professional harlot. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flitswitch) wrote2022-07-20 09:19 pm
flitswitch) wrote2022-07-20 09:19 pm
fate/extra au - re:lapse
"- Archer?"
Archer blinks. The sun shines in warm bands through the slats of the blinds, painting the room in eternal flame, gentle orange and gold dappling the floors and walls. Archer's leaning against the dresser, edge digging into his back, and sitting cross-legged on the bed is Jouhei, staring at him expectantly, brows stitched in concern.
The present settles in around him, and Archer has no idea what was just said.
Shit.
He roots around in his memory for any scrap of context and comes up with a distressing blank, his memory past exiting the labyrinth for the day coming back to him in a hazy blur, clear snapshots puncturing the fog in random intervals.
"... what was that, Master?"
A frown joins Jouhei's furrowed brow.
"Are you all right? You've seemed tired recently."
Has he? Archer frowns, arms folding over his chest as he runs a self-exam.
His energy isn't low enough to talk about; dipping a bit lower than expected from a relatively quiet run in the labyrinth, but not a cause for true concern. Their connection is still stable, Jouhei's mana soothing his heated circuits. And yet his head feels heavy and clogged, stuffed full of cotton where his brain should be. Servants can't get sick, but he feels like he's teetering on the verge of a truly horrible head cold; he presses the heel of his hand to an eye, trying to alleviate some of the pressure.
"I... guess I am feeling sluggish."
When did this start? How did he fail to notice it happening? Archer struggles to remember.
"We have been working a lot," Jouhei murmurs, lost in thought.
- ah. That's right.
They're supposed to take shifts in the labyrinth to avoid burning out, rotating exploration duty between the three Masters they have on hand. But Gilgamesh's mercurial temperament has been unfortunate recently, and Dahn still has his hands full wrangling it back under control.
(We can keep going, Jouhei says to Leo, eyes fixed and expression quietly determined. He looks to Archer, who finds himself helpless not to answer that resolve.
Right. We don't leave our work half-finished.)
... the rest had been entirely their own mutual decision. Pushing over the course of meaningless days in a row, taking over shifts from Junri and Saber in the name of untangling what they thought was a lead, only to find a dead end engineered for them by BB. With nothing to show for their efforts but exhaustion, it's really left them with egg on their face.
How foolish.
"It's all right, I just need - "
He's cut off by Jouhei's determined nod, that same resolve back on his face. "Okay. I'll let Junri take her turn in the labyrinth tomorrow. I don't think Saber will have any complaints. We can take the day to rest, and... I'll replenish you, Archer."
I'll replenish you.
Archer's pulse is thunderous in his ears. Against his will, suddenly all his mind can focus on is the memory of smooth, pale skin and the taste of salt and magic on his tongue. It's a miracle that he manages to respond when he feels like he's floating a million miles away, when his throat is as dry as the desert.
"Yes, Master."
*
After a night of sleep, Archer's head is already feeling better, pounding dulled to a tolerable ache. His thoughts feel more coherent. But he finds his attention shot dead in an alley, an all-new distraction pouncing straight on him from the moment he wakes that leaves his skin buzzing, has him maneuvering through chores and his early routine on autopilot.
(Good morning Jouhei had greeted him when he woke, like clockwork, a habit he'd established from their first day as Master and Servant. But his words had been quiet in a way Archer was familiar with by now, shyness lowering his voice, telling Archer that he remembered too.
Good morning, Master Archer had managed past a tongue made of lead.)
The morning passes by without Archer's notice. He knows he makes breakfast, that Jouhei eats with the others and then sees his sister and Saber off into the labryinth. But Archer can't recall any of the words, can't remember anyone else's face. All his focus zeroed in on his Master. Unable to escape the anticipation coiling tight in his gut.
I must be worse off than I thought.
He's not sure how long it's been before they're back in their room. Doesn't know where they've been in the interim. It doesn't matter. The clicking of the lock behind them rings like a gunshot in Archer's ears, loud and final, leaves them standing together in the silence that settles after it.
Jouhei takes a breath. Reaches for his cap, fidgeting with the brim, nervous tic all too familiar to Archer. He sets it aside on the dresser, hands moving to undo the collar of his uniform jacket next, and Archer's lurching forward without having thought about it, his own fingers itching, mouth opening to call wait -
"I'm sorry, Archer."
Only then does Archer feel like he comes back to himself, torn out of his hunger and back into the present, staring at his Master in dumb confusion. "- huh?"
