1 - 20 of 118 Works by bubatron
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He was there. He was on the footbridge, turning to look back at the station over his shoulder.
Nobody batted an eye as he walked along the tracks. A railway worker in a hi vis jacket even nodded to him when he chanced a glance up. Then he simply took the stairs and now there he was.
He had checked the platform clock when he passed it. The train should have been almost there by now.
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It was only the feeling that he didn’t belong, that he was ugly, that he wasn’t good for anything, even though his grades seemed to give the impression of the opposite. Only the feeling that there was nobody to listen to him, to hear him, to want him. Only the thought in the back of his head that he wasn’t supposed to be there.
But really, it was only a few more years.
Until what, he had no idea, but it didn’t seem to matter.
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Vessel should have been in his room, as far as IV remembered, but he tended to move quietly and could have been somewhere else in the house. Still, IV didn’t like the weird silhouette he caught a glance of in the dimly lit room.
III pushed down on the handle and peeked inside for a few moments while IV was close behind, trying to get another look, mind running a mile a minute about what could have possibly gotten into their partner’s room from outside. A bird? Some kind of rodent?
“Four?”
“Do you see it?” IV was trying to get a glimpse but III was blocking his way.
III’s voice was full of disbelief as he opened the door further. “Is that a baby?”
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Vessel is struggling with feeling touch-starved. II knows him well.
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The whole day, a stubborn image kept fading in and out of his mind, along with a heavy, sluggish feeling in his rib cage.
Someone holding someone else. That someone being small, safe, held.
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The sound of the front door handle moving had II up from the couch and rushing to round it and assess his friend.
He could hear wet squeaking and soft grunting as he presumed Vessel took off his shoes, then the man appeared in front of him, holding out a plastic bag with a slightly trembling arm, looking like he was used to enduring a downpour of rain every day when returning home, unfazed even with his hoodie hanging down on him, soaked through, hair not faring much better, stuck to his forehead.
“Shit, Vee,” II fretted. He took the offered bag containing their takeout and cursed again when he felt just how cold his friend’s fingers were. “Go, change before you freeze.”
The man shrugged, sounding entirely earnest when he said, “It’s not that bad.”
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The singer stopped moving his hand and glanced at each of them before tilting the can in his hand a little toward himself as if to check how full it was. “I’ve never kissed anyone,” he said, voice level, matter-of-fact.
“What?” IV frowned, head tilting to the side in confusion. He looked first at II as if he held all the answers but only received a shrug of his shoulders, so he turned to III next, then the man in question.
“I don’t have a worst kiss story,” Vessel explained, tone measured. At the wide-eyed expressions he received, he averted his gaze and repeated, “Because I’ve never kissed anyone.”
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It turns out Vessel has never been kissed. II, III and IV are good friends and make up for it.
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“Tired?” II asked, crouching down to his bag to tuck his notes away.
His question seemed to startle the man, making him flinch out of his daze. “Oh. Uh– yeah, I guess.”
Even from his periphery, II could tell he was chewing on his lip.
“Two?” he eventually called, almost drowned out by the sound of II pulling the zipper on his bag. He wasn’t looking at II but instead fiddled with a dog-eared page in his notebook. “Do you sometimes wish you could be a little kid for some time?”
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II likes to check in on his fellow vessels, even in his sleep. It comes from a sense of duty, he supposes, mixed with casual worry and that mother hen quality III likes to tease at him about.
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“Want you closer,” Vessel murmured, studying the crinkles in the corners of II’s eyes and the rise and fall of his chest.
II’s lashes quivered before he opened his eyes, not letting his gaze drop but turning it straight to his face, paired with a slight tilt of his head and a hand stroking his thigh. “Starlight, I think this is literally the closest we can physically get.” He leaned forward to brush away a few strands of hair from his forehead, careful with each shift of their bodies. “Any closer and I’ll be in your head.”
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Vessel and II are so tender and Normal About Each Other while having sex that their minds bond
Series
- Part 3 of Never Opened Myself This Way
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II is sure some kind of animal infiltrated his garden to have late-night feasts on his raspberries. After a short encounter with it one night, his uninvited guest disappears, leaving him with some questions, only to make an unexpected return and raise even more.
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II accidentally adopts a creature while III and IV are away.
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“Hey, love.” Blue eyes and a warm smile find him. “How was your day?”
Vessel just walks into the room and into arms that lift after a too-long silence from him and holds on.
His voice is muffled by II’s shirt. “Not good.”
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Vessel has a bad day.
He doesn’t know how to have a bad day.
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“What’s wrong, love?”
Vessel’s smile was steadily turning into more of a strained thing, something closer to a grimace than anything genuine. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” He couldn’t look at him and his voice quivered so badly that there was no way II could have believed him.
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“Alright, love?”
Vessel swallowed thickly, poking the bridge of his glasses without a thought to the gesture. His throat felt tight and his heart hammered where they were pressed together. II’s palm settling on his sternum told him he felt it, too.
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Vessel leaned down to get the vacuum open, then crouched to pull out the dust bag. It didn’t fit quite right – they hadn’t been able to get the exact type that fit their model since they had first got it – so it needed some side-to-side shifting to get out. Just when he managed, he realized a corner of the bag was torn, so apart from the thin cloud of dust that usually came with removing the dust bag, now even further highlighted by the sun rays invading the room, more grayness and vague dust balls joined, staining the freshly clean carpet.
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Vessel vacuums the living room and contemplates loss
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“You’re biting your nails,” II said, not judging, not accusing, but simply unfolding his fingers where Vessel hadn’t realized he had made a protective fist, trying to conceal what he was about to do. He turned his hand over and looked at the slightly trembling digits, slowly running his thumb over the spread tips. His eyes flicked to Vessel’s face before he stated what they had now both noticed, “They’re all bitten down.”
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It’s time to wake the little one.
II opened his eyes with a smile and was up and out of bed without delay.
He was slow to open the door to Vessel’s room and tried not to have his excitement take over when he saw the smaller-than-usual lump under the duvet and a mop of lighter hair on the pillow.
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II saw how drained he was, had been for months now, writing and practicing, and then some more, all the while giving weakly reassuring smiles and saying that he couldn’t complain, as if he was trying to convince himself that it was justified, that he simply didn’t deserve attention or rest, like it was written into the foundation of the universe.
Series
- Part 1 of what wounds you've got
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He was covered with two blankets, with the lower one tucked tightly around his neck and chin. His hands were lying at his chest, uselessly tangled in the soft material that felt like it was pulling him further down as he mumbled, “I don’t wanna be sick.”