Chapter 1

Two weeks into living with Colby, Jason nearly broke the world in half. By accident. In the shower. With the taste of water and horror on his mouth, his hands.

They'd really been living together longer than that, though in various places. Shared hotel rooms during filming and post-production. An extended vacation in Italy, because Colby'd fallen in love with the beautiful historic seaside chalet they'd borrowed for filming those last happy ending scenes, and they'd spent a few days sleeping in and waking up together and running down steps to glowing blue-green water, hand in hand. Jason's place in LA, because it was slightly bigger and actually his, versus Colby's usual temporary rental when out in California.

They'd talked about more. About buying someplace, together.

Jason's place wasn't that big, and Colby liked the idea of having a home out there too, a place to settle. He'd mostly been living in London, and he loved that flat, he'd said—the location, the history, the proximity to bookshops and a park and museums—but he wouldn't mind splitting time between London and Los Angeles. He also knew how much Jason wanted to be near family, both for specific health reasons—Jason's dad was mostly fine but getting older, which made all those pins and joints and repairs and replacements from that long-ago stunt car crash ache more—and just because Jason's family was a delight, and Colby said that part with shy happy honesty in those blue eyes.

Jason kissed him for that. And loved him even more, if that was possible. God, Colby was perfect. Good at understanding. Hopeful about their future. Brave enough to believe in that future, to want a family and a home, after everything.

They'd ended up back in London for a while, after Steadfast had wrapped. Colby had some work to do with that children's literacy foundation he supported, plus there'd been some pick-up shots, some ADR. Some late nights of Colby and Jillian and Andy discussing edits and story and special effects sent over by the digital wizards. Jason came along for those discussions, but stayed mostly quiet, soaking it in.

He'd never been part of a big lavish historical production before. Not exactly his usual. No gunfights or gadgets or explosions.

A lot of love, though. For this history, this story, the man in his arms.

He kissed Colby in the mornings and the evenings, in bed and over coffee. He held Colby's hand while walking through quiet green parks and historic houses.

He let Colby show him London, in the way that Colby loved London: quirky secondhand bookstores where nobody bothered about celebrity and the Colby Kent name, shops full of mysterious antiques and calligraphy pens, small dense out-of-the-way museums and eighteenth-century astronomical collections, shimmering rain and colorful umbrellas, layers and layers of stories and pasts and futures.

Jason was also adding to the list—mental for now, but he kind of wanted to write some of it down, to make sure he remembered—of everything he'd learned about Colby and sex. Most things were okay most of the time. Some things never were, like unexpected touches or surprise caresses, or tying Colby up in any way that wouldn't be escapable if Colby needed to get out. Some things depended on the day and the moment.

They hadn't ventured into shower sex yet, oddly enough. They'd shared a shower, but most hotel spaces weren't big enough for Jason's shoulders anyway, and his place in LA had kind of a weird bathroom configuration, updated and nice but with an odd L-shape to the shower, and slippery flat tile. He could cuddle Colby under the water and wash Colby's hair, but he was afraid one or both of them would break an elbow or a leg if they tried anything more athletic.

Colby's London flat had a decent shower, especially by European standards and—impressively—also by Jason's standards. Colby had apologized for the size of the place overall, when they'd first arrived; Jason had looked at him and said, wry about it, "You said small." Colby's idea of space had, he'd concluded, been unavoidably influenced by that upper-class luxurious upbringing, with multiple households and art collections and honest-to-God staff lurking around to polish silver or whatever they did.

In this particular case, though, most of the space had been conquered by bookshelves. And art, original versions of classic fantasy book-cover paintings and abstract delicate metalwork. And Colby's kitchen equipment, which spoke volumes to Jason's soul and childhood memories of taste-testing tomato sauces or almond pastry cream. His mother, with her restaurant, would approve.

"It's a new bed," Colby had said during the tour, in the bedroom doorway: leaning a shoulder into Jason's, for support or maybe simply for contact and connection. "I…after…I did tell you I was the one who threw him out, finally? I did. And then I bought a new bed, because I couldn't look at the old one any longer, or sleep in it, for that matter. I had, er, a nightmare or two, not that that's happening much now, not with you, it's long over, don't worry. I also bought a new sofa, and new chairs for that dining table. I might've gone a bit overboard."

"No." Jason reeled him in, gathered him close. "I love that you did. Anything else new you want? Pillows, lamps, a pizza stone? Want to go shopping?"