Jouhei doesn't look at him. Eyes averted even as his fingers continue down the line of buttons, and Archer struggles to pay attention to his words rather than the line of his throat. "I should have noticed sooner. I thought the passive mana supply would take care of it, but we have been pushing more than usual."
The passive mana supply is likely the only reason they were able to push as they had. A Servant looking for a living mana battery would be hard-pressed to find any better than Archer's Master. In the beginning, green as Jouhei was, it was one of their saving graces; with training and experience under his belt, it's a trump card. Mana flows between them as steady and pure as a cool mountain stream, able to turn into a raging river as he wills it.
Archer doesn't have to search his circuits hard to find the flow. Nor does it take him long to notice how it's slowed, thinned - nothing dangerous, but noticeable all the same. From there, the bags beginning to develop under Jouhei's eyes are all too clear. Were they hidden by the shadows of his cap, or was Archer simply caught in his own ego?
Damn. I've really been slacking.
Archer sighs. "It's not just me, you know. How much sleep have you gotten recently, Master?"
Jouhei stills, shoulders stiffening. His silence is a damning answer in and of itself. Archer clicks his tongue.
"I should have been looking out for you too. We both got carried away." Then Archer frowns. "... in fact, should we be doing this now?"
Should we be doing this at all?
Reasonably, all it'd take is the day off for Archer to return to his peak. They couldn't afford it on the Near Side except in extreme emergencies; the Holy Grail War was a battle royale, they'd had no allies to rely on. But with everyone working cooperatively here on the Far Side, Junri and Saber taking care of battle and exploration for the day...
Archer should say it. Call it off. Tell Jouhei all he needs is a break.
Archer's mouth doesn't move, and the opportunity passes with a shake of Jouhei's head. Finally, his eyes find Archer's. Sets a small electric shock zipping through his nerves. "It's fine. The day off is for me too, after all." Jouhei smiles, small but sweet. "It makes the most sense to rest after - the transfer."
A light flush dusts Jouhei's cheeks, and Archer's hunger comes snapping, snarling back to life.
Yes. Yes. Let me taste you. Let me drink from you and protect you. I'll wrap you up and keep you safe. I am your Servant. I am your Servant. I am -
"Fair point," Archer forces out, and prays that his voice isn't shaking. Jouhei doesn't seem to notice, only offers a silent nod as his hands move back into motion.
They're small in Archer's. He's easily able to grab and halt them, fingers curling around Jouhei's.
(All of his Master is small, and yet so stubborn, strong-willed, growing brighter by the day.)
"Let me."
The silence that covers them is thick and heavy. Archer undresses his Master layer by layer. He slips Jouhei's jacket off his shoulders, drapes it over the stool shoved to the side. Opens Jouhei's shirt button by button to reveal soft pale skin beneath, has to swallow a mouthful of saliva as he folds the shirt and sets it on top of the jacket.
When he turns back, Jouhei's face is burning as red as his eyes, gaze fixated on some indiscriminate point away from Archer, fingers flexing in the material of his slacks.
Archer huffs a breath. "Master." Look at me. "It's just me." Only me. He chuckles, amusement warming his tone, "And to think you were so forceful the last time. Where did that Master go?"
That does it. Jouhei's eyes widen, the flush on his face deepening as he stares at Archer, startled enough to drop all his masks.
Why are you so surprised? Did you think I forgot? How could I? You let me be your first -
Archer shivers back out of his thoughts. Jouhei's expression has shifted, brows pulled low and mouth pressed tight, a line that curves just a bit too downward to fool Archer. Fondness spreads through Archer's chest.
"No need to pout," Archer teases, delighting in how Jouhei watches as he closes the distance between them, eyes riveted on Archer now as he looms over his Master, gently guides him back onto the bed, corners him up against the headboard. How powerful it makes Archer feel. Yes, just like that. Don't look away. "If you're that tired, I'll take care of it."
I'll take care of you.
Jouhei lets out an exhale that sounds like a sigh, a thing that Archer feels in every spiritron of himself, down to his very core. Slender fingers touch Archer's jaw, pull him down and in with only the smallest suggestion, all too eager to meet Jouhei's lips again, to finally (finally) taste him again.
Sparks dance off Archer's tongue at every point of contact, Jouhei's magic just potent enough for it to be present even in his saliva, making Archer shiver, making his pulse quicken. Desire digs its claws in deep when Jouhei opens his mouth with the barest of prompts, tears into Archer with every soft sound he swallows directly from his Master's mouth. It's wonderful and it's not enough, makes him itch for more.
