“I want to always be a safe place for you,” Malcolm tells him. “Even if… I mean. Even if you have to make choices I don’t… want. I still want to be a safe place for you, always.”
Malcolm puts his feet down, but stays wrapped up in him.
“Neal, you can’t make choices just because they please me or anyone else. I think we want the same things, but… if that changes… I want you to make choices because they please you.”
Neal kisses him, equally earnest, one hand tangled in Malcolm's hair and the other around his waist. He speaks against Malcolm's skin when they stop to breathe. "Let's go inside and be happy for a little while."
“I’m always happy when I’m with you,” Malcolm says a little breathlessly. Neal is good at that: stealing Malcolm’s breath. A master thief. “But inside things sound nice,” he adds with a smile. He pauses and glances at the drawing. “Do you think you’ll come back to it later?” he asks.
Neal’s heart does that little dip-and-swell thing where it feels like he’s been knocked off his feet and lifted up at once.
“I will. I promise.”
Malcolm isn’t the leader in bed this time, but it’s still gentle and simple and intimate, and afterward Neal stays curled around Malcolm. He strokes the other man’s bare skin gently. “Want to shower? In a little while. So we can do the fancy dinner downstairs.”
"A green velvet Stetson Zephyr fedora. Vintage--one of the few I didn't actually get from June." He closes his eyes, playing with the baby hairs at the back of Malcolm's neck.
"I found it at the back of a closet I was hiding in during a case." A little chuckle. "Technically I knew who it belonged to, but we arrested the guy, so I didn't think he'd need it. Clearly he hadn't missed it to begin with."
Malcolm smiles. "Anything else like... the way you smile when I eat something or... how good you look in a suit?" he clarifies, lightly teasing, fingers fidgeting at Neal's sternum.
The warmth that fills Neal is enough to drive out any lingering shadows from the drawing's activity earlier, and he kisses Malcolm more warmly this time.
"Good. I'm... that's good, I'm glad."
Another little kiss. "Could you bring the easel and sketch pad in? I'd like to pick our clothes for dinner, if you're okay with that."
Malcolm grins. “I don’t mind at all,” he says, practically bounding out of bed to fulfill the request, though he almost runs out onto the balcony naked before realizing and detouring to grab a robe before going outside.
He brings the items in, along with the leftover food and drink, then stands in front of the drawing, studying it while Neal riffles the closet.
Neal hums softly to himself while he coordinates their outfits, the activity as soothing as it is pleasurable.
The drawing is somehow more surreal-looking without direct natural light. Like if the watcher blinks at the wrong moment, something in it will shift, some unexpected and ugly detail will appear.
Which is, incidentally, what happens.
The people on the street, from the vaguest shapes to the very clear image of Malcolm, disappear. They leave smudges of color behind like they've been aggressively erased. The figure Neal saw earlier, the one he thought he imagined, that one is back, standing between those same two houses, a deeper pit of emptiness in shadows.
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“I’d want to help him. I’d have to. He’s… my best friend.”
He closes his eyes a moment, leaning his forehead against Malcolm’s arm. He’s confusing himself again trying to think through this. “But you’re.”
Guilt squeezes at him, makes breathing hard. “You’re… safe.”
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“I want to make choices you want,” he says, wondering if that’s somehow the wrong thing to say.
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“Neal, you can’t make choices just because they please me or anyone else. I think we want the same things, but… if that changes… I want you to make choices because they please you.”
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For a second he’s more than simply distant. He’s somewhere else entirely, seeing a different world.
Neal snaps back to himself with a deep breath, then looks at Malcolm. “I can think of other things I’d like to get out.”
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“You’ll tell me if you need help?” he asks.
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“I will. I promise.”
Malcolm isn’t the leader in bed this time, but it’s still gentle and simple and intimate, and afterward Neal stays curled around Malcolm. He strokes the other man’s bare skin gently. “Want to shower? In a little while. So we can do the fancy dinner downstairs.”
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The shower. The dinner.
"I always like seeing you in your natural element. Like someone putting a familiar hat back on after a long time."
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“What did it look like?” he asks.
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“Where did you get it?”
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But of course he’s already considering where he might get one.
“I’m actually looking forward to dinner,” he admits. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”
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“Well, don’t push yourself too hard—eat to enjoy it, not because of anything else.”
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"If those things help you enjoy the meal, then by all means." He kisses Malcolm lightly. "Don't feel obligated, is what I'm saying."
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"Good. I'm... that's good, I'm glad."
Another little kiss. "Could you bring the easel and sketch pad in? I'd like to pick our clothes for dinner, if you're okay with that."
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He brings the items in, along with the leftover food and drink, then stands in front of the drawing, studying it while Neal riffles the closet.
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The drawing is somehow more surreal-looking without direct natural light. Like if the watcher blinks at the wrong moment, something in it will shift, some unexpected and ugly detail will appear.
Which is, incidentally, what happens.
The people on the street, from the vaguest shapes to the very clear image of Malcolm, disappear. They leave smudges of color behind like they've been aggressively erased. The figure Neal saw earlier, the one he thought he imagined, that one is back, standing between those same two houses, a deeper pit of emptiness in shadows.
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