"Perhaps." Colby put both arms around Jason's neck. "We could use another bookshelf. Which of course is the perpetual state of existence, around here. We could put it next to that window, if we scoot the other shelf over a bit. You're smiling at me."

"We," Jason said.

"Well, yes, of course, it's our flat now…" Colby had been pink-cheeked but earnest about this fact. "Yours and mine. Extremely yours. Like, well, me."

"God, I love you," Jason had said, and kissed him.

They'd already had fantastic and mind-blowing sex, that morning, the day everything went so wrong. Colby lay like a tired sugar-puddle across the bed, surrounded by pale blue sheet-rumples, panting. Jason, having rolled over next to him, ran an appreciative hand over his stomach: Colby in the wake of orgasm was magical, pink and flushed and sticky, a hint of sweat at the edges of out-flung hair.

Jason rubbed a thumb over his left nipple, because it was there and beckoning. "Good?"

"Brilliant." Colby wriggled happily. "I enjoy you doing that position with me."

"I enjoy your legs." He'd had them over his shoulders. "And the rest of you. All of you."

"I should hope so. Mmm…oh, that felt so nice. So deep. It's still feeling nice, inside me."

"And dripping out of you?"

"I meant the whole afterglow part, the way I feel, but yes, that too." Colby sparkled at him. "I like that feeling, have I mentioned that?"

"Once or twice." He scooted lower, to kiss Colby's stomach, to tug Colby's legs apart and gaze at it all: pinkness, openness, lube, traces of himself. "You like me looking at you."

"It's such an odd feeling. It's like being embarrassed, but in a good way, all fuzzy and tingly. I'm all yours, absolutely filthy with it, completely claimed, so much it's leaking out of me…oh, drat, now you've made me blush."

"Yeah, but you just said you like it." He rubbed a thumb across the opening of Colby's body. "Mine. So good. Shower? Cleaning up? I'll make waffles. Pumpkin pecan?"

"Thoroughly yes. I'll do something with eggs and those last tomatoes. We're not seeing Jill until dinner, so we can be utterly lazy this morning. And then perhaps go for a walk. It might rain."

Colby said that last bit with hope, glancing toward the window. Clouds clustered obligingly, trying to give those blue eyes their favorite weather. According to Jason's phone, rain was likely, but later in the day, not yet.

"Sounds good." He kissed Colby's knee this time. "Come on, up, and I'll wash your hair?"

"You like doing that."

"I like you. Come here."

In the bathroom, he flipped water on, watched steam emerge over milky white tile and glass. He kept one arm around Colby, getting in: in part for support but mostly because he just enjoyed how that felt. They fit so damn well. So right.

They had from the beginning, since that first day on set, even before they'd admitted it. Since their first kiss, and the first time Colby'd smiled and offered to help Jason with a problem, and every day in between and now and in the years to come.

Colby was smiling now, bright against the shower backdrop. "You look happy."

"You feel good." Jason tugged him closer, hands exploring: his waist, his hips, the dip above his ass. "So fucking gorgeous."

Colby blushed more.

"You are. I'm allowed to think so."

"Er…yes, I suppose? I do like knowing that you like this. Me. Naked."

"You naked is everything I like." When he ran a hand along Colby's thigh, he saw Colby's lips part, soundless; he noticed Colby's cock twitch, hanging spent but not completely soft between his legs. "You up for a little more?"

"I…possibly? What'd you have in mind?"

"We could make you feel good some more." Given this encouragement, he moved the hand to Colby's shaft, fondling him, caressing him; he felt Colby's body stir in response. "Ever had sex in this shower?"

"Well…" Colby hesitated, but his hips shifted as Jason played with him. "Yes, I have…technically…but then you always say I haven't really properly had sex, so perhaps not…"

"Want to try it?" He nudged a kiss into the side of Colby's face, into wet hair; dark silk clung to his mouth, sweet and shower-splashed. "Want me to push you up against that wall and remind you again that you're here and mine?"

"Yes, I think?" Colby rested both hands on Jason's shoulders, almost weightlessly. Under falling drops of water and light, he was thin and lovely, pale skin and tumbled hair and big blue eyes framed by clean straight lines of tile. He'd put back on some weight, now that he was remembering to eat, now that they'd begun cooking together; not enough weight, in Jason's opinion. But some. "I might like that. Being yours…"

"You are." Jason leaned in closer, found Colby's right nipple to flick and play with and pinch. "This…and this, down here…so sweet, baby. So good, and all for me."

