#anyways. just. thinking bout the implications... jesus the both of them are insane

[huginsmemory]

Ok like fuck man can we talk about this page? Cause it's very obvious that Bill is possessive over Ford (case in point with him literally telling Ford he belongs to him multiple times) but I think what sort of gets played down a bit is that Ford is also extremely possessive of Bill by the end of the time when they were working together, and the implications of that. Like. Bill essentially introduces himself as a god of knowledge. A being of pure energy and knowledge, a being greater than any human, in knowledge, lifespan, and power. And Ford by the end of their relationship, is possessive over essentially a fucking god. Like sure some of that is Ford's own ego and Ford becoming accustomed to Bill the past few years so the shock and awe of him being a 'god' is a bit less shiny, and the page in question also is supposed to heavily imply that their relationship is romantic in nature with their jealousy but also. Fucking hell Ford, possessive over a god.

But like... at the same time, Ford does have a claim over Bill. When Bill and Ford made a deal "until the end of time", it meant for the both of them; not just Ford being tied to, claimed by (owned, as Bill says) by Bill, but Bill also being claimed, owned by Ford; it's a marriage contract between the two of them, and they both are supposed to hold power over each other.

[himbowelsh]

Well now I need touch starved Liebgott something! I always imagined Webgott to work the other way around. Y'know Web being unused to hugs and Lieb having no sense of boundaries. But I'm really intrigued by a concept of switching it up.

hello i’m in tears bc this took so long to write, but...  enjoy an extremely touch-hangry boi.  be warned, for copious amounts of obscenely soft cuddling.

Long story short, it goes like this.

David’s just finished an article, two hours ahead of the frankly unreasonable deadline sent by his editor; he collapses on the couch, promptly kicks his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table, and slumps against Joe’s side.

Joe goes very still.

At first, David thinks it’s because of his feet. Joe can be weird about things like that; he values cleanliness, and “not acting like fuckin’ animals in the house, Jesus, Web”. All the things David was never allowed to do growing up in his family’s Manhattan penthouse  ---  like leave dishes out or discard his clothes in messy piles  ---  are exactly the sort of things that drive Joe insane. He kind of relishes doing them, just to see the twitch Joe gets by his eye, and for the way he grips his hips roughly when he growls at him to “quit leaving your shit everywhere”. David’s natural sloppiness leaves Joe needing an outlet for his frustration… and their shared bedroom is kept very clean. It works out great for both parties.

So, sure, it’s probably just the feet on the table… he thinks for a grand total of eight seconds, before looking up to catch Joe’s eye.

His boyfriend’s gaze has gone impossible soft. It takes David’s breath away, a little, because Joe isn’t like that as a rule. He’s sharp edges and broken glass, jagged teeth and bladed grins. He’s harsh as sandpaper and smooth as steel. He’s frustrating, and his gentle moments come and go like fickle summer storms.

To be fair, impromptu cuddling on the couch isn’t like them either… but David needs it tonight, and stepping outside the bounds of their normal relationship can’t be the worst crime in the world. He holds Joe’s gaze for a moment, questioning and careful… but, instead of pulling away, Joe just takes a moment before sighing. His arm wraps around David’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Rough night, Web?” he asks, an undercurrent of implication in his voice. This ain’t like you. You alright?

“You have no idea.” David rests his stubbled cheek against Joe’s chest, sighing deeply as the tension slowly drains from his muscles. Joe is hesitant to react; his actions, even as he rubs up and down David’s shoulder, lack his usual fearlessness. Joe can grab his ass in the middle of a crowded bar, or ruffle his curls just to get on his nerves… but this casual intimacy is uncharted territory for him.

He needs a distraction from his own head. David’s got just the thing. “How would you,” he sighs, “like to hear about the plight of Heteractis anemone? Because I just wrote four thousand words on it.”

“Heter— huh.” Joe sighs into the crown of his head, ruffling his curls. “Pretty sure Guarnere caught that once.”

“Knowing him, he’s still got it,” David replies. When Joe laughs, it reverberates in his chest, a low rumble in David’s ear.

“Yeah, alright, Web. Tell me all ‘bout your anemoles.”

“Anemone.”

“Yeah, what’d I say?” Joe presses his grin into David’s hair. “Amenemes.”

“Anemo-- damn it,” he mutters, burying the words against his boyfriend’s chest. Joe laughs even harder… and, like it or not, the sound it a balm to David’s frayed nerves. Even better are the strong arms which wrap around him, fully encompassing his shoulders and pulling him against Joe’s body. It’s… more than he was anticipating, more than they probably need, but it feels nice, and he doesn’t want to pull away. David melts against him, curling his legs with Joe and letting himself drift off. Fingers card gently through his hair; his boyfriend’s warm breath caresses his temple… and being this close feels so good that he forgets to remember it isn’t ordinary at all.

If he looked up at that exact moment, he might have found Joe enjoying it even more than he was… but David, as usual, preferred to sail away.

-------------------------------------

That really should have been the end of it… but after their night of unexpected intimacy, it’s like a dam has broken.

