Chapter Text
Even though the weather is bitterly cold, Shane takes his lunch breaks outside. Anything is better than being locked inside the sterile, fluorescent hell that is JojaMart for eight hours straight. At least if he goes outside for lunch, he can look out on the river and catch some fresh, un-recycled air of the Valley. Otherwise, he might as well still be living in the city.
After he's made it through his sandwich, he lights a cigarette. Shane usually eats fast and has ten minutes to allocate to doing fuck all before he goes back inside. His fingers start to freeze, so he pulls his gloves back on, fumbling with his cigarette. He drops it into the snow by mistake. Fucking lost cause, he lets it go out.
He's about to head back inside when he catches sight of Harvey and Clint coming out of the latter’s shop. Between them they carry a stretcher, speaking hurriedly to each other and rushing up the path towards the lake.
No, towards the mines.
Shane’s stomach drops. No. Fuck.
He’ll be late getting back to work, but he doesn't fucking care. He shouts at Harvey up ahead, “What’s happening?” His hands are shaking, but not from the cold.
“Shane?” Harvey’s attention turns from Clint. “It's best you don't come. Michael is hurt, but he's fine. He’ll be fine,” Harvey says firmly. “You can come by and see him later. But right now you’ll only be in the way.” While Harvey’s words are, on the surface, rather unkind, he's clearly experienced dealing with fussing friends and family. But all Shane can repeat in his head is that Michael has been hurt. Michael, who hates the mines, has been hurt. And he's probably alone and frustrated and Shane isn't there.
Shane’s about to protest when Harvey gives him a final, firm, “No.”
He doesn't want to go back to work. He won't be able to focus for a second, not knowing what is happening with Michael. Fuck. Heading back to JojaMart, he at least needs to tell Morris he's going home for the day. But he doesn't want to go to the ranch either. Left alone, he’ll just boil over with worry.
As if in a daze, he tells Morris that he needs to go. Frowning, Morris asks for explanation.
“Michael was in an accident.”
“Who’s Michael?” Morris asks.
Shane stares at his boss like he's grown a third head. Everyone in the town knows Michael. Everyone in the town knows he and Michael are together. How could Morris not? Sure, he doesn't live in Pelican Town, but he works here five days a week. How could he have no idea?
“Michael, my boyfriend?”
“Oh?” Morris remains unconvinced. Flipping through the work log, he finally lifts his head. “I'll mark you down for taking a personal half-day.”
Shane mumbles his thanks and gets the fuck out of there. Working at Joja is really becoming intolerable. But even if he has a bunch of money saved, he still needs a regular income. And he needs a reason to get out of the house. Before this job, he would just lock himself in his room for days at a time, doing nothing at all. The routine has been good for him.
He doesn't head back to the ranch. The place will be empty anyway. Marnie took the truck to the next town over to look into some goats she had her eye on. They’ll be ready for Spring folding season.
He settles on going to Michael’s farm instead. At least he can...he doesn't know. But it feels as good a plan as any.
Leaving his snow-wet shoes by the door, he looks around the house for anything he can occupy his time with. He settles on trying to tidy up the kitchen first. Under the sink are some cleaning supplies, a bottle of all purpose cleaner and some other thing for glass, and a gallon of bleach.
There are dishes in the sink. So he starts there, rinsing Michael’s coffee cup from this morning and putting it on the drying rack. Then he moves on to scrubbing the countertops.
Shane has no idea if he's done a decent job of cleaning the place up or not. The whole house smells vaguely like the cleaning solution, but other than that, he's got no idea. Now that he's done scrubbing, he's exhausted. He wonders if enough time has passed and maybe Michael is at the clinic. Maybe he's asking for Shane and no one knows that he's here. Maybe he should go check.
Flopping onto the bed, Shane realizes how tired he is. His mind is racing but his limbs are weak. He’ll never be able to get any sleep without knowing how Michael is doing. He’ll try the clinic. Not knowing what's wrong is eating away at him.