Colby shut his eyes for a second, but his cock got harder in Jason's hand. Jason grinned. And slid his other hand down between curves, across Colby's backside. Finding the place that remained open and tender and slick and swollen for him, full of lube and Jason's come, dripping.

Colby whimpered softly as Jason pressed a finger, two fingers, into him; they went in easily, so easily, but Jason had to check regardless. "Still good? Not hurting you? Stop me if it does."

"No…" Colby was panting. Water slid through his eyebrow, down his cheek. "Sensitive, a bit…but I like that, I think…it feels like so much…"

"But you like how it feels, don't you?" He crooked the fingers, searching, finding; Colby gasped, arching against him, now caught between Jason's large body and the support of the wall. "You like feeling this open, this easy for me…my hand in you, making you come…"

"Jason," Colby managed, shaking. "Oh, God…yes…I…but it's so much, it's too much, I can't think, I can't…"

"You can," Jason murmured, and stroked him deep inside, fingers working, thick and blunt. He should've grabbed more lube, but it'd be all right, he thought: Colby enjoyed intensity, and this should still be enough, given that. "You're allowed to, you can come, I want you to. You want to be good for me, baby, so go on, show me, let me see you come for me."

Colby gasped, shuddered, and tightened around him, head falling back; his muscles rippled around Jason's hand. His cock spurted, weakly: not as much as the first round, but white drops spilled.

"Oh, good boy." Jason didn't stop, just kept playing with him, drawing out the sensations. He rocked his own hips, pushing his arousal into Colby's, letting Colby feel his desire and the weight of his body; he kissed the line of Colby's throat, bit down lightly, not enough for a lasting mark but enough that it might be pink.

He did like that idea: Colby being his. "You said once you like that, someone making you come, someone else taking charge of you…I could make you come for me again, couldn't I? Just keep you right here, push you up against the wall, and do whatever I wanted to you, over and over…"

He paused again, because normally Colby would be saying something by now, rambling, babbling words about sugar or mead or flowing rain or artwork or cupcake sprinkles, audibly feeling deliriously delicious.

Colby hadn't said anything for a while. Jason stopped nuzzling the tempting spot under his jawline. "Colby?"

Colby wasn't looking at him. Those wide blue eyes were open, and Colby's hands were still on Jason's shoulders, but that was wrong, something was wrong, something wasn't right—

"Colby," Jason tried, louder.

Colby didn't react. Not even when water-drops hit his eyelashes, concerned, interfering.

Jason touched his cheek, and Colby flinched, an outright jerk away—except he couldn't get away, being trapped between Jason and the wall, and his eyes were lost and empty and far off and gone—

Jason's heart shattered. The pieces tore through his throat.

He'd done something—he'd made Colby look like that—Colby was scared and hurt and—

He choked on water, on his own failure, his own terror. "Colby. God, baby, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm here, it's me, it's just me—I won't hurt you, I'd never hurt you—"

But he had. Obviously he had.

He was cold with fear, despite the heat and the steam. Colby's skin felt cold too.

"Please," Jason whispered, "please, I'm sorry, come back—wake up for me, Colby, please, you need to wake up and come back and—Jesus, Colby, please, please, I'm so sorry." His hands were shaking.

He fumbled around. Got the water turned off. Maybe getting Colby out of the shower would help. Away from the scene of whatever he'd just done so wrong. Someplace warm and dry.

He didn't know if Colby wanted to be touched or moved. He didn't know if Colby wanted his touch.

He wanted to pick Colby up and carry him out of the shower, out into the bedroom, but would that be safe? Would any presence—Jason's hands, Jason's body—only hurt more?

His voice cracked when he tried to talk. "Colby, I…I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know what to do, baby, and I'm really fucking scared, and I love you, and—and please hear me, please know I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—whatever I did, or said, or—I think I should get you out of here, but please don't hate me for touching you, okay? Please don't…"

He'd seen this, or something like it, once before. Not this badly. But he remembered. Burned into his heart forever, that moment.

They'd been having something like a fight, Jason's own arms flailing, big emphatic gestures, lots of size, and lots of emotion. And Colby'd stopped talking then too, had gone pale and far away, seeing the past instead of the present…expecting pain because Jason was upset with him, expecting Jason to hurt him or shove him to his knees or walk away and leave him alone…

Colby had woken back up, then. Had still been able to talk to him.

