding members of the task force, a man who was quiet, measured and perpetually angry. They clashed, argued, bickered like kids in those early days but instead of falling apart as everyone expected, their personalities worked somehow, like two very different sides of a coin. For a time they were just a successful partnership and then something shifted. They became friends, best friends. Chris told Jeff things about his life that very few other people knew and in turn Chris became one of the few to know about Jeff’s family life. Chris had never expected their relationship to go further than that, for the death of one of their brothers to force them together in a whole new way entirely, warm, drunken bodies searching for a way to comfort, a way to forget. But it had happened, kept happening in fact. And Chris was oddly OK with that. He trusted Archer, loved him, even though the thought terrified him to his core. He slowly became monogamous without even thinking and they drifted closer, the bond between them growing in strength every day. They never spoke about it and Hell, Chris was never even sure how Jeff felt about the whole thing, but even so he never dared question it. He didn’t want to jinx whatever it was that they had, didn’t want to even think about whether or not Jeff felt the same for him.

In the end, none of it had mattered. He’d woken up that morning, hungover as Hell, heading for the rec room to find Jeff to try and persuade him to make ply him with coffee. When there’d been no sign of him he’d headed for the range and then the gym after that. Still no Jeff. In the end he’d tracked down Riley and that was when everything changed. Archer had left, gone back home for an undisclosed period of time. No one knew when he was coming back and Riley was reluctantly to tell Chris why he’d gone. “I thought you knew” was the only thing he’d been able to tell him.

“I thought you knew.”

Now, Chris is standing in Jeff’s room, surveying the way the room is empty of most of the man’s possessions. Everything is so immaculate, as though Jeff had never been there in the first place. He’d come here looking for some kind of note or explanation, but instead he’s found absolutely nothing.

All at once he’s that lost teenager again, so angry, alone and afraid. He can feel tears prick at his eyes, confusion and sadness washing through him in equal measure. Frustrated, his hands grab at anything they can, tearing the sheets from Archer’s bed, throwing the few books and clothes he’s left behind across the width of the room. His right fist lashes out and collides with the wall, his knuckles burning from the hard impact. A gasp leaves his lips and he flops forwards, his forehead resting against the cool plaster.

He slides down the wall to the floor and pulls his knees up to rest under his chin and only when the world is quiet again do the questions start to flood his thoughts, taunting him with how he is so unable to answer any of them. Why did Jeff leave? Why didn’t he tell him? Does he think so little of him to think that Chris wouldn’t care? Or has he left because of Chris? Because he wants space or because it all has become too much? What made this the one thing that they couldn’t talk about?

The more questions he has, the angrier he becomes. The betrayal in his heart is tainting everything now and there’s a bitter taste in his mouth the more he thinks about Jeff. He thinks back to the nights where Jeff listened to him when he talked about his mom and Jess. Jeff knew how much he feared this, how terrified he was to lose everything that mattered to him all at once. Is the man so emotionally stunted that he doesn’t realise that he’s making Chris feel all of that again? Or does he simply not care whether this hurts him or not? Right now, Chris doesn’t know which reason he’d prefer.

The questions don’t get any quieter when he pulls himself up from the floor, his fingers hastily wiping at his eyes and nose in attempt to make himself presentable. He doesn’t have the answers to quieten his mind and so instead Chris consoles himself with the idea of forgetting, of losing himself in alcohol and music. The less he thinks the better and right now there’s nothing more tempting than a bottle of whisky and a bar where no one notices him. Maybe after enough drinks he simply won’t care either, just like Archer.

After that first kiss, Ian couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d screwed up. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed it, he really had, but Chris had made a move, and now it seemed they were both stuck waiting for Ian to make his, or at least that’s how it felt to him. He wasn’t even sure Chris would want him to, really—maybe it was meant to just be a kiss, the two of them being drunk and impulsive and nothing more. Maybe it hadn’t mattered to Chris at all, and Ian was the only one still brooding over what to do about it.

If he was a different kind of person, if he was more like Chris, it would be easier. He wouldn’t even have to say what he wanted; they were so often together, it would be a simple matter to pull him close and let the momentum of the lines they’d already crossed carry them farther. Just thinking about it made his heart race, though, and he knew he’d never have the courage. In any case, whatever he felt for his roommate, Ian knew he could never be everything Chris needed or wanted. It was better to pretend it had never happened at all.

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Whatever people thought of him and his standoffish demeanor, Ian had a real struggle not to let this kind of thing change his behavior. He made himself speak to Chris as normal, although maybe he didn’t look at him quite as directly as before. And he refused to avoid him—if he didn’t have the courage to spend time with his friend, his best friend, then he wasn’t worth even that one short kiss.

It was a fight, though. Every day, every minute, he was fighting things in himself he hadn’t even known were there, things he didn’t recognize but couldn’t bring himself to hate, because they were all tied up in the way his heart skipped a beat when he met Chris’s eyes.

So it was partly his stubborn refusal to run away and partly his selfish desire to stay where he was that got him stuck in a game of truth or dare in the rec room, Chris at his side, as always, everyone feeling a little sloppy from drinking too much, knowing they had the next morning off. Titan was on Chris’s other side, making people touch his abs for dares (and they were some of the more innocent dares). Hawk sat beside Ian, watching everybody in that way she had and asking dangerously pointed questions, occasionally yelling across the room to Wolf that he was being a chicken sitting out the game. Scarecrow, Ghost, and Roach rounded out the circle. As for Ian himself, he played it safe and chose truth. Over and over, thinking his way through questions in ways that let him avoid saying anything too revealing.

“Dare,” Chris was saying. “And I’m not gonna lick your chest again, Dom. No repeats, you gotta get creative.”

