âI love you, you assholeâŚâ he says as Rafe rubs his thumb along the tattoo on his neck. The birds. Rafe gives him a grunt in response, an âI love you, tooâ without words.
Even if Rafe doesnât like to use his words in moments like thisâŚheâs so loud. He speaks through actions, or subtle gestures. The way he canât keep his hands off of Samâs scars, or his tattoo. He loves Samâs birds, Samâs wings. Wings he never grew, even if Sam insisted he had them in his own special way.
Heâd say it with soft kissed and firm grasps and locked fingers and he can feel it every time Sam says it, says 'I love youâ.
And he believes it. He can feel his heart twist and contract, and jolts of electricity flash through his body, his vision swimming with every wave of warmth, and it takes Samâs rough hands to calm the feelings, what he knows Sam would call his wings shaking out all the sadness, the fear, the anger, all the useless feathers.
He loves Samâs way with words, verbal and nonverbal.
Sam knows how to say what heâs feeling with real words, with his perfect voice. Something Rafe had always found difficult.
âI love you. I love the way you look so furious when youâre so dedicated, how you look when youâre determined. The way you look when youâre tired, when youâve just woken up; looking up at me with tired eyes and fucked up hair.â
Things like this, these early mornings and these early conversations, make Rafeâs legs feel useless and his lungs feel full of small bunches of blossoming flowers; probably red. Yes, theyâd be red. Sam likes red.
Some of these things made Rafe nervous. He couldnât count how many things heâd broken on late nights alone, thinking about Sam, how Sam made him feel. Heâd been frustrated; angry, even, but not confused. No, no. Never confused. Sam had to be the confused one, right? After all, Sam couldnât love him, could he?
At least, Rafe didnât think he could.
Heâd laid with Sam late at night, Sam the only warm, grounding thing in his large, cold bed, his arms tight around his waist and his lips featherlight at his neck. Rafe loved his cracked lips.
âWeâre one and the same,â heâd seemed to say with every kiss, every shiver that had sent shockwaves through Rafeâs body.
âDonât ever leave meâŚâ heâd mumbled, and the sound was soft and quiet, and it was music to Samâs ears, but he knew it wasnât a plea.
They both knew they needed one another.
@captnalbatr0ss hereâs one of those prompts you sent in!!
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gracieabrams