He bundles back up in his winter clothes to head into town. The sun is lower and the wind colder than when he first arrived. Even if he can't see Michael, someone should be able to tell him what's going on.
Inside the clinic is stark white, smelling slightly of honey and a little bit of bleach. Maru is in the front office, sorting through Harvey’s ill-kept paperwork. “Oh, Shane!” Her face is happy enough. “Michael is still in with the doctor.”
“Um,” Shane’s throat is scratchy, “is he okay? What happened?”
Maru purses her lips, “There was an accident in the mine. Well, he was attacked by one of the monsters from the lower levels.”
Shane wants to scream. Monsters? What the fuck was Michael doing?
“Some surface burns that aren't too bad, the main thing is he broke his arm. He’ll make a full recovery. But Harvey is setting the break now. If you want to wait for him, it shouldn't be be much longer?”
“Um,” Shane searches for something to say, “burns?”
Maru nods, “But nothing too bad, just gave him a scare, I think.”
Shane sits in the waiting room, squeezing his hands together. There are magazines on the end table. While he pushes them around, he doesn't manage to pick any of them up. The smiling faces with white teeth and blonde hair are too much for him to stomach.
Maybe it's not very long at all, but it feels an age before Harvey steps out of the infirmary, drying his freshly-washed hands. He sighs when he sees Shane, but there's a kindness to it, “I knew you wouldn't stay away.”
Shane hops to his feet, asking after Michael.
“He's awake, you can go see him, if you'd like. And he's a terrible patient.”
Not hesitating, Shane pushes past Harvey to get into the other room. Michael is sitting up in one of the cots, his right arm in a sling and bandages wrapped around his chest. One of his eyes is black, but otherwise, his face looks undamaged. When he sees Shane, he smiles. The first thing out of his mouth is, “I'm fine.”
“You're clearly not,” Shane counters.
“I just broke my arm. I was careless. And I hate the fucking mines,” Michael scowls.
“What happened?” There are chairs in the room and Shane means to sit on one, but Michael scoots over on the cot, leaving enough room for Shane to perch on the edge.
“I was down on the lower levels, and there was this weird...monster thing I've never seen before. I'm pretty good at dealing with bats, and slimes mostly just want to be left alone but,” Michael shakes his head. “I just wanted to get away, but they struck me in the back and I fell from the ladder.” He lets out a bitter laugh, “I don't know who was more scared, them or me, but they off after that. I managed to catch an elevator back to the surface. Demetrius found me before I passed out. I guess my adrenaline just gave out or something.”
“You weren't being careful,” Shane brushes his thumb over Michael’s uninjured arm. It could have been worse. What if the beast inside the mine hadn't been scared off? What if Michael wasn't stubborn enough to have dragged himself to the elevator?
Michael smiles softly. “Harvey wants me to stick around until the painkillers wear off, do another assessment, then send me home.” He turns his uninjured hand palm up, wiggling his fingers until Shane holds his hand. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?” Michael questions.
“Couldn't focus, I saw Harvey and Clint going to stretcher you out. Left early.”
Michael sighs, then winces, going to grip at his ribs, but his hand is still in Shane’s. He looks exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Could be the stress or the pain meds. Shane cards his fingers through Michael’s hair. It still hasn't gotten too long.
“You should sleep,” Shane comments.
“Yeah, don't worry about me. Should make a full recovery.” It doesn't take long for Michael to nod off. Part of Shane really just wants to wait at his side until he wakes up, but there's a bunch of stuff he wants to get done too. He slips out of the room. On his way out, he asks Harvey to call him when Michael needs help getting home. The doctor nods, saying he'll give Shane a ring. Shane leaves Harvey with his cell number.
Shane heads to the ranch, finding Marnie home and preparing dinner. News travels fast and she already knows Michael is hurt. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah, um, his arm is broken though, so I'm just going to...you know?”
Marnie says she’ll pack enough of the stew so they can both have dinner later. She's made plenty.