Ian joined the general laughter and took a sip of his beer, trying not to think about Chris licking his chest. Trying to ignore the casual way Chris’s arm bumped against his.

Dom looked Chris over with a smirk. “Right. Well, I think the world needs to see what’s happening here,” he suggested, fingers tugging at Chris’s belt loops. “Come on, mate. Show us the color of your jocks, if you’re wearing any.”

“Anything for you, hot stuff,” Chris grinned. He stood up eagerly, grabbing Ian’s shoulder for support as he swayed a little. Ian glanced up when he did, startled but not unhappy with the contact. Looking at Chris was a mistake, though, he realized—sitting where he was, he couldn’t avoid a front and center view as Chris began to undo his jeans.

Ian must be blushing. He did that at the drop of a damn hat, anyway, and this was so much worse than he’d have anticipated. He was sitting too close; everyone would notice if he stared, and everyone would notice if he avoided looking. Chris released Ian’s shoulder so he could hook his thumbs over the waistband of his pants. “I hope you all appreciate fine lingerie,” Chris was saying. “I sure as hell don’t buy these things for comfort.”

At the first glimpse of teal lace, Ian almost dropped his beer. He swallowed hard and looked down, picking at the label on the bottle as Chris—joined by Dom and Roach—hummed some pop song and started moving his hips, taking his time and putting on a show. Nothing could be worse than this, Ian thought. His head was swimming a little, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to turn and look. It would have been overwhelming, but there were people around, and that was the motivation he needed to keep things under control. It certainly didn’t help, though.

“Alright,” Chris finally said, “put your eyes back in your heads. It’s my turn.” Ian was both relieved and disappointed to realize he’d missed the show. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, not now, he let himself glance over, just once, as Chris finished getting himself back in order.

It was a mistake. He really was sitting too close, and he could see exactly how tight the silky material was, how low the panties sat on his hips, the way they seemed to be both clinging and falling off in a way that was completely, inappropriately fascinating.

“So, Arch.” Chris’s voice interrupted his staring, and thank god, except that it was obvious when Ian looked up that Chris hadn’t missed the staring at all. His grin was wide and happy but suggestive in a way that only made the heat in Ian’s cheeks increase. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Neither. I think I’m done for tonight,” Ian said quickly, waving his half-empty beer bottle as if it was some sort of excuse to leave. He stood up, careful not to lean too far away from Chris and fall into Hawk’s lap, but also making sure not to get too close. Chris just shook his head and finished doing up his jeans.

“Nah, come on. One more to earn your get out of jail free card. Truth or dare?”

He couldn’t just make it easy on him. Ian thought about pulling rank for a second, but that sort of thing was more likely to get him teased than respected on a night like tonight. He sighed.

“Fine. Truth.”

Chris looked up at him with mischief in his eyes, opening his mouth to say something before he stopped and glanced around the group, at the way everybody was listening eagerly to see what kind of embarrassment he was going to put Ian through now. When he looked back at Ian, there was something more sober in his eyes.

“Uh, okay, how about this. You ever play hooky when you were in basic?”

Everybody groaned. It was a softball question, and they all knew it. It was Chris having mercy on his partner, and Ian was profoundly grateful, and not a little curious about the question Chris had decided not to ask.

“Not as often as you, mate,” Ian answered with a small smile before making a quick retreat, leaving the rest of the group to harangue Chris for the boring question.

Ian was in pajamas by the time Chris got back to the room. He’d recovered his equilibrium somewhat from earlier, although he was sure he was going to get some ribbing for the way he’d been unable to look away from Chris’s… well, everything. The only thing he wasn’t sure about was whether the teasing would be worse than the simple fact of not being able to look away, of having so little control over himself and so many feelings that he couldn’t do anything about. 

“You skipped out early.”

“I’m sure everyone had more fun without me.”

Chris sighed and shook his head, walking over to where Ian stood by his desk. He felt suddenly awkward as Chris got closer, and he wished there was something he could busy himself with, but Chris kept the room too tidy for that. He put his hands in his pockets, instead, not knowing what else to do with them.

“Truth or dare?” The question seemed to take on a whole new meaning here, where it was just the two of them, and Ian couldn’t help feeling very exposed.

“We aren’t playing anymore.” 

“Humor me. You know I pulled my punches tonight, you owe me one. Truth or dare?”

“Fine. Truth.”

“As always,” Chris laughed. He was very close now, not touching Ian but deliberately standing in his personal space. “Did you like seeing my panties?”

There was still a bit of a fog clouding Ian’s mind, or at least that was what he could tell himself in the morning. That his inhibitions were impaired, and that was why he’d gone along with the game.

“Y-yes. I did.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Come on, that’s not how it works.” But Chris just looked at him expectantly, and Ian’s fight was half-hearted, anyway. There was something freeing about this game, about being required to answer truthfully. It meant he could blame the rules for making him share too much. “Truth.”

“Do you want to see them again?”

“…Yes.”

There was that grin again, knowing and teasing, but at least now there was nobody else here to see Ian’s face redden. Just Chris. Chris, who was still standing very close and now very slowly undoing the front of his jeans. Ian kept eye contact, afraid to look anywhere else, even when Chris finally tugged his jeans down a little so they sat low on his hips, only half exposing the shiny, teal panties.

“Truth or dare?”

Ian had wondered whether Chris was just waiting for him to make the next move or whether he’d moved on, and now he knew. It was still a bad idea—there were all sorts of reasons they two of them shouldn’t go beyond friendship, not least of which was the fact that Chris would almost certainly break Ian’s heart. But at least he knew that Chris hadn’t walked away from that kiss thinking it was a mistake, and he knew that Chris wasn’t going to push anything on him he didn’t want. He’d given him every chance to say no, and Ian knew he could say no now, if he really wanted to. He swallowed hard; his heart was pounding in his chest.