Work Text:
pico : can you come over?
He shouldn’t.
Boyfriend feels something in his stomach lurch unpleasantly as he reads the message another time. It’s similar to the feeling he got when he first met Girlfriend’s dad in person. A foreboding mix of dread and anxiety. He didn’t even realize he still had Pico’s number saved. They haven’t spoken in what felt like ages.
He gulps. A tiny, microscopic part of his gut’s telling him not to go, his gut’s saved his ass more times than he can count, but the longer he sits there’s staring at the text, the more the worry clouding his brain starts to win over the sinking feeling in his stomach.
pico : please?
pico : i need you
He sits up at this, kicking off his blanket as he reads it over again and again. Instinct tells him to go, to listen to the concern creeping into the forefront of his mind. And before he knows it, he’s tugging on his sneakers and speed walking down a familiar path as he texts back a quick “okay” and tries to ignore the confusing amalgamation of feelings climbing up his spine.
Pico’s place hasn’t changed at. It’s still got that cozy feel about it, still covered ceiling to floor in decor and interior furnishing that just scream Pico. Boyfriend shuts the door and locks it with a practiced motion, pocketing the extra key subconsciously as he peers around the living room, looking for any sign of life. After a moment, there’s a thump from the open room across from him, followed by a thud and the sound of things clattering to the floor. Boyfriend pads forward, kicking off his sneakers (because Pico’s got a thing about outside shoes in his room) and peaks into the bedroom. The sight he finds makes him feel like he’s been sent back in time.
Pico paces in a volatile pattern at the foot of his bed. His hair is wild like he’s been pulling at it, and he’s muttering to himself, shaking his head only to mutter something else. Boyfriend’s not even sure he’s noticed him here and the last thing he wants is to scare him right now.
So, he taps gently on the doorframe, fighting down a flinch when Pico’s gaze snaps to his. His milky eyes are wide and vibrating, ragged breaths leaving his lips.
“Can I come closer?” Boyfriend says, overly articulate and as clearly as possible.
Pico looks around, fingers flexing and twitching as if he were holding something. Tentatively, he nods, and Boyfriend takes slow and deliberate steps towards him, hands raised where they’re both visible, and gently takes Pico’s shoulders. He walks them towards the bed, Pico lets himself be sat down.
For a while, they just sit there and breathe. Boyfriend, exaggerated and intentionally loud, slow and deep until Pico starts to breathe with him. Thirty minutes pass before Pico’s milky eyes start to clear, thirty more before he finally meets Boyfriend’s gaze.
“Who did you see?” he murmurs, running his fingers down Pico’s arms and gathering his rough hands in his own.
Pico avoids his eyes, instead looking down at their joint hands as he blinks rapidly. “Uh- Cass-“ he clears his throat. “Cassandra.”
Boyfriend nods, gulping inaudibly. Sighing deeply, Pico flops onto his back, the bed bounces as he adjusts the pillow beneath his head, as his arms stretch out to the sides. After a moment, against his better judgement, Boyfriend lays down too. Doesn’t move when Pico’s arm curls around his neck.
“Any idea what triggered it?”
Pico expression goes sour.
“Had a…rough session this morning with Jaune. Been pretty messed up ever since. Then, I couldn’t find my gun. Kinda just…spiraled after that.”
Boyfriend furrows his brows. “Woah, woah, back up. Session? Jaune?”
Pico rolls onto his side, looking more alive than he has during this entire visit as a small grin tugs at the corners of his lips.
“Started seein’ a shrink after we split.” his smile turns coy, apologetic almost, and the little gap between his two front teeth peeks out from behind his lips ever so slightly. “Figured it was the least I could do, eh? Take your advice.”
“Pico that’s-“ Boyfriend can’t fight down his smile. “That’s great, dude!”
“The appointments are annoying, sure, but…progress is being made. Despite the, uh, the hiccups.”
“I’m glad.” Boyfriend grins, ignoring the way the soft smile he gets in return makes his heart flutter in his chest. “I’m so glad.”