--
Harvey does call him, a little after 9pm. He's apologetic, saying that Michael didn't want to wait and left as soon as his exam was over.
Shane’s been napping on the couch at the farm. He rubs his eyes and starts putting on his shoes. Michael should have waited for him. It's dark outside and he's hurt and maybe still a little drugged. He could just admit that he needs help. Shane grits his teeth, ready to head out the door, but Michael’s key is already fumbling in the lock.
“Shane?” he asks, once he's got the door open.
“Yeah, it's me.”
“You didn't need to wait for me,” he tosses his keys on the table. “I'm okay.”
But he's not okay, his arm is in a sling and his hair is a mess and he only has his jacket half on because he couldn't get it over the broken arm.
“Marnie cooked,” Shane says. “You're probably hungry?”
Michael doesn't even try and fight him on that. “Oh fuck, I'm starving.”
Shane pulls out a pot to warm the stew on the stovetop. Though it's thick and rich, it doesn't take long to heat. Michael flops down on the couch, not careful enough with his arm, squeaking a little when the pain hits him. Hopefully Harvey sent him home with more painkillers, at least to get through the first couple of days.
Michael is right-handed. Michael’s right arm is in a sling. Shane wonders if he's going to be able to use the spoon? He's already set his mind to helping Michael for as long as he needs help. But he wasn't banking on actually like, hand-feeding him. That would be weird, right?
Putting the two bowls of soup down, Shane tells Michael that it's ready. He's relieved when Michael sits down and appears to have little trouble handling a spoon with his left hand. Michael seems to know what Shane is thinking, “I'm not an invalid. And I played a bunch of sports as a kid. So my dexterity with my left hand isn't that terrible. I'll be fine.”
While Michael was sleeping at the clinic, Shane brought a bunch of his stuff over from the ranch. Clothes and his laptop and his razor and meds and shit. Now seems as good a time as any to let Michael in on his plan. “I figure until you're out of the cast...I could stick around.”
Michael raises his eyebrows before going back to blow on his soup again. He sticks a spoonful in his mouth before saying anything. “Yeah, you should stay. But really, I won't need that much help.”
Shane doubts that, but the tension eases out of his shoulders when Michael doesn't pitch a fit about Shane staying.
They finish up with the stew and Shane takes away the bowls to wash. Michael follows him into the kitchen, pulling the door to the fridge open. Shane's about to object, even though it's hypocritical, because he's pretty sure whatever painkillers Harvey has him on shouldn't be mixed with alcohol, but Michael just pulls out a bottle of water. He struggles trying to uncap it. Turns out his left-hand dexterity will only get him so far.
Shane snickers before reaching over to uncap the water. Grumbling, Michael pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket. “Help me with these too.”
Shane doesn't get a chance to read the label on the pills before Michael swallows two down. But he takes the bottle from Michael’s hands after. It's a pretty standard prescription. Michael can have two pills every eight hours while he still has pain. There's only enough doses for a couple of days. Shane’s never really gone to Harvey for his checkups. Though, he supposes he could.
Michael doesn't waste time curling up in bed. He's asleep before Shane even makes it out of the bathroom, breathing heavily. Normally, Michael sleeps on his side. At least, normally when Shane is here. But because of his arm, he's flat on his back. Shane is careful not to disturb him as he climbs into bed beside him.
--
Shane still has to go to his job. He doesn't have enough vacation for however many weeks Michael is going to be in the cast. But he makes them both breakfast in the morning, usually scrambled eggs and toast. Michael whines than he can help, so he normally ends up with the task of whisking the eggs after Shane has cracked them.
While he's making breakfast, Shane puts together a sandwich for Michael to eat later, so he doesn't have to fuss with the mayo jar, or getting the sliced cheese separated.
They go out to see the girls together. Michael can handle giving them water, but Shane handles the feed. Other than that, there's not much to be done around the farm. Sometimes, Shane leaves Michael in the coop when he heads for work. Michael mentions he might get a dog in the Spring. He'd really like to have one around.