Joe does it at unexpected moments. While David is flipping pancakes in the kitchen, he comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, chin looping over his shoulder. They just sort of… stay there. David is so surprised that he ends up charring the pancake, which Joe eats anyways, because he’d inhale charcoal if he was hungry enough… but while his boyfriend is wolfing blackened pancake lumps down his throat, no explanation is offered. David doesn’t know how to ask.

He’s brushing his teeth; Joe comes up behind him and holds his hips, just staying there for a few minutes. He’s reading a book in bed; Joe lies down, curling into his side like an automatic reflex. They’re watching whatever B-rated action flick Joe just insisted on going to see at the Cineplex, and Joe holds his hand the entire time.

Calling it strange is an understatement. It’s fucking bizarre.

Which isn’t to say Joe’s been shy about physical contact before, because he hasn’t. He’s just always been measured with it. Joe doesn’t hold back from touching people, grasping their shoulders or clapping them on the back… but he never goes overboard with it. His touches don’t linger. He’s a handsy person by nature, but David never considered before that he weighs every touch before giving them out. 

If that’s the case, what’s changed? Why has he suddenly become so free — even apparently craving — touches he’s never asked for before?

David doesn’t know much about the scientific method, but any good journalist can test a hypothesis as well as a lab tech. Early one night, before either of them have gone to bed, he sits down next to Joe on the couch and sets the remote in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Anything but reality TV,” is all he says, and Joe smirks as he turns the station to some late night show.

He’s paying attention; David is not. Instead, his attention is fixed firmly on Joe, not even trying to hide it. The curve of his profile, the shadows along his neck and collar, the way he always lounges when he sits… like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible. Something about him seems inexplicably, undeniably lonely.

David leans over and wraps an arm around Joe’s shoulders. The reaction is expected; Joe goes tense, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on. David counts back in his head:  ten… nine… eight… seven…

Before he gets to five, Joe’s relaxed into him. Easy as that — it’s like teaching a puppy to eat food, or a baby to cry. Joe and touch go together like authors and caffeine. Touching is easy for him, but being touched is the most natural thing in the world.

A flame kindles to life within David’s chest, and soon it’s warming him from the inside out. He can’t keep a fond smile from his lips. After a moment, his hand strays up to Joe’s hair, threading gently through the well-maintained strands. Joe’s always had a weakness for having his hair touched, and tonight is no exception. He makes a tiny, content noise and leans into David, the tension slowly draining from his body. It doesn’t take long before he’s leaning against him, head balanced against David’s chest. Arms still around him, David holds Joe tenderly, caressing his hair while occasionally pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Joe’s heartbeat is steady, his muscles lax. David charts the gentle rhythm of his breathing until he’s sure his boyfriend has dropped off to sleep.

When he looks down, a wave of tenderness washes over him. Joe Liebgott with every guard down is a thing to see. He so rarely looks peaceful. There’s something restless about Joe, a relentless hunger thrumming just beneath his skin, determined to break free. He’s always had an edge of urgency to him… but now, dozing against David’s chest, he looks without a care in the world.

He ought to be this way all the time. He deserves to be happy all the time. God help him, if David has any say in it, Joe will be.

“Is it my birthday or something?” Joe asks, when David, completely unprompted, begins massaging his shoulders. “Shit, don’t tell me I’m another year older and just forgot.”

“Not for another few months, old man,” David replies. On reflex, Joe tries to twist and grab him, but David’s massage doesn’t let up; after a minute, he relaxes into it, slumping further back against David’s chest.

“You been acting weird lately,” Joe declares — as though David needs to be good, and as though he wasn’t the one acting weird to begin with. “Everything fine at work? You didn’t… gamble away our savings to the mafia, or promise Sobel our firstborn kid or something? If you got news for me, Web, I can take it without a bonus massage.”

“Why do you think — wait, we’re going to have kids?”

“Head in the game, Web. What’s going on?”

At once, he’s glad Joe is facing the other way, because David’s not sure what he could say otherwise. He frowns at Joe’s back muscles, kneading into them with a bit more force than necessary. Sure, he’s been… more physically affectionate these days. Joe no longer has to seek it out, because he gives it willingly… and even if touch doesn’t come naturally to David, the obvious way Joe eats it up when his touches linger in public or they draw close to each other in private makes it all worthwhile. Joe seems happier nowadays, so clearly it’s working fine.

Why’s he getting interrogated now?

“Am I not allowed to touch you?” he asks. “Just because I want to touch?”

“You ain’t a touchy-feely person. Never have been.”

“People change.”

“Not you.” Joe’s observation is too neutral for David to justify flaring up at it. “Come on, Web. What’s going on?”

He’s silent for a long moment before summoning a reply. “I want you to be happy,” he declares, finishing off Joe’s back massage with a caress of his neck. “I want you… to feel loved.”

Joe is silent for a beat before turning his head to look back at him. “That’s all, huh?”

“Yeah,” David huffs. “That’s all.”

It’s hard to make out Joe’s expression when one half of his face is cast into shadow, but David spots the amusement in his eyes… and something else, too, something softer that he can’t put his finger on. It sparks a familiar warmth in his chest, and he smiles.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” Joe sighs. There’s no warning before he’s leaning back against David’s chest, but David’s ready this time. He opens his arms, embracing him as they go. Slowly, Joe relaxes into the comfort of his touch, and the world feels a little warmer.