He’s not sure how much time they spend talking, not sure how they end up so close, tangled up atop of Pico’s comfy bed. It’s so familiar, the position they’ve found themselves in. With Pico’s bent arm beneath Boyfriend’s head like a pillow, the other strewn across his waist while BF wrapped around him like a koala. Nearly nose to nose. Boyfriend remembers a time where they’d fall asleep like this. Stormy nights where all it took was a text and Pico would run over despite the rain to hold him just like this. The hours he’d spend counting the redhead’s freckles.
1999 in total. Cheeks, shoulders, arms, and chest.
Boyfriend’s gaze flicks up to find Pico already looking at him, a certain (a heart-wrenchingly familiar) softness in his usually sharp eyes. A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding pushing past his lips.
They’re getting closer, inches away. Losing composure and seconds away from a(n amazing) mistake. It’s wrong, it’s awful, Boyfriend knows it. But Pico’s so pretty, it hurts . Makes his heart ache and throb all at once. Boyfriend leans forward, Pico meets him halfway.
His lips carry a nostalgic taste of sugar and smoke. Like a campfire snack. His hands are warm and his kiss is demanding, lips closing around Boyfriend’s the second he recovers from his shock. BF slips his fingers into his fiery locks and it’s just as soft as he remembers. Pico rolls on top of him, Boyfriend’s legs fall open to make space, arms curling around his neck as Pico cradles his face in his hands.
He can’t stop, he knows it. It feels too good. So, he lets his mind go blank. He holds Pico in his arms and he moans, shrill and high when his lips trek across his jaw and down his neck. He whines as scarred hands slip beneath his shirt and strong hips pin his own to the bed.
I shouldn’t be doing this, bounces about distantly somewhere in his head, I need to stop, follows soon after. But it feels so good. He’s surrounded by nothing but Pico, Pico, Pico and he’s got no desire to pull himself free. He’s drowning in him, in the feeling of his body on his own, of his lips melting against his. Pico’s fingertips dance across his skin, cold and contrasting pleasantly to the fire roaring through his core.
Then there’s buzzing, vibrating beneath his head. A familiar ringtone fills his ears, and he fumbles blindly for his phone because he can’t think about anything but Pico’s mouth on the cusp of his ear. He taps at the screen when the phone finally makes it to his hand, letting go the second the vibrating stops. Pico bites his helix, not enough to hurt but enough to have Boyfriend gasping in pleasure.
Then-
“B?” Girlfriend’s voice filters through his phone’s scratchy speaker.
Suddenly, the fire’s gone, smothered to ashes beneath an ice cold tidal wave. Pico lets himself be shoved away as Boyfriend scrambles for his phone, shoving it to his ear and barking out an awkward (slightly hysteric) laugh.
“Girlfriend! Hi! Hey! What’s-“ he runs a hand down his face and buries it in his messy cyan hair, an anxious gesture Pico recognizes immediately.
“What’s up?” he finally manages, grin wide and strained despite the fact that Girlfriend can’t see it.
“Are you okay? I was just calling to see where you were.”
“I’m- I’m-“ Boyfriend glances at Pico, face filling with red as he looks away. “I just went for a walk! Clearing my head, y-y’know?”
“Oh, okay. Head home soon, alright? It’s dark out.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course!” Boyfriend nods, pushing off of the bed and starting for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Love you.”
“Love you too, B.”
Pico doesn’t speak until he’s tucked his phone into his back pocket.
“Boyf-“
“I can’t fuckin’ believe I- oh my god-“
“Boyfriend-“
“I’m not yours, Pico! I can’t-“ Boyfriend’s eyes are wide and wild, swirling with panic as he frantically searches for his hat, finding it discarded haphazardly to the floor.
He scoops it up and doesn’t bother trying to fix his hair before tugging it on. His chest is heaving when he meets Pico’s unwavering gaze.
“I have to go.” Boyfriend says, more to himself than to Pico before he makes a break for the door, the cold wind smacking against his face as he jogs back to his place.
And as he falls into bed that night, with hickeys blooming across his neck and collarbones and a tent still pitching in his pants, heating pooling his cheeks and guilt settling in his gut as he sends GF a goodnight text.
He’s fucked up. And he’s not sure how to fix it.