“Do you like dogs?” he asks Shane.
“Yeah,” when he was younger, Shane and his ma had a cat. But he gets along great with Marnie’s dogs. “If you'd like, I can ask Marnie about it? She may not have a litter this year, but she'll know someone who does.”
Michael has Cross in his lap, “Yeah, that would be great.”
They fall into an easy rhythm, but Shane still likes his days off from JojaMart the best. Other than tending to the chickens, they lounge around all day, watching television and cooking and talking. Shane is pretty sure he doesn't want this to end.
But he's still paying Marnie for the room he rents. A bunch of his stuff is still there. He doesn't live with Michael, technically. And Michael hasn't brought their living arrangement up. So once the cast comes off, Shane will probably go back to the ranch. It would be for the best.
Michael leans against Shane’s shoulder. His pain medication ran out awhile ago and he hasn't bothered Harvey for more, saying that he feels alright, as long as he doesn't try to move too suddenly. They've been watching a hockey match on tv. Shane can sort of follow, and Michael is really into it. “I like this, a lot,” Michael says.
“Yeah, me too,” Shane’s chest gets tight.
--
Shane gets a letter from the tv station. Marnie delivers it to the farm for him, asking if they need anything? Shane promises to visit soon. Marnie says it's no trouble, she's just glad Michael is doing better. She understands Shane wants to be with him. When Shane turns from the door, he realizes Michael heard everything. Redness creeps over Shane's cheeks.
The network isn't interested in his documentary, but would buy the raw footage off of him. He decides to keep it for himself. He wants to make something, assemble it, not just record what's in front of the lens and then have it subjected to someone else’s vision.
“You said you were going to try YouScreen?” Michael asks him from the couch.
Shane is at the kitchen table, typing out his response to the station. “Yeah, but I'm not sure the festival footage will do well there. I might use some of it in another project. Um, and I have another idea for YouScreen.”
“Yeah?”
Shane grabs his camera, there should be plenty of battery left. When he brought stuff over, one of the things was his console. He hits the power button and turns on the tv. While the game is loading, he aims the camera towards the couch.
Sitting next to Michael, Shane points at the camera. “So like, I'll have to order another piece of equipment but I can record from my console while I'm playing, then talk into the camera, right? I thought, maybe you could play with me too?”
“I'm shit at all your games,” Michael complains. He really should be admitting that he's shit at all games. Because he is.
“That's part of the charm. You're part of the charm. You're really cute when you rage quit.”
Michael feigns offense, saying he would kick Shane’s ass if he wasn't incapacitated. But there's a smile behind his bitter words. They end up kissing, rough with their mouths, even though they have to be gentle with their hands. One of the advantages/disadvantages of Michael’s injury is he lets Shane get him off, basically every time. The other night, he'd tried to suck Shane off without using either of his hands, kneeling on the floor and sucking with enthusiasm until his lips were beet red and swollen. They've been getting creative. But for tonight, they're happy enough just tugging at each other's lips with their teeth.
--
For the Feast of the Winter Star, Shane has bought six bottles of craft sparkling fruit juice for Penny. Two bottles each of strawberry, blueberry, and peach. He hopes that she likes her gift. As far as Shane knows, she doesn't drink alcohol, so he hopes that he has made a reasonable substitution.
Michael tells Shane to grab Robin’s gift, it should be at the top of his closet. Getting up on his toes, Shane swipes with his hand, grabbing up the gloves Michael stashed away before breaking his arm. They're soft, dark gray leather, well stitched and strong. Michael says when they were last in the city, he thought of Robin when he saw them, and ordered a smaller size to be delivered to the farm.
Since Michael still only has one working arm, Shane wraps both presents with care. He can't quite get the corners sharp, but it's the thought that counts, right?
With the gifts wrapped, they're ready to depart for the town square. There should be hot mead and cakes, along with the presents and sharply decorated trees. Enough snow is still on the ground that maybe the children have built snowmen too.