He touched Colby's shoulder, as weightlessly as he could. "I'm going to get you out of the shower, okay, baby? Colby? I'm sorry, I know you don't want to be touched, but we need to dry you off, okay?"

Colby's gaze came back a fraction, or Jason thought it did. A footstep closer to here and now, to focusing. "Colby? God, I'm so fucking sorry, I know I hurt you, I—I get it if you can't let me touch you, if you don't want me here, I understand, I swear, but please just let me take care of you first. Please."

Colby blinked. Inhaled, an uneven ragged sound. And looked at him, directly at him. "…Jason?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me, I'm here." His eyes burned; he swiped a hand across them. The tile was hard and flat and unforgiving under his toes. "I love you. So much. What can I do?"

Colby's eyebrows drew together, a question. He remained very naked, back pressed to the wall, hair sticking to his face. "I don't…what happened?"

"You…you, um…what do you remember?" Jason tried to think. To ask the right questions. It was difficult, with a fractured heart. "Can I get you out of here? Warmed up?"

"Yes, please." Colby shivered, not on purpose but as if unable to control the reaction. "My legs would very much like to be sitting down. Actually, I think I'm going to collapse dramatically into your arms in about two seconds, so this is me offering advance warning, sorry."

"Don't fucking apologize!" And right at the final word Colby's legs really did give out, folding beneath him. Jason dove in. Caught him. Cradled him tight. "I've got you—I'm here, I'm right here—I love you—"

"I love you." Colby's voice was trembling too. "Jason, could you…just hold me, just…talk to me for a minute…I'm so sorry, I—oh, no, you said not to say that…"

"Yeah. Don't. And of course I fucking can. Can I…carry you?" He already was, having scooped Colby up, balancing long limbs in both arms, but he needed to ask. "Bed?"

"Please." Colby put his head on Jason's chest. "Er…I may throw up or pass out or begin crying; it's more or less even odds at the moment."

"I'm still here," Jason said, holding on more tightly. He could get Colby into the bedroom, tucked into bed. Their bed. If it was still theirs. Colby's new bed, anyway. "For any or all of that. You just tell me what you feel like."

Colby's skin was still too chilly and too wet. His hair was wet too, flattened with it. That wasn't right. Colby needed to be warm. Colby's hair should be bouncy, exuberant, improbably buoyant.

Jason set him gingerly in bed—still unmade, sheets flung back from their bodies earlier—and ran back to the bathroom. Towels. Multiple. Large and fluffy and blue. Coaxing heat back into Colby's body, leaving pink in place of bone-white.

Lots of blankets. Heaped up around him. Pillows, too. Colby had a few that lived on the bed, both decorative and practical. Jason gathered softness, made shield-walls out of them, nestled a plush squishy dragon—it'd been a gift from Andy, years ago—under Colby's left elbow.

"Jason," Colby said.

"What else? Coffee? Something hot? Or—if you're still feeling—"

"Jason," Colby attempted again. His eyes were shaky, but he extricated a hand from the pillow-fortress and held it out. "Come sit with me."

Jason hovered, in agony. He wanted—Colby was asking—but if—

His hands were too big. He was too big. He was too naked.

"Please." Colby breathed in, out: cautious, a hero walking out across a bridge of glass, not turning back from the quest. "It might be the crying all over you option, by the way. I think we're moving that direction. But I want…" Another pause, another breath. "Would you…might you want to hold me? Could you, if that's not…not too much to…"

"Fuck yes!" Jason plunged that way. Landed in Colby's bed, heart pounding. Relief, shock, fear, love: he was coming apart with it all. "Here, come here, of course I fucking want to hold you, I love you—"

He got his arms around Colby, got them settled: himself leaning back against the headboard, Colby curled up in his lap, surrounded by softness. "Like this?"

Colby nodded against his chest.

"Okay. Is it…okay if I touch you, or…"

"Jason." Colby's lips brushed Jason's collarbone briefly, a kiss. "You very much are."

"I mean…"

"I know. Yes, please, hold onto me. Keep me here." Colby had a hand resting on Jason's chest; he flattened it over Jason's heart as if feeling the beat. Jason's heart remembered that it could beat, at that; it put itself back together, one or two pieces, at least.

He held onto Colby, as requested. Kept him present and anchored, as asked. Rubbed his back, tentatively. Kissed the top of his head, which earned a tiny pleased sound, which made Jason's shredded emotions threaten to give way all over again, as if splintered open by bluebells.

