STAYING THE NIGHT PROMPTS
Travis had refused his help, as Lalo had expected, when he had offered to help him clean off the grime, mud and blood they had dragged from the woods on their clothes and on their skin. Travis had done it alone in the bathroom with the door closed and the light spilling from between the frame and the door into the living room. Lalo washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink and then stood, afraid to touch anything in his dirty clothes, in the middle of the living room staring at the wall.
Exhaustion rarely got to him no matter how little he slept, but nights like these where it had been all about instinct and survival, he was left feeling dry and hollow. The bathroom door creaked open and Travis, now clean and in a fresh pair of joggers, directed a long look at him before padding out to sit on the couch with a first aid kit in his hands. He let Lalo help him with his wounds, sat perfectly still as he was stitched up and watched Lalo's hands as he worked.
He stirs at Travis’ quiet words, looks down at his hand, his jacket in his grip. He was standing between the couch and the front door.
He thinks something loosens in him at Travis words.
“Yeah?” maybe he sounded a bit hopeful.
He looks at Travis, lets a tired smile pull at the corner of his lip, “You don’t trust me to drive, is that it?” He had been zoning out on his living room, he wouldn’t blame Travis if that was the case.
Travis looks at him with something quiet in his eyes and mutters, “Yeah, something like that.”
Nights spent together was something he’d learned not to miss, it wasn’t something he expected from the men he usually slept with nor was it usually even possible with the secrecy that was expected from a man like himself.
But when Travis asks him, in that quiet way of his, he realizes that none of those things applied here with him.
He meets Travis’ eyes, the openness in his gaze, and takes a breath. He lets his clothes fall back on the floor, the same spot from where he had collected them, and turns on the edge of the bed. “Yeah?” he murmurs, “You want me to?”
He shuffles closer and leans over to press a soft kiss to Travis’ lips, has to, he feels, to chase away the worry in his eyes. Like he had been expecting to be denied.
He looks at Travis’s bare chest, then meets his eyes again. It always felt so self-indulgent when he got to do this. He laid down on Travis’ side and softly rested his head on his chest, and with his cheek pressed against his warm skin, he let out a contented sigh.
“I’ll make you breakfast. In the morning,” his eyes are already closed, but it feels important to tell him.
“Travis…” he stroked Travis’ cheek, pulled him close with a hand on the back of his neck, “I want to,” he said, and pressed their foreheads together, “But it’s— it’s family, I have to go. I’ll be back, okay?”
He is only 12 miles from North Kill when he has to pull over to the side of the road. He kills the engine and stares at the road ahead. There was pressure behind his eyes and he felt almost nauseous with how his chest ached. Why did it feel so bad to leave? It shouldn’t be a big deal, he would just go, take care of business and come back.
But… he hadn’t said when. He didn’t know when.
“Mierda,” he whispered and pressed the backs of his hands over his eyes. Had it felt this bad for Travis as well? He let his head fall against the headrest of his seat and let out a shuddering breath.
