#| speaks |

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@manymusescherry

Angel knows Liam can’t appreciate the aesthetics of his appearance, but he feels so wonderful. Pretty baby blue lace, soft green crop top, pastel pink socks. He crawls into the other’s lap, purring like a kitten so happily, and presses his hips down hard. “C-come, come on. Spe-spen-nd some, some ti-time wi-with, with me.”

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@sadscngs

He feels ashamed for doing this, but he can’t shake the nightmares. So he slips into the other’s room, padding on bare feet as quietly as possible. When the floor creaks, he pauses, watching them. “Hey. Hey. Ca-can I, can I sle-sleep-p wi-with-th y-you? In, In y-your be-bed-d I, I me-mean.”

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@strawpolls

“Co-come on, y-you lo-look-k so, so ni-nice in, in a sui-suit-t. An-and-d I’ll, I’ll b-be qui-quiet,” he purrs, moving between Curtis and the desk he’s working at. Soft fingers clasp around the other man’s tie, pull him close for a teasing kiss along his jawline. 

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@hearmefeelme

He wakes up in the late morning on a Saturday, and almost immediately begins to panic because this is not his home. Three deep breaths to calm himself, remind himself that he is not seventeen again, that he is safe and far away from the man who dared to hurt him. Two more deep breaths to center himself, conclude that he is in Vijay’s room, smile at the thought of Vijay, and then quickly panic because it’s Saturday morning and Samar isn’t supposed to know that his teacher is having sleep overs with his dad. 

Sleepovers.

Before he can jet into a sitting position, the word reminds him that Sammy is off at a friend’s house ( something he was rather proud of arranging for the child ), and there had been no incidents through the night. So he curls closer under the blankets towards the warmth next to him, nuzzling with a soft purr against the other’s neck.

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@fcdings liked xx

You can only avoid sleep for so long, and he’s been trying desperately to remind himself of this even as he runs from any amount of rest. Angel’s been pumping himself with coffee and caffeine and sugar and who knows what else. 

It’s all failing. 

He’s fallen asleep on the floor, pencil still in hand, twitching every few moments and drawing streaks of fragile gray strands over the parchment. Last he checked, Seb was on the couch, watching a calm, wonderful documentary about nature. The room was light, airy, spring filled despite his constant sneezing allergies.

His nightmare is nothing like this. 

He is dark and terrified and it’s obvious he’s dreaming about something unsavory by the way his eyebrows draw together and he seems to shrink, instinctively. Angel whimpers softly in his sleep, tears falling from the corners of his eyes, making dark stains on the paper below him until things become violent. Feet flail, push him until his back is against the couch, and then they slide along the floor as he attempts again. Fingers claw at his throat, his father’s hands feeling too real, sincerely wrapped around his throat. They leave trails of red in their wake, over and over and over again as he inhales, inhales, inhales, until he’s starting to turn blue and his eyes fly open, frantic. It doesn’t calm him; he’s still half in that reality, still inhales and forgets to exhale.

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@sxturxtedsunrise

Two months of looking for a surrogate mother. One month of arguing who’s sperm they should use before they just decided fuck it and both donated, unworried about who’s baby it really was because they were going to have a baby, they were going to be dads. 

Nine months of waiting. Month one - they bought a house. A real house in a real neighborhood near a real school and everything. Month two - they bought the family car, a little sedan with four doors and everything, completely family safe and friendly in that pretty dark blue. Month four - they painted the nursery. Well, Angel painted the nursery, Robbie watched. Month eight - final baby proofing. And now they were here, waiting in the hospital lobby, and Angel thinks he’s going to have a panic attack.

Of all times to have one, now is the time his body decides to let it settle. Heart is racing and ears are ringing and he’s so terribly worried. Angel looks up at Robbie, who is pacing back and forth and has more time to rush to the doctor as she appears smiling while Angel just sits there, knees bouncing back and forth. The baby is health, so is the mother, and it’s time for dads to meet their child. 

Numb feet carry him towards the room, the lump in his throat feels like it’s growing and growing and growing. Dark eyes look up at his lover, lips quivering. “I, I d-don’t-t kn-know if, if I’m, I’m, I’m re-read-ready for, for thi-this.” it’s a conversation they’ve had a dozen times, that Angel is going to be a great father, that there’s nothing to worry about, but he’s still worried. He still panics. He still needs Robbie to tell him it’s okay, to hold his hand and run his thumb along Angel’s knuckles for comfort.

                      “---Are, are we re-read-ready?”

[heavenlyfcclings-a-blog]

@birdsabove

He’s been doing his very best to stay out of trouble, to stay as quiet and out of the way as possible. It’s never enough, though. Today he finds a fresh bruise on his cheek, and he can’t remember if it’s from falling out of bed or the fight from last night. In either case, it takes him longer to nurse it, and even with his little stash of makeup, it doesn’t go away, hard as he tries to cover it, and every time his hands come up, covered in their sweater sleeves, they wipe away the concealer. So Angel’s left to hold a cold bag of peas to his face, hiding on the other’s couch, pouting like a child, fingers in his cat’s fur. 

              “--- Can, can we wat-watch a, a mo-movie?” His speech is slurred a little more than usual, tongue swollen from whatever caused the bruise.