he's saying so many things. and he's making so many motions. and all knox can do is sit and helplessly stare while his brain plays tug-of-war with itself. he'd already delayed their kiss for this long and look where that got them. punched in the face and out of commission for the next few weeks. 

and knox didn't think sam had it in him to say 'let's fuck' or something along the lines, but make love? 

he loves me? he loves me? he loves me? he loves me? 

that's what boyfriends do. they don't fuck; they don't fool around; they make love. and knox, he decides, has never done that. 

yes, he's fallen in love with nearly every boy he brings to bed. fallen in love with their bodies and their laughs and more importantly, fallen in love with the way they want him. but sam is different, different, different.

and it's going to be more than just popping his cherry that first time. 

"i can't believe i cock-blocked myself from you for so long," he says, regarding the water instead of sam's oh-so-confident-i-nonchalantly-just-said-i-want-to-jack-you-off eyes. 

he sighs, touches sam's shoulders, his collarbone. he takes some of the water and drizzles it into the hollow of his neck just so he can watch it drip down his torso. and then he bites his lip. 

"it really fucking hurts," he says, hating himself for his honesty, for the fact that he won't be selfish and just suck it up just to see how far sam will really go. 

samuel carter

☉

feeling knox' hand on his shoulders, the way he just gently stands there, vulnerable and bare before him, is so much. it means so much to sam. he only hopes that in the future, this moment will somehow solidify them. it will somehow help them through harder times.

they'll inevitably come, as is the way of life. sam knows this, mostly from experience.

his own hands find knox' neck, thumb along the side of his jaw that isn't sore, opposite fingers moving along the base of his hairline along his neck, tickling across snow white strands. a complete contrast to his own dark, ink black hair.

"knox...there are so many parts of you i want. sex is not at the top of that list. i want your fears, your doubts, your happiness and your anxieties. i want your breaths and exhales, your tension and your comfort. what you give me with your body in response to giving me those things, it'll happen naturally, it doesn't need forced, and i don't need sex to solidify how i feel about you."

truth be told, he didn't want it to be the solidifying fact, because an action can fade just as quickly as it can be done.

"yes, i want you. to feel you inside me, to feel me inside you," any of it, all of it. "but more importantly, i want to feel you ... trust me, with all of you."

knox prescott

there's his brain again: kiss him kiss him kiss him, except this time it's not a mental block in his head. this time it's his mangled face and battered chest. and it's because of this that, for the first time, knox realizes there are other ways to get close to someone. so he takes a breath and decides to stop focusing on the bad. 

his lids fall as he gives himself in to sam's touch; fingers teasing his hair, leaving a warmth on his jaw. he'd known all this, all parts of what sam was saying, ever since that conversation in his bedroom. sex is a bonus stage for me. he can't fathom it, but he's starting to understand it. 

and he's thinking, maybe that's all i've wanted too. someone who makes him feel like that's secondary, that these other wants sam describes are more pertinent, more personal. 

and knox's realization is then effectively sullied when sam Talks Dirty ft. Sam and he thinks, well, no, fuck, that's what i want. 

he steps closer and presses their foreheads together. "i am so into you, sam carter. it's ridiculous. now stop talking before i take you anyway and land us both in a world of trouble."

samuel carter

☉

there's relief in his shoulders. knox being into him... means more than he thought it would. because for the first time in his life, sam cared whether or not somebody liked him. he found himself getting ready before seeing knox and wondering in the mirror if he'd done enough to be worthy of knox.

it's ridiculous, he knows this, he knew it when he got ready for the party without a shirt, but the worry and paranoia had been there until knox saw him and accepted what he'd seen.

"as you wish." the request to stop talking is met with him moving away enough to grab the soap, eyeing knox for a moment and then taking a deep breath. "is...offering to wash you too much?"

no too much for them as a couple, but too much of a temptation for knox to bare while he's injured.

knox prescott

"look, i restrained myself when you ripped my pants down." barely. "i think i can handle some soap." and truth be told, as much as he wants to try something, anything, because he's thinking back to that moan sam made when knox left his mark - which is still a bit visible on his shoulder - and how very naked both of them are right now, he's...content. 

content to let sam take care of him and content not to push himself too much. so they can get to the next part. the part that will come sooner because he'll let himself heal. 

he kisses his own hand and then presses those fingers to sam's lips.

samuel carter

☉

the kiss to knox' fingers had sam furrowing his brows in confusion as he lathered his hands, but then knox touched those fingers to his lips. without restraint or hesitation, he kissed those fingers back, moving closer and beginning to shamelessly wash knox' body.

to sam, it isn't awkward. it should be, but it isn't. knox needed cleaned and sam knew he was sore. he was gentle around the bruised areas, inspecting them more closely when they're clean. he's not pushing, not poking, just looking and washing over gently.