Jouhei's hands push at his chest and Archer relents, pulls back to let Jouhei gulp down a deep breath, trying not to stare at the ruddy shade of his Master's lips. Turns his attention instead to the rest of Jouhei's clothes, only to start when he finds them already in a messy puddle on the floor by the bed. When did they - ?
It ceases to matter when Archer turns back to Jouhei, looks at him stretched out naked across the mattress, cock already half-hard between his legs. Archer stares, and the reality of the situation crashes back into him like a wave.
A whole day to themselves. A whole day where Archer can keep Jouhei to himself.
(He thinks of Gilgamesh's hand at Dahn's elbow, possessive and bold.
He thinks of Saber, shining and proud, wearing her and Junri's coupling like a favorite jacket.)
He looks down at his Master, far too pretty to be human, far too stubborn and petty to be anything else, and Archer is ravenous.
"... Master." He doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice. Drawn taut, worn threadbare. Is it him talking? "I don't think once will cut it."
His hands are fisted tight, white-knuckled with effort. Jouhei blinks back at him, eyes red with divine blood but gentle as ever, and doesn't hesitate, voice soft but clear and steady.
"That's fine."
Don't say that, a frantic part of Archer thinks, fighting to keep his breathing steady as Jouhei's hands cup his jaw once more. Fighting to keep his balance, teetering on the edge of an abyss. Don't say that. If you tell me that, I don't know how I can -
"I'll give you what you need, Archer."
And the last thread snaps. Archer shudders, and he falls upon Jouhei, loses himself in pale skin and sweet moans and his own starvation roaring over him.
Time is meaningless here. In a place where the sun is always on the verge of setting, seconds, minutes, hours all lose significance. Day are a communal suggestion they've all agreed upon to help keep their wits about them. Archer throws the concept out entirely, shuts out the rest of the world, every sense focused wholly on his Master. Nothing matters but:
Jouhei, his blush standing out bright as a beacon against his skin tone.
Jouhei, bending to Archer's touch like a flower to the sun.
Jouhei, and the desperate rake of his fingers across Archer's back.
Jouhei, gasping out Archer and it's okay and please.
Archer, Archer, Archer, Archer.
When the hysteria passes, Archer's head is finally clear. His limbs crackle with fresh energy despite the heavy breaths he takes, the sweat slicking his skin, the pleasant exhaustion of exertion settling over him. He glows with magic in the late evening sun. He feels like someone else entirely, strong enough to face down an army of rogue programs on his own and survive. It's almost too much, a confusing mix of signals.
And beneath him, Jouhei is... a mess.
He lies sprawled under Archer, eyes closed, chest heaving with his own ragged breaths. His hair has lost its style, black strands fanned across the sheets, sticking to his face. His body is littered with the marks of Archer's passing, fingerprints and hickies and rings of teeth. Streaks of come paint his belly and chest. There's a faint, persistent tremble in his frame, and - most alarmingly, the remnants of tears on his face.
Stomach twisting itself in knots, Archer's hands cradle his head before he can think to do it. "Master?"
Jouhei's eyes blink open, slow and dazed, as Archer's thumbs rub at the faded tear tracks. Another blink, and clarity begins to bloom in his eyes, his hands rising to still Archer's. "I'm okay," he whispers, fingers curled to hold Archer close. He smiles, small but genuine, and anxiety loosens its grip on Archer's guts. "I'm okay. Just - tired."
I did that.
Back in his right mind, Archer quashes the gleeful voice.
He opens his mouth, stopping and starting, struggling for a response before he clears his throat and settles for, "That seems like an understatement." Does his best to ignore the heat in his face. "I'll let you rest, but first, let's get you cleaned up and change the bed."
He rises to his feet and nearly stumbles, eyes dropping to the hand that refuses to release his.
"Wait." Jouhei bites his lip, fumbles for words, but his eyes don't leave Archer's. Searching his face for something. Archer doesn't know what he finds, but he speaks again. "I." Another halt. Then, softer, "... stay a minute?"
The room absolutely reeks of sex, Archer needs to open the window and air it out. Archer needs to change the bedding. They both need to wash up. Jouhei needs fluids before he naps. And Jouhei's clothes are still lying forgotten on the floor.
But Jouhei's hand is still shaking.
You truly are dangerous.
Archer sits on the edge of the bed. Swallows around the knot in his throat when Jouhei closes his eyes and pulls Archer's hand to his chest, cradling it like it's something precious.