Colby relaxed bit by bit, gradually, under his care. Not talking much, but awake and present. Wanting to be comforted. Wanting to be comforted by him, Jason. Asking for something, which was good, it was great, it was more than Colby would've done months ago; Jason reminded himself of that. This was better, even if it wasn't, right this second.

The morning exhaled, blue and grey and pearlescent. No rain, as much as he silently begged it to come, to get a smile from the man he loved. But the world wove itself into a tapestry of silver, at least: drifting London clouds, fog, cool weather. Good for coziness, and cuddling, and keeping Colby safe, maybe, maybe.

If he could. If he could be enough for that.

He might not be. He might be the opposite. He knew.

Colby's plush dragon pillow had landed near the side of the bed, in the reshuffling of positions. Iridescent and winged, it beamed up at them. With compassion, Jason thought, or at least hoped. It wanted to protect Colby too.

After a while Colby started shivering: not from cold, or Jason thought not, but from the reaction. The physical aftermath, setting in. He also did start crying, not loudly and not as much as they'd both been expecting; Jason soothed him, kissed him, brushed tears away from his eyelashes. Colby leaned against him, exhausted, limp in the dwindling of tension.

"I'm here," Jason whispered. "I'm here, you're safe, I've got you." He wanted that to be true. He hoped it could be true. The only part of the world that mattered, the only question, was whether Colby felt safe.

Colby nodded, mostly-dry hair brushing Jason's skin. It apparently wanted an anchor too. "Can I ask…"

"Anything. What can I do?"

"Could you tell me what did happen? I remember…you kissing me, and your hand…you had your fingers inside me, but I think…things got a bit hazy at that point…"

Christ. Jason was abruptly afraid he might need to throw up. If Colby had already been dissociating…if the first touch was the last thing Colby'd been conscious for…then he, Jason, had…everything he'd done after that…

He swallowed down shards of glass. Colby needed him. Had asked a question. "Um. I didn't, um. God, Colby, I'm so sorry."

"If I'm not allowed to say it, neither are you. It's not as if you meant this to happen."

"No…but…" Breathing. That was a possible thing. He ought to be doing that. "I hurt you. And I didn't notice that you…that you weren't…"

Colby looked down at himself, though Jason wasn't sure what he could see, being bundled up in blankets. "Did you, er…fuck me? Beyond the fingers, I mean, did we actually…did you come inside me, again? That's not an objection if you did, you understand, I just truly don't remember how far we'd got."

"Jesus. No."

"Oh." Colby was currently propped up by Jason's chest and shoulder, but tipped his head back to meet Jason's horrified expression. "Then I don't know what you're apologizing for."

"What the fuck."

"I said I wanted to," Colby said. "I said yes to sex in the shower, I remember that very clearly, and I was still present for you, ah, putting your fingers in me, and I could have stopped you and I didn't."

"I thought…" Jason had to move a hand, to press it over his own mouth, for a second. "I thought you were good. I swear. I would never have kept going if—I never would, Colby. I promise."

"I know." Colby reached up, took his hand, laced their fingers together. "I know."

"I thought you were right there with me."

"I know."

"I thought—but you weren't. You did come, or I thought you did—I made you…but if the last thing you remember is…"

Colby now looked genuinely startled. "Did I? I think that might've been the exact second when I…ah…got lost in a metaphorically scalding pot of unfortunate tea. The sort I don't like, the not good sort, to borrow our original symbolic language for a moment. I remember feeling as if I were going to come, it was right there, I thought I was about to, but I was also feeling a bit dizzy and having some…memories, sensations, that weren't us, just then. And then everything completely went away, inside my head."

"I'm so sorry. God, I'm sorry."

"You did stop. As soon as you realized."

Colby hadn't even been awake for that. "How do you know I—"

"Because I know you." Colby squeezed his hand. "And I trust you. With me, and with the world. You don't want to hurt anyone. Which is a large part of why I love you. That, and the fact that you make coffee for me every morning."

"Always," Jason whispered. "Every morning. Forever." Colby trusted him. After this, after everything—Colby could look at him and see him and think that, could believe that Jason was a good person, someone who didn't want to cause harm—even now—

"We're all right." Colby tugged Jason's hand closer, kissed the palm, tucked his cheek into it: a kitten wanting to be petted and soothed. Jason tried to do exactly that; Colby went on, "That is, clearly I'm not, after that, but you and I are, I think. I'm not hurt, you're taking splendid care of me, and we're handling it."