"tell me if i'm being too rough at any point."

knox prescott

the corner of his lips tug upwards into a smile. sam comes closer then and knox finds himself holding his breath, raising his arms when sam instructs. some of the water sprays down on the side of sam's head and flattens his hair. knox reaches, slicks it back, chuckling when he uncovers some more of the glitter from their midnight swim. 

"what, you want a safe word?" he jokes. he sucks in a sharp breath when sam moves towards his chest. as gentle as he is, it's still pretty damn painful. the ibuprofen has started to do its work, but his intolerance works against him. the pain shines through clear as day. 

he doesn't know how to explain it to sam. that really, he does just want the percs or the oxys so he can fucking relax. but maybe he doesn't have to, because the pain is written all over his face and in his eyes. he bites his lip to stop from whimpering and holds out his hands to sam's shoulders, if only to steady himself. 

"heh, see? couldn't try anything even if i wanted to," he says, voice strained. 

samuel carter

☉

the way knox winces and moves, the steadying on his shoulders, sam holds strong. a foundation which will hold knox and keep him standing upright. he slowly wraps his hands around knox, moving them along his back. it's a slow embrace, but one that he refuses to make too close.

he doesn't hug around his ribs or shoulders, just down near his hips. fingers splayed across his lower back. he tucks his face close to knox' shoulder on the side of his face that isn't swollen.

seeing him like this... it's pitiful, and he feels weak. he knows the look in knox' face. even if he hadn't personally made the face, he'd seen it enough in kanto during times of war. because of that, he leaned away and looked knox in the eyes.

"why no doctors?"

knox prescott

sam tries so hard not to hurt him. and he's not, really. honestly, he'd probably be a whole lot worse off if he were out on his own; he'd surely have made the trek to go see moro himself, and all that jostling would have made things worse. can't sam see that he's doing him good?

he surrenders to his touch because it's doing a hell of a lot better job distracting him from the pain than the medicine. and when sam starts to pull away, he wants to wrap his arms around his waist and draw him back, pull him tighter, snuggle into him. 

his stomach drops at the question and he looks away, down at the water as it swirls down the drain. his face is blank. he blinks once - and there are spinning white walls, the explosive heartbeat in his chest - and twice - the black on the edge of his vision, eden screaming/crying/howling, a mirage alongside summer and whatever's left of him just thinking it's over it's over it's finally over. 

he shivers, comes back, though not enough to show sam what he sees. he can't bring him there. not yet. 

"irrational fear of hospitals? all doctors are pedophiles in disguise? a doctor killed my mother?" he smiles thinly, but doesn't offer anything else.

samuel carter

☉

seeing knox literally disappear from him reminds sam not to ever ask again. wherever knox had gone, sam doesn't want to see him there again. but he waits, and he listens, and smiles softly when knox gives his explanations.

"hospitals are bad, got it." he's sure he's shared before, but perhaps it will help knox feel less... broken, hearing sam's own flaws. "elevators are bad for me, so i get it. i'm not trustworthy of doctors unless i know them personally, which was why i was so on edge when miss-- erm, when eden arrived."

it feels wrong, not calling her miss. she had helped them and he held a great respect for her. but knox had said to call her just eden, so he tried.

knox prescott

he remembers. no loud noises, no small spaces, and no elevators. that's a no-no list he's committed to memory so he can make sure not to fuck things up. his smile is almost genuine again and he sidles a little closer to give sam a wordless thank you. 

he looks at the shampoo and decides against it; his hair can go a few more days without anything. he does, however, reach for a hand towel and hold it out to sam. 

"i can do this in the sink mirror if it's too much or you're scared to hurt me or whatever. i just feel like i gotta clean it and we're getting a bit pruney." that and he's thinking about that night now and all he wants to do is run until he's flying.

samuel carter

☉

somehow, in some unspoken way, he's able to accept the gratitude shown, the thanks wordlessly delivered. but he glances over knox' face and shakes his head.

"i don't mind doing it, or at least standing with you while you do it. but i understand wanting to do it yourself."

sam would want to do it himself. not out of distrust, just out of his need to control his own person at all times. a pet peeve, in a way. he was more predictable than somebody else. could brace himself for the pain he knew he was about to inflict, etc.

"unless you want me to take care of something else while you do that."

clothes, food, anything.

knox prescott

he leaves the wash cloth for the time being. because here's sam, yet again, telling him of all the ways he wants to help him, of all the things he'll do for him. and it makes knox swoon a little; it makes him feel safe. the bad memories swirl down the drain (they'll crawl out eventually, waiting for the right moment to slither into him again) and he lets himself just be. 

he takes his hands and he starts at sam's shoulders, tracing the roadmap of sam's tattoos. his fingers run over the hard bumps of sam's abdomen. knox licks his lips, steps closer, hands circling his waist. he presses them together, closes all those little gaps, and sighs as the water flows around them. 

samuel carter

☉