Shane helps Michael with his coat. The cast should come off tomorrow. Tomorrow Michael won't need Shane around so much. Shane doesn't want to think about tomorrow.
Michael grabs Shane’s scarf off the hook, tossing it around Shane’s neck with one arm and doing his best to wrap it around, laughing. His arm doesn't really hurt any more, the cast more a hindrance than anything else at this point.
Shane adjusts his scarf to cover his face before opening the door. Michael kisses the side of his head.
--
Michael’s cast comes off today, but Shane is supposed to go to work. Before they get out of bed, Michael leans over, kiss in between Shane’s shoulder blades. He mumbles something against Shane’s skin. Shane can't parse the words.
They have breakfast together, then go see the chickens. Everything proceeds as if nothing at all is about to change. Shane hasn't bothered to pack his things. He can't bear to think about this ending. But Michael hasn't asked him to stay.
Shane leaves for work. Michael tells him not to worry, it's only a cast removal. There's no reason for him to take the day off. And, logically, Shane knows there isn't. He still asks Michael to text him, once everything is over and done with. Michael promises he will.
At work, Shane’s a mess. He's shelved the same products hundreds of times before, this should be mindless. But he just keeps staring at the labels, trying to remember the difference between lima beans and navy beans as if it's really all that important. He doesn't have to read the text, he can just match the pictures, if that's as far as his brain will let him get.
It's not until after lunch that he gets a text from Michael. It's just “:) home,” which isn't terribly illuminating. Shane spends the afternoon in the freezer section, sorting through four different types of canned orange juice concentrate. Morris asks him what's taking so long? He's needed in the dairy section.
When Shane’s shift ends, he bolts out the door, waving off Morris, who suddenly has one more thing he needs of Shane. Fuck it. He's off the clock. Though once Shane is outside, all urgency leaves him. He wants to see Michael, of course he does, but the cast is off, which means Shane doesn't really need to stay at the farm anymore.
As he crosses the town, he dreams up horrific scenarios where all his stuff is neatly packed away and waiting by the door. Michael isn't so cruel as to leave it on the porch, but he may think he's doing Shane a favor by organizing his things to make the move back to the ranch easier.
It's too cold to walk so slow. Shane is just delaying the inevitable. He picks up his pace a little. It's already dark outside and the temperature keeps dropping. As he passes the Stardrop, he considers going inside for a drink or three. If he never goes back to the farm, that's sort of the same as never leaving, right?
But, in the end, he makes it to Michael’s door. His set of keys to Michael’s house feels heavy in his pocket. He takes a breath before slipping the key into the lock.
All of his things are right where he left them, his laptop on the kitchen table, his console plugged into the tv, the new snow boots he still never wears paired by the side of the door.
That's about as far as he gets in assessing the situation before Michael smothers him against the wall.
Michael presses his body against the entire length of Shane’s, planting his hands against the wall behind him before planting his mouth against him too. Shane opens up to him, clutching at Michael’s shirt. His mouth is hot and wet and fucking aggressive, not that they're often gentle. But this is like Michael’s trying to devour him, using his hands to squeeze and prod as they leave the wall, seeking Shane’s skin instead.
Michael’s thigh grinds in between Shane’s legs, creeping higher and higher until he’s nearly got Shane up off the ground. Were he taller, maybe he could manage it. As it is, Shane pushes back, straining against Michael, though he can’t really manage to move him much. The fight Shane offers gets Michael to push back even harder.
“Want you so bad,” Michael grates against Shane’s face, breathing on the shell of his ear. “Been waiting for this fucking cast to come off.”
It’s not as if they’ve been saints with the cast on, exactly. But Michael’s increased mobility does have it’s advantages. He grabs Shane by the hips and pulls him far enough off the wall to tug his shirt over his head, then lets Shane paw his off too.
It's a little like Michael is trying to swallow him whole and it’s a little gross when Shane realizes how much saliva and heat there is, but it's also flattering as all fuck that Michael seems hell bent on climbing inside him.
Oh.
Well.