"Just a minute," Archer whispers to no one at all.
Archer blinks. The sun shines in warm bands through the slats of the blinds, painting the room in eternal flame, gentle orange and gold dappling the floors and walls. Archer's leaning against the dresser, edge digging into his back, and sitting cross-legged on the bed is Jouhei, staring at him expectantly, brows stitched in concern.
The present settles in around him, and Archer has no idea what was just said.
Shit.
He roots around in his memory for any scrap of context and comes up with a distressing blank, his memory past exiting the labyrinth for the day coming back to him in a hazy blur, clear snapshots puncturing the fog in random intervals.
"... what was that, Master?"
A frown joins Jouhei's furrowed brow.
"Are you all right? You've seemed tired recently."
Has he? Archer frowns, arms folding over his chest as he runs a self-exam.
His energy isn't low enough to talk about; dipping a bit lower than expected from a relatively quiet run in the labyrinth, but not a cause for true concern. Their connection is still stable, Jouhei's mana soothing his heated circuits. And yet his head feels heavy and clogged, stuffed full of cotton where his brain should be. Servants can't get sick, but he feels like he's teetering on the verge of a truly horrible head cold; he presses the heel of his hand to an eye, trying to alleviate some of the pressure.
"I... guess I am feeling sluggish."
When did this start? How did he fail to notice it happening? Archer struggles to remember.
"We have been working a lot," Jouhei murmurs, lost in thought.
- ah. That's right.
They're supposed to take shifts in the labyrinth to avoid burning out, rotating exploration duty between the three Masters they have on hand. But Gilgamesh's mercurial temperament has been unfortunate recently, and Dahn still has his hands full wrangling it back under control.
(We can keep going, Jouhei says to Leo, eyes fixed and expression quietly determined. He looks to Archer, who finds himself helpless not to answer that resolve.
Right. We don't leave our work half-finished.)
... the rest had been entirely their own mutual decision. Pushing over the course of meaningless days in a row, taking over shifts from Junri and Saber in the name of untangling what they thought was a lead, only to find a dead end engineered for them by BB. With nothing to show for their efforts but exhaustion, it's really left them with egg on their face.
How foolish.
"It's all right, I just need - "
He's cut off by Jouhei's determined nod, that same resolve back on his face. "Okay. I'll let Junri take her turn in the labyrinth tomorrow. I don't think Saber will have any complaints. We can take the day to rest, and... I'll replenish you, Archer."
I'll replenish you.
Archer's pulse is thunderous in his ears. Against his will, suddenly all his mind can focus on is the memory of smooth, pale skin and the taste of salt and magic on his tongue. It's a miracle that he manages to respond when he feels like he's floating a million miles away, when his throat is as dry as the desert.
"Yes, Master."
*
After a night of sleep, Archer's head is already feeling better, pounding dulled to a tolerable ache. His thoughts feel more coherent. But he finds his attention shot dead in an alley, an all-new distraction pouncing straight on him from the moment he wakes that leaves his skin buzzing, has him maneuvering through chores and his early routine on autopilot.
(Good morning Jouhei had greeted him when he woke, like clockwork, a habit he'd established from their first day as Master and Servant. But his words had been quiet in a way Archer was familiar with by now, shyness lowering his voice, telling Archer that he remembered too.
Good morning, Master Archer had managed past a tongue made of lead.)
The morning passes by without Archer's notice. He knows he makes breakfast, that Jouhei eats with the others and then sees his sister and Saber off into the labryinth. But Archer can't recall any of the words, can't remember anyone else's face. All his focus zeroed in on his Master. Unable to escape the anticipation coiling tight in his gut.
I must be worse off than I thought.
He's not sure how long it's been before they're back in their room. Doesn't know where they've been in the interim. It doesn't matter. The clicking of the lock behind them rings like a gunshot in Archer's ears, loud and final, leaves them standing together in the silence that settles after it.
Jouhei takes a breath. Reaches for his cap, fidgeting with the brim, nervous tic all too familiar to Archer. He sets it aside on the dresser, hands moving to undo the collar of his uniform jacket next, and Archer's lurching forward without having thought about it, his own fingers itching, mouth opening to call wait -
"I'm sorry, Archer."
Only then does Archer feel like he comes back to himself, torn out of his hunger and back into the present, staring at his Master in dumb confusion. "- huh?"