"Are we?" God, his voice sounded so raw. So plaintive. Pleading.

"We are." Colby leaned more weight against him, a statement. "I won't say this is precisely fun, but it's helpful to know, isn't it, if there're some treacherous teapots lurking in the shower. Er…I actually should apologize."

"No," Jason said, levelly. "You shouldn't."

"No, I mean…" Colby sighed. "I shouldn't've said yes. About the shower sex. But I wanted to…I did want to try, and I thought…maybe, with you…but I should have listened to myself."

"You did say we should stop," Jason realized, with utter hopeless despair. "Or…you didn't say stop, but you said…it was too much. I can't, you said. I should've stopped then. It's not your fault, it's mine, I'm fucking awful, I'm so sorry."

"Don't." Colby managed to elbow him, not hard. "I know what I could have said—we've talked about safewords and stoplights, love. I didn't say any of that. And I think I've said things like, oh, it's too much, on other occasions and not wanted you to stop. I like the intensity. So it truly isn't your fault. We simply…both got some things a bit wrong, this time, perhaps."

After a second, Jason said, "Love, you said…just now…"

"I do love you," Colby said. "So very much. I…can I tell you some things? Why I should've said no, in the first place. I really did think I could handle it. I know you and you're not him and I thought…but I wasn't ready. And you should probably know this."

Jason knew some of those stories. Most of them, by now. He knew the sort of story this would be. It stuck a knife into his ribs and twisted.

But no matter how deep that stab went, it was worse for Colby. Colby, who'd lived it.

Jason would be here. If that was all he could do, if that was what Colby needed—

Then that was what he'd do. Everything, for Colby. Always. "Tell me? If you want to."

"Yes." Colby tipped his head into Jason's hand some more. "Touch me while I talk to you? Please. That's lovely, thank you. So…well, Liam. You know he was…you know he used to…hurting me during sex was—was fun for him. He enjoyed it—I think it was something about the power of it, that he could…could fuck me, er, the famous Colby Kent—his words, not mine—and make it hurt, and I should be grateful that he even wanted to do that, because I was so worthless otherwise, I never did anything for him, for his career or in bed, and he needed to get rough with me, needed to do more and more to me, just to make the sex worthwhile…"

"Someday," Jason said, "I might actually hit him with a car. You know, accidentally." He was an excellent driver, courtesy of years of stunt training on sets and with his dad. He could judge an impact exactly.

"You wouldn't. And I don't want you to maim or mangle him. Well, not permanently. I'm trying to explain the shower, anyway, where was I."

"Making me want to punch your ex in the dick."

"Stop threatening violence, please." Colby traced a heart over Jason's ribs. His fingers were warm. "So, the shower…he liked shower sex. He would ask for that fairly often. He liked shoving me up against that wall, or down onto my knees. I've never liked that tile, it's awfully hard, and it hurt every time. He'd…if I couldn't breathe well, with the water in my face and his hand in my hair, or if I cried…he'd just laugh and tell me to get better at it, because I clearly wasn't good enough, whatever it was, my mouth or my—my body. And, you know…I really thought…I mean, I'd never been good enough for anyone, so maybe it was true, and I just needed to do better, but it was so hard to remember that when it hurt…"

Jason said several phrases that his grandmother taught him, in very furious, very obscene, Neapolitan market slang.

Colby's eyebrows went up. "I don't know any of those words. And I do speak Italian, a bit."

"Yeah…well…you've never been around Nonna when she's angry. I'll explain later."

"Something about a goat?"

"Um…one piece of it. Was that it? How much it hurt you, and that fucking tile, and the water…"

"Mostly." Colby took a deep breath. "I was doing all right, at first. With you. It just, all of a sudden…up against the wall like that, I…one of the times, he—I wasn't expecting it, I don't know why I wasn't, but when he pushed me I slipped, and my head hit the wall, and there was…it wasn't bad, but I was bleeding, just from the impact, and he said, God, you're fucking useless, aren't you, but then he said he'd fuck me anyway, if that was as good as it was going to get. And he did."

"While you were fucking bleeding."

