Tension had been palpable since the mission was slated to start.

It's not until he hears Cillian Quinn's voice that Temp is able to relax. The mobile Gym stays where it's docked, still in it's half finished state. Temp is alone when he and his pokemon find their way into Sootopolis. The place is... well, it'll need a hell of a lot of help. The tree is new, which yeah, a lot of explaining. That matters less, though, until after he's sure than Gavin is safe.

It's actually the smoke that leads the way, a signal. Gavin's like a malfunctioning smoke machine, and briefly he wonders if he should find Lugia or someone else.

Instead, he sinks onto the ground next to him, pulls Gavin against his chest and squeezes him tight.

"I was so worried about you, Cillie."

At least for now Gavin could rest his head on his bosom.

His eyes are closed on Tempest Quinn's approach, only opening when the soft sound of footsteps against grass grows close to his current sanctuary. A tired, haunted look is chased away by the warm notes of relief, affection.

He's pulled into a tight, grounding hug and doesn't resist it in the slightest.

He leans into it, instead, allows himself to find comfort in the strength of his lover's arms and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against Gavin's ear. Behind Temp's cologne are the sharp notes of the ocean's brine from time spent by the sea.

Gavin breathes it in, fingers finding purchase against fabric to tighten their embrace.

"M'okay, love," is muffled against Temp's chest before he pulls away just enough to look Temp in the eye. "Just really tired, is all."

Miasma continues to bleed from his skin, uncontrolled.

The small gap is closed, a quick kiss stolen.

Where Temp might still smell like his cologne and the sea, Cillian Quinn still smells like battle. His own cologne is well hidden under sweat, grime, and whatever else might be clinging to him. But Temp doesn't mind, only finds it more grounding and real to have him here in his arms.

"You're worse than a smokestack, Cillie. Are you sure?" Concern edges into his voice. He's not really sure about the limits of the whole 'Avatar' thing and what this might mean. Maybe this was routine and Gavin was just airing out.

Gavin's laughter carries the breathiness of exhaustion.

"Pushed myself a little hard in all the fighting," he admits, finally noticing the way the miasma leaks from his skin and swirls around them in an ominous haze. "This happens sometimes when I overdo it."

He's not sure if it's normal or if other avatars went through much of the same.

"Levels out after a little while on its own. I think it's OK."

He's just so tired. It's less a need for sleep and more a feeling of lead-lined bones, head heavy as he lifts it to steal another peck from Tempest Quinn. He's shivering, too, a tremor in his lips and fingertips that has nothing to do with the weather.

Yet still he grazes his teeth against the crook of Temp's neck, sucks at the skin, drawing comfort in the physicality of touch.

"I love you," is mumbled against reddened skin sealed with peppered kisses. "So much."

He's so glad he doesn't have to go through this alone.

"Looks like someone needs a nap." But, by this point, that was practically an old battle. How many times had Temp tried to bully or even screw some rest in Cillian Quinn, trying to plead of exhaust him enough to get him to close his eyes. And that was before they were dating! Man was a disaster. He was Temp's disaster now, though.

The nipping of his skin, peppering of kisses, even as Temp tries to hold onto Gavin makes him give a short rumble of laughter.

"Really? Now?"

Temp can't blame him, though. After worrying if Gavin would get captured or hurt or worse since they had parted ways earlier, it might be needed. Not for the pleasure of the act but the closeness, of knowing the other was there and okay if tired.

"I love you, too." Echoed back, easy, before he shifts and gently presses a hand on Gavin's chest.

"Lay back, I'll take care of you."

"I can still see the fighting if I close my eyes."

The admission comes soft, uncertain.

"It reminded me of Kanto, a little."

But, blessedly, only a little. They had let the civilians go. He'd even let a man who'd opposed him (mason moore) retreat in peace after noticing his uncertainty in battle. They would always be monsters. They would never be good.

But we're better, aren't we?

Gavin feels Tempest Quinn's laughter rumble beneath his lips, deep and soothing.

The gentle pressure of a hand against his chest isn't enough to move him; he assumes it to be simple affection before the implication of the words sends a hot flush through his skin. He's too weak to indulge as he wants to, relegated to the kisses laid against throat and collarbone, but there's no resistance as he settles back in the lush grass.

He cards his hand through long brown hair in silent appreciation.