Jouhei doesn't look at him. Eyes averted even as his fingers continue down the line of buttons, and Archer struggles to pay attention to his words rather than the line of his throat. "I should have noticed sooner. I thought the passive mana supply would take care of it, but we have been pushing more than usual."
The passive mana supply is likely the only reason they were able to push as they had. A Servant looking for a living mana battery would be hard-pressed to find any better than Archer's Master. In the beginning, green as Jouhei was, it was one of their saving graces; with training and experience under his belt, it's a trump card. Mana flows between them as steady and pure as a cool mountain stream, able to turn into a raging river as he wills it.
Archer doesn't have to search his circuits hard to find the flow. Nor does it take him long to notice how it's slowed, thinned - nothing dangerous, but noticeable all the same. From there, the bags beginning to develop under Jouhei's eyes are all too clear. Were they hidden by the shadows of his cap, or was Archer simply caught in his own ego?
Damn. I've really been slacking.
Archer sighs. "It's not just me, you know. How much sleep have you gotten recently, Master?"
Jouhei stills, shoulders stiffening. His silence is a damning answer in and of itself. Archer clicks his tongue.
"I should have been looking out for you too. We both got carried away." Then Archer frowns. "... in fact, should we be doing this now?"
Should we be doing this at all?
Reasonably, all it'd take is the day off for Archer to return to his peak. They couldn't afford it on the Near Side except in extreme emergencies; the Holy Grail War was a battle royale, they'd had no allies to rely on. But with everyone working cooperatively here on the Far Side, Junri and Saber taking care of battle and exploration for the day...
Archer should say it. Call it off. Tell Jouhei all he needs is a break.
Archer's mouth doesn't move, and the opportunity passes with a shake of Jouhei's head. Finally, his eyes find Archer's. Sets a small electric shock zipping through his nerves. "It's fine. The day off is for me too, after all." Jouhei smiles, small but sweet. "It makes the most sense to rest after - the transfer."
A light flush dusts Jouhei's cheeks, and Archer's hunger comes snapping, snarling back to life.
Yes. Yes. Let me taste you. Let me drink from you and protect you. I'll wrap you up and keep you safe. I am your Servant. I am your Servant. I am -
"Fair point," Archer forces out, and prays that his voice isn't shaking. Jouhei doesn't seem to notice, only offers a silent nod as his hands move back into motion.
They're small in Archer's. He's easily able to grab and halt them, fingers curling around Jouhei's.
(All of his Master is small, and yet so stubborn, strong-willed, growing brighter by the day.)
"Let me."
The silence that covers them is thick and heavy. Archer undresses his Master layer by layer. He slips Jouhei's jacket off his shoulders, drapes it over the stool shoved to the side. Opens Jouhei's shirt button by button to reveal soft pale skin beneath, has to swallow a mouthful of saliva as he folds the shirt and sets it on top of the jacket.
When he turns back, Jouhei's face is burning as red as his eyes, gaze fixated on some indiscriminate point away from Archer, fingers flexing in the material of his slacks.
Archer huffs a breath. "Master." Look at me. "It's just me." Only me. He chuckles, amusement warming his tone, "And to think you were so forceful the last time. Where did that Master go?"
That does it. Jouhei's eyes widen, the flush on his face deepening as he stares at Archer, startled enough to drop all his masks.
Why are you so surprised? Did you think I forgot? How could I? You let me be your first -
Archer shivers back out of his thoughts. Jouhei's expression has shifted, brows pulled low and mouth pressed tight, a line that curves just a bit too downward to fool Archer. Fondness spreads through Archer's chest.
"No need to pout," Archer teases, delighting in how Jouhei watches as he closes the distance between them, eyes riveted on Archer now as he looms over his Master, gently guides him back onto the bed, corners him up against the headboard. How powerful it makes Archer feel. Yes, just like that. Don't look away. "If you're that tired, I'll take care of it."
I'll take care of you.
Jouhei lets out an exhale that sounds like a sigh, a thing that Archer feels in every spiritron of himself, down to his very core. Slender fingers touch Archer's jaw, pull him down and in with only the smallest suggestion, all too eager to meet Jouhei's lips again, to finally (finally) taste him again.
Sparks dance off Archer's tongue at every point of contact, Jouhei's magic just potent enough for it to be present even in his saliva, making Archer shiver, making his pulse quicken. Desire digs its claws in deep when Jouhei opens his mouth with the barest of prompts, tears into Archer with every soft sound he swallows directly from his Master's mouth. It's wonderful and it's not enough, makes him itch for more.