"It wasn't much. It stopped." Colby touched his own cheekbone, gesture so quick and instinctive Jason wondered if he'd even noticed himself doing it. "That was just the one time. And that was the more specific sort of…with me up against the wall, and you right there, and your fingers in me, and I was a bit…not sore, but tender, from earlier, and it all felt too…I thought I could see it, for a second, or I could feel it, red and hot and…I just…"

"Colby," Jason said, urgently. "Colby."

"Sorry. I'm here." Colby shook his head slightly: coming back, resurfacing, finding Jason to gaze at. "That was the worst bit, I think."

"God. Colby. I'm so sorry. Do you want…" He didn't know how to ask what he wanted to know. "Should I not…no, wait, um, thank you. For telling me. You don't, um. We don't have to shower together. If you'd feel…better."

"Oh, no." Colby reached up, touched Jason's cheek. "Are you…crying? For me?"

He'd been trying not to. Not to be stoic and tough about it, because he couldn't be that, but because Colby didn't need to deal with Jason's emotions on top of everything else. "Um."

"You're so wonderful." Colby sat up more, leaned in. Brought his lips to Jason's, a kiss, firm and unafraid. His hand cupped Jason's face. "You care so much. I'm so happy, every day. Every morning I wake up and find you. Every time you ask whether you can touch me, or kiss me, or make love to me until I'm screaming your name, which is marvelous, in case you needed to know. I like sharing a shower with you. I don't feel scared or unsafe in any way, I promise."

"But I hurt you."

"The…the situation hurt us, I think. Both of us. It's not your fault. And…it's not my fault, either." Colby's hand slid to the back of Jason's neck, tugged until Jason bent down for a kiss. "We're still here. Together. Er…having said that, apologies if I'm not terribly coherent. I might be a bit tired. Not sleepy, not as such, more as if everything's entirely emptied out and I haven't got much left as far as energy."

"You should rest." Jason kissed his forehead, this time; Colby liked that, he knew. Little gestures, not overtly sexual but reaffirming. "Please. I'd say stop talking, but, um, it's you, so…" Normality. Humor. Reassurances. He could do that.

He ran a large hand over Colby's hair. "I'll text Jill about tonight."

"Hmm? Oh…oh, drat. I'd forgotten. Dinner. Plans. I'd been thinking about lemon-sage chicken. And apple-pecan pudding. She always likes my dessert experiments."

"Not sure you're gonna feel up to that. But it's your decision, okay?" He did some more hair-petting, because that seemed to be going well. "It's up to you, not me."

"As much as I don't want to admit it…and I don't enjoy letting people down…you're likely right. I want to stay right here and rebuild some armor and not move much, for a while."

"Then that's what we're doing. I'll let her know. And you're not letting her down." He smoothed one dark eyebrow with a thumb; Colby shut both eyes again, curled up against Jason's chest. "She wants you to be okay."

"I know," Colby murmured. "I'm trying to know. It's only…I hate being not good enough."

"Colby…" He waited until Colby looked up. This was big, this was important, this mattered. "You are. You needing some time…that's not being not good enough. That's recovery. That's…that's, like, the actual best thing. You know what you need, right now, and you just asked for that."

"And I feel guilty about it. Still…tiny steps, I suppose." Colby sighed. "Is this the bit where you tell me about broken legs and not walking too soon and other recuperative metaphors?"

"Yep. I'll make dinner for us later, if you still want to do something with that chicken."

"I can join you in the kitchen, if it's just us. I should be able to get up for that." Colby paused again. "Jason…that metaphor works for you, as well. About things that hurt, and not pushing…please know you're not the person who hurt me. You take care of me, and I love that, but you're not atoning for anything, or making up for anything; you don't need to. You don't have to do everything at once, blankets and dinner and offering to handle Jill, to prove to me that you're here. I know you are."

"I want to help," Jason said, muffled because he had his face tucked into Colby's hair. "Please."

"You do. Oh, you do. So very much."

Outside, above London skylines and shimmering colors, the rain burst into noisy clamoring life. It leapt from clouds to rooftops, and danced along eaves and windowpanes, and sang carols against glass and brick and stone. At Colby's large bedroom window, it pattered and waltzed and brought along a rumble of thunder, merry and alive.

"Hi there," Colby said, glancing over at drops and rivers. "Thank you for visiting. I do love storms."

"I know you do. Magical fantasy water dragon and all." That felt like the right thing to say, for some reason; something they would say, a love they both shared, something that made Colby's eyes dance. Jason considered this, added, "Water and air. You'd be friends with more than one element."