Shane's probably ready for that. Even if he's going to break apart in about a thousand prickly shards when he goes home tomorrow. But fucking Michael at the very least means one more night spent here.
Michael shuffles them towards the bed, their feet tripping up under them. Already tugging on Shane’s belt, Michael growls something that sounds like, “I always keep my promises.” Shane remembers one of those oaths distinctly, the one about fucking him through the mattress.
Shane lands on his back, feet dangling off the side of the bed. Michael’s hands are at Shane's belt, working it loose easily now that he's got both hands again. Blood pounding thickly in Shane’s ears, he repeats, “Yes, yes, okay, good, fuck,” while Michael pulls off his pants, tossing them away.
Hooking his arms under the backs of Shane’s knees, Michael nearly bends him in half. Shane feels a short flush of embarrassment at having his legs pulled open, but it's just Michael. He's not going to end up hurt.
“Keep them up, okay?” Michael says, releasing Shane’s legs. It takes Shane a second to catch on. He can hold the position without much trouble.
Shane expects Michael to strip out of his pants, or go grab the lube, or something, but instead he drops to his knees on the floor. Shane strains his neck to try to get a look at what's going on before he feels Michael grabbing at his ass, pulling him apart. He can't really see what's going on.
But he doesn't have to, because Michael’s tongue swipes against his hole in long, wet strokes, before quickly picking up the pace.
“Fuck, Michael, fuck,” Shane drops his head against the mattress, breathing heavily while Michael laps against his skin. He could swear that Michael is smiling, more pleased with himself than anything else.
A few more passes of his warm, soft tongue and he pulls his mouth away, speaking softly against the thin skin of Shane’s inner thigh. “How about this?” Michael presses his index finger against Shane’s rim, just dipping the pad of his finger inside. “I want to fuck you.” He slides a little deeper. His finger is dry, but Shane is wet and a little loose from Michael’s careful attention. “Want to see you on my cock.” He bites lightly at Shane’s thigh, not applying too much pressure, but dragging his teeth along.
“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Shane’s about ready to say yes to anything. His cock hard and leaking between his legs, it feels like Michael hasn't so much as looked at it. Shane wants to touch himself, take some of the edge off of his arousal, but then he might come too fast. And he wasn't lying when Michael asked him about this before. He likes getting fucked.
Michael paws at him, getting Shane flipped over so he's on his hands and knees on the bed. Grabbing his pillow, Michael folds it in half and shoves it under Shane’s hips. He reaches for the bedside drawer to grab the bottle of lube. It's mostly empty now. They've been using it a lot to stroke each other off. Well, with Michael’s injury, Shane has been doing most of the work. But he hasn't minded in the least. Michael finally kicks away his pants.
Shane feels Michael lick him one last time before replacing his tongue with slicked fingers. Two go in at once, tucked tightly against each other. Fuck, fuck. It's been a long time since Shane’s inserted anything into himself. Longer since someone did it for him. He breathes, trying to get used to the intrusion, while Michael rubs his other hand against the small of Shane’s back.
After a moment to let Shane adjust, Michael starts dragging his fingers out, until only the tips remain, before sliding them back in. He doesn't try to spread them yet, just filling Shane with a gentle rocking motion.
Shane keeps his hands fisted in the sheets, trying not to lose control too early, but the sensation is really wonderful. Better yet, when Michael picks up the pace, spreading his fingers slightly while he pushes in, collapsing them as he drags back out. Shane starts bucking back into them, trying to keep them deep, enjoying the sensation of being filled.
Michael pulls all the way out, catching his fingers along the rim before leaving Shane empty and still rubbing against the curve of Shane’s ass with his other hand. Shane closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, waiting for Michael to breach him with his cock. While he's pretty intimately aware of the size of it, kind of totally average but also kind of wonderful just for being Michael’s, Shane isn't really prepared for the sensation of it pressing into his hole, slow and steady as Michael uses his weight to push. Michael grabs hold of Shane’s hip with one hand, laying the other between Shane’s shoulder blades to keep his head down. He gets the head in with a sharp thrust that knocks the wind out of Shane’s lungs, then pushes steadily until he's sheathed.
