for Jag - valentine's day

[st_rummer]

Coby hadn't given much thought to Valentine's day other than knowing it was coming up – hard to miss when Caroline had exploded hearts and gold cherubs over every available surface – until he'd had to explain the holiday to Kash and his friend. It wasn't as though any of the people he was sleeping with would expect anything of him. As far as he knew, some of them weren't from worlds where Valentine's day was a thing, and even the ones who were knew he wasn't the exclusive type. He'd rather show them how he felt when he was with them anyway, because he felt it, not because some calendar told him too.

Valentine's day was just a day.

When that day came, though, being caught between happy couples happily coupling, unhappy singles who couldn't look forward to half-price chocolate, and fat foil babies with wings that felt creepier than the description, it all felt like a terrible way to spend the day. He'd gone down long enough to throw together things to eat, because he wasn't sad sack moping, but he didn't stick around. At least he'd been here long enough he'd learned to ignore the Valentine's pink of his hearts and romance room. It was as good a place as any to work on this song that was refusing to come together the way he knew it could. He sat at his keyboard, trying the melody over and over with slight tweaks, leaning over to make notes on a, yes pink, notepad he'd picked up at the gift shop, then sticking the pencil behind his ear to try another variation.

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[st_rummer]

Coby slung an arm over Jag's shoulder and leaned into him. "Yeah. We are."

[st_artandstoke]

Jag looked back at Coby in surprise, because he somehow hadn't expected the touch. But then the next second, he'd blown the smoke out to the side and leaned into his friend, much too appreciative of it. He still felt like his skin wasn't quite right on himself - he had for a while now, to be fair, but tonight was worse - and he knew just what he needed, but couldn't quite bring himself to ask if Coby would even consider it. Not with everything that had happened between them, before, and not with how much Coby had already done for him. "Thank you," he told him quietly, a riot of muted emotions in his eyes.

[st_rummer]

Coby hadn't done anything Jag wouldn't do for him, the way he saw it.

"Finish your smoke," he said, taking another drag of his. "'Cause if we don't fall into bed soon, I'm likely to sleep out here."

[st_artandstoke]

Jag exhaled, settling more easily against Coby at his words. If they were falling in bed together, they really were good. It might seem silly, but words were just words. Curling up with Coby, that would make it real.

"Yeah," he agreed, and looked away to take another drag from his cigarette, focusing on the brightness of the cherry as he inhaled.

[st_rummer]

With all the heavy talking they had done, the quiet now didn't feel hollow or oppressive like silence could. It was good – open air, buzz of Pike's fun bakes running through him, Jag's warmth along his side. He could stay like this.

When he'd taken his last pull on the cigarette, he straightened, his hand running along Jag's back, keeping the contact while he could because it felt good. He stubbed out his cigarette, tossing the butt with the others in the Madonna Inn official ashtray he kept out here. "You good?"

[st_artandstoke]

"Yeah," Jag confirmed, his cigarette butt already dead in his hand, before it joined Coby's in the ashtray. "You?" He felt better, for that moment spent just leaning against Coby, and now he moved away from him reluctantly, back into the room, to pull his boots off one by one.

[st_rummer]

"Yeah," Coby nodded, following Jag in and shutting the door behind them. He hadn't bothered with shoes, hanging out in his room, and he started getting ready for bed by tugging button down and t-shirt off over his head at once.

[st_artandstoke]

Jag did short work of stripping down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs, ignoring the awkwardness that tried to push in on him as he climbed into bed. Brushing his teeth could, would wait until morning. His gaze was drawn to Coby, and once the lights were out, he held up a small flame in the centre of his palm for Coby to find his way to the bed, rather than go and turn on the bedside lamp. Fire felt better, anyway.

[st_rummer]

A passing thought that Jag could add nightlight to his resumé made Coby chuckle as he slid into bed. He lay down with a "C'mere, firebug," reaching for Jag as his other hand groped for the sheet to pull up over them.

[st_artandstoke]

Jag extinguished the flame in his closed fist, even as he turned into Coby. They had done this far too many times by now for it to feel awkward at all, and he found his usual spot against Coby's side, head resting on his shoulder, an arm slung over his stomach. The contact made things better, but Jag still didn't manage to relax fully, after the talk they had had, and with the thought looming, how he should give his room back to Coby, how he'd been here too long already.

[st_rummer]

Coby could feel the tension lingering. Not as bad as sometimes, but more than you'd expect between the rum and the magic brownies. But they had talked about a lot of heavy shit. He let out a slow breath, head tuck against Jag's, arm around him rubbing gently over his back where he could reach. "Let it go," he murmured, sleep tugging at him and muffling his words. "C'n worry t'morrow."

[st_artandstoke]

The rub of his hand did nothing to help Jag settle down, but he did cuddle in a little closer. "Yeah," he agreed, choosing the coward's way out. Coby sounded sleepy, and Jag didn't want to keep him from his sleep. He'd been enough of an imposition.

[st_rummer]

If Coby had known the direction of Jag's thoughts, he probably would have smacked him in the back of the head, fondly, not so it would hurt because that was a whole different thing between them, and not one they should approach again without talking first. But he didn't know, other than trickle of unease he wasn't sure about. "'Night, Jag."

[st_artandstoke]

"'Night, Cobe," Jag answered quietly, and forced himself to relax, at least physically.