"And I'd have my loyal knight for protection," Colby agreed. "My hero."

"Your hero wants you to be warm enough." Jason rubbed his arm, under several blanket-layers. "Want anything? Food, coffee, those fuzzy socks with the unicorns, anything? Also you said you were tired. You can take a nap. Right here." He'd stay put all morning. All day. Forever, if Colby wanted to nap atop him.

"Warm enough, comfortable, and…I believe I said tired but not sleepy. I don't want to move or think much, but I'm awake."

"Want me to read to you?"

"Maybe. I was thinking…perhaps we could watch something? Something fun."

"Anything you want." Colby's bedroom television wasn't huge, but it was smooth and sleek and expensive; Jason stretched an arm over for the remote. "Fantasy, adventure, historical romance?"

"Actually…if you don't mind…I did say fun…er, perhaps…Another Day to Kill?"

"Now you're just torturing me."

"I'm not! I honestly love it. It's practically fantasy, anyway, with the moon base and the superweapon, and the dialogue's so very pulp-fiction and so self-aware, and then you do so much lovely heroic rescuing of attractive scientists and also the world, and it's all about saving people."

"And me naked in that rooftop garden sex scene." That particular installment had been the fourth John Kill movie. Jason didn't mind the paycheck or the preposterous over-the-top action, and he'd been well aware that he was lucky to have at least a steady career, even if audiences would forever associate his name with lines like my name's Kill, and that's what I do best.

"Well, that's certainly an extra argument in favor. I do enjoy that scene."

"Thanks?"

"Oh, you know I love seeing you naked." Colby tossed him a grin. Jason's personal universe got brighter. Happier. Bashfully accepting hope, with the fact that Colby still loved seeing him. "But you know what I mean, about your movies! I mean it's all about believing in you as a hero. That you can save the world, and win the heart of Doctor Summers, and of course it's not easy—your childhood best friend dies along the way, you recall, in that one—but it's worth doing. The world's worth fighting for, no matter how ridiculous some of the writing is, and you protect it, and you stop all the bombs, and you don't give up. That's such a brilliant core of optimism, at heart, and it's also just purely delightful, and did I mention you with the artistically torn shirt outrunning laser guns in the maze?"

Jason just looked at him for a minute, and couldn't talk. Those wide blue eyes, that conviction, that serious enthusiasm about a ludicrous superspy action-hero popcorn movie. Colby naked in his arms, believing in him. Believing in heroes.

The thunder, wanting to underline the moment, boomed.

Jason cleared his throat. "So, um…okay…guess we're spending the morning watching me punch supervillains?"

"And get naked in a rooftop garden."

"It was seriously freezing up there, just so you know. By the sixth take I'm pretty sure nothing was looking heroic."

"My poor knight." Colby rested his head back on Jason's shoulder. "I'll keep you warm. And you'll keep me warm. And we can save the world, together."

"Yeah," Jason whispered. His voice sounded kind of rough. Scratchy. "Yeah, we can do that. Together."

He put on his own improbable movie, for Colby. He watched Colby watching it, with the hum of the rain and the coziness of blankets and the closeness of their skin making the room secure and snug and private, just for them.

Colby did fall asleep halfway through. Jason wasn't surprised; that'd been a hell of a lot of emotions, trauma, reactions to process, even if Colby seemed to be doing okay.

They both might be okay. He watched himself disarm a bomb, on screen. The right wire, the nick of time. Crisis averted. Danger not non-existent, but handled.

Colby was soft and lax and heavy in his arms. Trusting him to hold on, to be here. That felt good, and Jason thought that maybe he could be good at that, at least good enough, if Colby believed it.

Heroes, he thought. In the movie, his character came into an elegant hotel room, surprised the sexy scientist as she was stepping naked out of the shower, came up with a flirtatious one-liner about how nice it was to see her. Designed for audience titillation, of course. Jason found himself thinking about showers and fancy tile and renovations.

Colby had never liked that tile, he'd said. And had been willing to buy new furniture. Changes. Shedding the past.

Maybe he'd ask about renovating that shower, if not the entire bathroom. Not immediately, not with Colby worn out and not wanting to think much. But maybe soon.

He thought Colby might say yes to that. He thought that they could pick out colors and designs together, something they both liked, something in shared favorite colors, maybe greens and blues and watery or stormy hues, with brass or steampunk fixtures.

He thought that Colby, who'd told him that this was also his flat now, that this was theirs, might like that idea.