"Then just keep your eyes on me."

Soft kisses turn to nibbles, nips, love bites blooming on skin. Cillian Quinn would just need to enjoy the show Temp was more than happy to put on for him, a joining of relief and love.

When Temp was done, had made sure Gavin was relaxed in the ways he wanted, he would curl up and pull Gavin into his arms, so the other could rest his head against his chest. It would be his turn to card through Gavin's short fluff, press sleepy and messy kisses to the top of his head.

Sweet words evoke a pleasant shiver through his veins that contrasts with the tremor in his hands. Tempest Quinn was too good to him, truly.

Perhaps a better man would feel guilt, to be afforded love and affection after the day's actions, but Gavin feels only relief and the heat that flushes his skin. As if he'd taken the words for gospel, Gavin doesn't take his eyes off Temp but to close them when things get intense.

Afterwards, when Temp pulls Gavin against his chest, the surge of affection Gavin feels is nigh overwhelming.

Safe, now. Protected. Loved.

He shivers again when Temp's fingers thread through his hair, the brush of sensation against his sensitive scalp as welcome as the kisses.

"I'll have to thank you later," Gavin mumbles, the words muffled against Temp's chest. "M'exhausted."

Miasma swirls and wreathes them both, now.

"Thank me for loving you? Silly."

He keeps his voice low, warm, just meant for Cillian Quinn. He's here to soothe the other, not get him all worked up again in a different way. Regardless of what previous actions taken might make one think.

"Why don't you rest your eyes for a few minutes?" Temp knows that trying to get Gavin to sleep for real would be a futile effort. The least he can do is try to squeeze a few minutes out of him, try to get the other to stabilize enough that he's not leaking miasma and shivering like death.

"I'll even tell you a story."

"For taking such good care of me, asshole."

Asshole is said with all the fondness one might call their partner sweetheart or darling. Or, in Gavin's case, love.

As much as Tempest Quinn tries to be slick, Gavin catches on immediately.

He's too anxious to sleep, afraid he'll dream of burning cities. But he closes his eyes, levels his erratic breathing to match the slow rhythm of his lover's own.

"Won't be able to sleep," he says softly, "but I wouldn't mind staying like this."

Temp could talk to him about anything; it'd be better than the silence.

"Yeah? Don't need thanked for that either, Cillie." Another kiss is pressed to the top of his head, only this time Temp blows a big, wet, raspberry there before he chuckles.

"Sniffed that one out quick, huh? Well, just at least keep your eyes close and unclench your butthole some." In a tease, Temp reaches down to pinch Cillian Quinn on the ass before he drapes his arm back around him. Protective.

"You know, when we talked in the kitchen, I didn't realize I loved you till right then." Since Gavin was going to get a story, he was going to get a good one. His other hand still scratched his scalp lightly, idle as he talked. "But I was thinking about it, and I've been in love with you a real long time, I just never... got it? I didn't really understand it till then, and then it was like a puzzle all coming together. Everything made sense."

Cillie.

He hums against Tempest Quinn's chest, any cheeky remark spared by the warmth that blossoms in his own.

He yelps when Temp pinches his ass, more out of surprise than in response to the pain. His cheeks flush, and he offers a reproachful nip on the other's shoulder in 'revenge'. But he settles, after, comforted by the weight of Temp's arm draped over him.

Safe.

Much like a cat, Gavin shifts to attain a better angle for the idle head scratches. He'd doubtless be purring if he could.

Especially when Temp's 'story' becomes clear.

"You have?"

Soft, fragile in its wonder, as if he can't quite believe it.

"How long?"

"Yeah. Real long." He tries to piece it together himself, shifting his hand to rub the spots he knows Cillian Quinn likes. "It didn't happen all at once, I think..."

Another small laugh, a fond smile taking up his face when Temp glances down to meet Gavin's eyes. His own are so soft when he looks at his partner.

"I think it first started... I can't remember what we were doing. It was when we had to do all those missions together after I joined, and you were a real ice queen, you know? Don't think you liked me at all. One day, I cracked some joke, and next thing I know you were laughing."

It's almost a little embarrassing to admit, how much of a sap he is, so he flushes a light pink.

"Not the fake little laugh you did, either, but a real laugh, and I just remember stopping and thinking to myself 'I gotta hear that again.'"