It's a little uncomfortable at first. Shane feels overstimulated, full of Michael and his cock leaking against the sheets and Michael’s hands holding steady but twitching every time he breathes. It's a lot to take in all at once. But Michael starts pulling out, until Shane can feel the head of his cock holding him open before stroking back in and Shane breathes Michael's name. He can hear Michael’s shuddering breath, panting for Shane.
Oh, fuck.
There's the slap of skin on skin as Michael fucks him, the hand from Shane’s back coming to tangle in his hair. Michael’s not trying to crush him, even if he's trying to touch Shane everywhere at once. But he's only got two hands and the one cock. Michael puts his mouth close to Shane’s head, his voice scraping in its desperation. “Don't want to stop, Shane. Oh fuck, touch yourself. Shane, Shane, fuck.”
The pillow under Shane’s hips keeps him elevated enough to slide his hand down to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it. For a moment, he doesn't think he has the concentration to actually stroke himself, because there's so much going on at once. And maybe the sweetest thing is that Michael sounds a wreck above him, breathing heavily and repeating Shane’s name as he pulls at Shane’s hair and fucks into his body. A steady mantra of, “Please, please,” like he can't last either.
Shane strokes his cock, forgetting about dividing his attention and letting the sensations come in waves, enjoying what feels best at that given moment. There's a sound deep in his chest that wants to come out, that wants to roar as he spends against the sheets, stretched and fucked and consumed, smelling Michael everywhere, but also himself, because he's been sleeping in this bed for weeks. He's been living this life for months. He wants this to be home. He wants a great many things.
He comes in a haze of hope.
Over top of him, Michael is nearly sobbing, emptying into Shane. He throbs for a moment more before withdrawing, flopping onto the bed next to Shane. Reaching over, he tugs Shane down, so they're laying side by side. Michael buries his face in Shane’s shoulder, breathing deeply, his hand skittering across Shane’s waist.
“You okay?” Michael asks, his voice soft.
Shane drapes his hand over the smallest part of Michael’s torso. “Yeah.”
Michael pulls his head away from Shane’s shoulder, kissing him lightly. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Shane responds.
“Are you hurt?”
Shane shakes his head, best as he can manage. “No, a little sore, but not too bad.”
Michael kisses him again. “I was going to fucking lose it, waiting for that cast to come off. Spending every night with you in my bed. I wanted it so bad,” Michael laughs.
Shane rolls his eyes, like they weren't getting off all the time? But he's happy. He really is. He's happy they've done this, because he wanted it too.
His fingers moving from Shane’s waist to his chest, Michael asks, “Next time you can do me?”
“I thought you said you didn't like it?”
“I said I had bad experiences. But I trust you, so.”
Shane snickers, “I might not be any better.”
“You will be,” Michael says as if that makes it a fact. “Because you care about me. It'll be...better.”
The sound of their breathing almost leads them away from this moment, into the depths of sleep. Though Shane should get up and clean himself. And they should probably change the sheets. Oh, fuck, and it's not even seven and they haven't had dinner. Suddenly Shane is starving.
“Shane?” Michael’s voice interrupts his racing thoughts.
“Yeah?”
Michael tilts his head, so he's looking right into Shane’s eyes. “Um hold on, one second.” Rolling over, he opens the dresser drawer again. Clutching something small in his palm, Michael catches Shane’s eyes again. “They said, ah, that it's tradition, but.” Michael opens his hand, a blue pendant inside. “Shane, will you marry me?”
Shane knows the sound that comes out of his mouth isn't actually a word. A sort of garbled burst of emotion. Michael’s eyes go wide in silent nervousness at Shane’s reaction. It takes a moment for the blankness clouding Shane’s mind to clear enough to sound the syllable. “Yes.”
“Oh fuck,” Michael is nearly shouting. “I was so afraid you'd say no.” They laugh.