Jouhei's hands push at his chest and Archer relents, pulls back to let Jouhei gulp down a deep breath, trying not to stare at the ruddy shade of his Master's lips. Turns his attention instead to the rest of Jouhei's clothes, only to start when he finds them already in a messy puddle on the floor by the bed. When did they - ?
It ceases to matter when Archer turns back to Jouhei, looks at him stretched out naked across the mattress, cock already half-hard between his legs. Archer stares, and the reality of the situation crashes back into him like a wave.
A whole day to themselves. A whole day where Archer can keep Jouhei to himself.
(He thinks of Gilgamesh's hand at Dahn's elbow, possessive and bold.
He thinks of Saber, shining and proud, wearing her and Junri's coupling like a favorite jacket.)
He looks down at his Master, far too pretty to be human, far too stubborn and petty to be anything else, and Archer is ravenous.
"... Master." He doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice. Drawn taut, worn threadbare. Is it him talking? "I don't think once will cut it."
His hands are fisted tight, white-knuckled with effort. Jouhei blinks back at him, eyes red with divine blood but gentle as ever, and doesn't hesitate, voice soft but clear and steady.
"That's fine."
Don't say that, a frantic part of Archer thinks, fighting to keep his breathing steady as Jouhei's hands cup his jaw once more. Fighting to keep his balance, teetering on the edge of an abyss. Don't say that. If you tell me that, I don't know how I can -
"I'll give you what you need, Archer."
And the last thread snaps. Archer shudders, and he falls upon Jouhei, loses himself in pale skin and sweet moans and his own starvation roaring over him.
Time is meaningless here. In a place where the sun is always on the verge of setting, seconds, minutes, hours all lose significance. Day are a communal suggestion they've all agreed upon to help keep their wits about them. Archer throws the concept out entirely, shuts out the rest of the world, every sense focused wholly on his Master. Nothing matters but:
Jouhei, his blush standing out bright as a beacon against his skin tone.
Jouhei, bending to Archer's touch like a flower to the sun.
Jouhei, and the desperate rake of his fingers across Archer's back.
Jouhei, gasping out Archer and it's okay and please.
Archer, Archer, Archer, Archer.
When the hysteria passes, Archer's head is finally clear. His limbs crackle with fresh energy despite the heavy breaths he takes, the sweat slicking his skin, the pleasant exhaustion of exertion settling over him. He glows with magic in the late evening sun. He feels like someone else entirely, strong enough to face down an army of rogue programs on his own and survive. It's almost too much, a confusing mix of signals.
And beneath him, Jouhei is... a mess.
He lies sprawled under Archer, eyes closed, chest heaving with his own ragged breaths. His hair has lost its style, black strands fanned across the sheets, sticking to his face. His body is littered with the marks of Archer's passing, fingerprints and hickies and rings of teeth. Streaks of come paint his belly and chest. There's a faint, persistent tremble in his frame, and - most alarmingly, the remnants of tears on his face.
Stomach twisting itself in knots, Archer's hands cradle his head before he can think to do it. "Master?"
Jouhei's eyes blink open, slow and dazed, as Archer's thumbs rub at the faded tear tracks. Another blink, and clarity begins to bloom in his eyes, his hands rising to still Archer's. "I'm okay," he whispers, fingers curled to hold Archer close. He smiles, small but genuine, and anxiety loosens its grip on Archer's guts. "I'm okay. Just - tired."
I did that.
Back in his right mind, Archer quashes the gleeful voice.
He opens his mouth, stopping and starting, struggling for a response before he clears his throat and settles for, "That seems like an understatement." Does his best to ignore the heat in his face. "I'll let you rest, but first, let's get you cleaned up and change the bed."
He rises to his feet and nearly stumbles, eyes dropping to the hand that refuses to release his.
"Wait." Jouhei bites his lip, fumbles for words, but his eyes don't leave Archer's. Searching his face for something. Archer doesn't know what he finds, but he speaks again. "I." Another halt. Then, softer, "... stay a minute?"
The room absolutely reeks of sex, Archer needs to open the window and air it out. Archer needs to change the bedding. They both need to wash up. Jouhei needs fluids before he naps. And Jouhei's clothes are still lying forgotten on the floor.
But Jouhei's hand is still shaking.
You truly are dangerous.
Archer sits on the edge of the bed. Swallows around the knot in his throat when Jouhei closes his eyes and pulls Archer's hand to his chest, cradling it like it's something precious.
"Just a minute," Archer whispers to no one at all.