Doc swayed at the piano stool, eyes closed. His voice was low, crooning as he sang, barely above the volume of his own playing. The bar was mostly empty, the bartender cleaning glasses, a few patrons finishing off their final drinks.
And Wyatt.
Wyatt sat at the table behind Doc, watching the blonde play with amber eyes full of nothing short of admiration. He stood from his chair, walking over to the piano, brushing a hand gently across the span of Docâs broad shoulders. He watched the gambler's expression soften, a purr echoing in his throat. Wyattâs hand then comes to rest on the hollow of Doc's throat, listening as he stops singing, finishing the song with a flourish.
âWhy my doll,â Docâs voice rumbles in his throat and Wyatt feels it under his fingertips. âWhat brings you to this humble piano, and the humbler man sat at itâ
Wyatt bends down to press a whisper of a kiss to Docâs ear. âYou, mostly. You know, Doc, you always look so beautiful when you playâ
A bashful smile blooms on the gambler's face, and he drops his chin to his chest, blonde hair falling into his eyes. Wyatt almost instantly brushes it away.
âWill you play again for me, darling?â Wyatt murmured, voice thick with fondness for his companion. A sharp nod sends Wyatt sitting beside his lover on the piano stool, a hand resting on the ex-dentists thigh. Doc lifted his hands over the keys and played the first few notes, a lilting melody. He sang under his breath as Wyattâs hands moved to splay across the ailing man's chest, feeling each breath rattle. It was a miracle he could still sing as he did, like the most beautiful bird Wyatt had ever come across.Â
Doc was gorgeous. He was pretty and lithe, with sharp eyes that laughed before he did. His hair was longer now, a pale blonde that hung down by his jaw. Wyatt wants to run his hands through it, like spun gold. Wyatt leant further against Doc, closing his eyes and humming along to the chorus.
âMy dear?â Doc stifles a cough in his throat, and Wyatt hears the rattle and wheeze as he regains his breath. âI donât think I have the strength for another song. Shall we retire?â His blue eyes flick over his lover, lip curling into a gentle smile. âPerhaps play a hand of poker, up in my rooms?â He offers, pushing himself up from the piano stool, holding out a hand for Wyatt, which he takes.Â
Doc leans on Wyatt as they take the stairs to Docâs room. His independence was slowly dwindling, a candle reduced to merely a wick, and Wyatt did his best to let Doc have his own independences. He could still dress himself and do menial things, and Wyatt let him, restraining his caretaking nature for his lover.Â
âWant to run a bath, Doc?â Wyatt offered, knowing that was the only way he could get his friend to spend time on his health. The ailing doctor despised showers, so the bath was a safer way to go. The blonde nodded, sitting on the bed rather uselessly, breath rattling. Wyatt nodded, ducking into the next room, the noise of water running following shortly after.Â
Wyatt helped Doc into the warm water, his eyes flicking over the man's thin body, heart aching at the sight of his diminishing strength. He watched as Docâs eyes flutter closed, Wyatt motioning for Doc to turn his back to him, his hands gently running through those lovely blonde locks. A shaky sigh escapes Docâs rosebud lips, as Wyatt drags soap through his hair, gently cleaning his hair, one hand on his shoulder, sneaking down to his chest.Â
âYour breathingâs getting worseâ Wyatt is now washing out the soap in his lover's hair, worry climbing through his tone. The statement was simple but held so much weight. Doc was dying, there was nothing Wyatt could do.
âIt's the consumption my dearâ came the southern drawl, âIt tends to do that.â
âYou know I donât like those jokes, Doc,â Wyatt warns, the hand on his lover's chest tightening a little, âIâm- Doc Iâm scaredâ He pressed a kiss to the juncture where Docâs neck and shoulder connect. He hears Docâs breathing hitch, sees him bite his lower lip.Â
âWyatt.. Wyatt I canât promise you forever, you know this. But I can promise you until.â Doc sighs, shivering with a sudden fever drop. Wyatt nods, swallowing unshed tears, standing up to get his lover a towel. He wraps up the thin doctor in it, drying off his hair and chest gently, peppering his face with kisses, making Doc giggle.
âIâll take untilâ He promises, âOr until you get bored of me.â
âWhy Wyatt, I donât think I will.â Doc nodded, pulling on his sleep clothes, towelling off his hair, going to lean against Wyatt, eyes shutting.
âI donât think Iâll ever get bored of you, Wyatt Earpâ
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