#thankfully cross stitch is years of work for something that occupy no space

[coffeeworldsasaki]

I think that if I'll ever actually learn embroidery I'm going to try sell my stuff, I uhhh make a lot more than I can keep tbh so it would be nice to make stuff and then sending it elsewhere + getting a little bit of money

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 8)

CHARACTER/PAIRING:  modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually) 

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk,  spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC. awkwardly and/or poorly written moments

AUTHORS NOTE: hope yall enjoy this, i was in fact a lil tipsy while writing this so if there is some spelling errors or something akin to that, that could be why.  @1zashreena1 i thank you so much for letting me bounce my ideas off you for most of this content, you are forever a legend. 

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

CHAPTER:  8 OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

The first few days of their second week together were surprisingly more interactive than the previous week. Carrillo had been spending less time in his office and more time in the living room putting up with whatever terrible show Ash had decided to watch that day. Arguably though, not that he would admit it out loud, he was rather enjoying the quiet company and shitty tv, an incredibly different routine than what he was used to but a welcome one at that.

It was on Tuesday night that the Colonel finished any important and pressing paperwork for his team, with it all being completed by the early hours of twenty three hundred, or at least early for him, he decided that he would turn in early for the night. Before that though, he would do his usual security checks of the house, first starting with the living room. To his surprise the room was not empty, instead he found himself smiling softly at the picture before him. Greyson was slumped upright on the couch, head leaving on the palm of her left arm, and shoulders rising and falling in measured deep breaths. She was yet again asleep on the couch, an increasingly common occurrence over the last few nights.

It was as if his feet had a mind of his own as the Colonel soon found himself standing before the sleeping junior officer. He debated whether or not it would be wise to wake her up, her position did not look comfortable in the slightest, but if her soft snores were anything to go by, she was in a deep sleep, something he felt she didn't get often. The last few nights he'd woken to anguished screams coming from Ash's room, before hearing her door open and her footsteps as she began to pace the length of the living room before exhausting herself and collapsing onto the couch. He would usually lay awake for a good ten or so minutes after her pacing had stopped before he would check on her, normally finding her drenched in sweat but shivering on the couch as she had not had the forethought to grab a blanket in her exhausted and frazzled state.

A small part of him felt sorry for the fresh officer, whatever was haunting her was obviously taking a toll on her and there was another part of him that wanted to slowly crack through her defences and find out what it was so he could help her, or at least comfort her,  in some way.  These kinds of thoughts were becoming more and more common and were beginning to somewhat startle him and set him off kilter around Greyson. He usually had a good grip on his emotions and was able to push feelings away and stay strictly professional around any female colleagues, but with this officer he found himself wanting to cross that line. He barely knew the young soldier  but she had set a lasting impression on him that he had tried to shake with all his might. So for now he would indulge himself in caring for her in subtle ways that could be seen as a superior caring for his injured member of his team and wait to get a positive or negative reaction from Greyson. Either way, this former cadet was going to be around for a while, so he needed to restrain his growing feelings as best as he could, he would not want a repeat of the Sinclair situation. 

Huffing quietly in frustration he hastily snatched up a blanket that resided on the back of one of the neighboring couches before, as gently as possible, draping it over the sleeping soldier. He watched as she began to stretch out on the couch, grasping the blanket closer to her chest and snuggling down into the warmth. A strange tightness developed in his chest at that, one he hadn't felt in many many years. Whatever feelings he had for this soldier needed to be pushed aside, he couldn't afford for a margin of error in his team or a potential weakness to be exploited against either of them. With measured steps he conducted his nightly checks of the house, ensuring the locks on the front and back doors were engaged, the window locks were secure, and the security cameras that were hidden around the outside of the house we recording as usual. 

Checks completed he all but marched his way back to his room, silently closing his door, before ripping his shirt over his head, shucking off his boots and pants, and climbing into bed in naught but his boxers. Double checking that his alarm was set he decided that an early morning run would be a good way to clear his head, and he could scope out areas of the property that would make for good exercise scenarios training spots.

His sleep was fitful. Full of moments already shared between himself and the younger officer who constantly occupied his every waking thoughts and potential moments that he silently hoped would come to fruition as their time together continued to build a bond between them. Whether that be strictly professional or borderline inappropriate he wasn't sure if his resolve was strong enough to keep his feelings at bay long enough for them to fizzle out into nothing but a thought he could look back on and scoff at. 

                                                         -------

Ash groaned the moment she woke, she stretched out her legs, laughing lightly at the way her joints all seemed to pop and her muscles became taught. She missed the daily ache that accompanied the constant tiredness of her cadets course. Instead now she was stuck on prescribed bed rest, unless she saw fit to disobey a direct order from the Colonel. Just a thought of his rank sent an oddly delighted shiver down her spine. Reaching over to grab her phone to check the time had her eyes bugging out of her head, she had woken il two hours later than normal, and frankly, while she knew she needed the rest, she had wished she had had the forethought to set an alarm rather than relying on her messed up body clock.

Her injuries were beginning to heal quite well now, the stitches in her head and her side were itchy and ready to be taken out but the concussion was having more of a lasting effect than she would have hoped. While she no longer woke up feeling sick or dizzy she would now have random bouts of dizziness during the day instead, which was usually succeeded by a varying degree of nausea. This morning however, she felt great. Climbing from her bed and pulling on a normal length military t-shirt and a pair of military issue shorts, that even she deemed to be a tad on the shorter side, she quickly pulled on a pair of running shoes. Today she was determined to walk around the edge of the property and see if anything other than the house had changed since she had attended this particular training ground all those years ago.

She left her room functioning on autopilot, intending to head in the direction of the kitchen to have a quick coffee before venturing outside. Her plan, however, was foiled when she suddenly collided with a solid mass after taking no more than four steps out of her room. The momentum of the crash had her hands flying out to grasp onto whatever she had bashed into in an attempt to steady herself. It took her a moment to gather her senses, but when she did, a blush settled across her face and down her neck.

Her hands had landed on a warm, slightly damp, very shirtless and muscular chest that could only belong to one person, the one person who she had began developing feelings for since she met them, Colonel Carrillo. A small yelp left her mouth at the realisation of what was happening, he was shirtless, for some reason, and she was just standing there with her palms on his chest, not so subtly feeling him up. Time seemed to have frozen, neither person was moving except for Ash’s eyes, which were drinking in the sight that was oh so wonderfully close to her. Making the first move she began to pull away from the man before her, running her hands featherlight over his pecs in a self indulgent moment, a smile growing on her face as she felt, rather than saw, the small shiver that wracked his body. 

She took a small step backwards, intending to put enough space between them to be professional, only to be stopped by his hands coming up and grasping onto her elbows in a tentative grip. Ash let her eyes trail languidly over his body as she made her way up to his face, his stomach was well toned, the deep ‘V’ of his hips was prominent and his abs were defined but not chiseled , he was bulky in a way that screamed alpha male. It was inherently obvious he worked out alongside his already physically demanding  job. Her eyes continued their upwards, her breath  hitching while taking in the broad beautifully tanned expanse of skin that was his chest, his pecs where the most defined part about him, a key feature one might say, along with those arms of his. Ash took note of the way his breath had sped up over the course of her gaping , thankfully it seemed she was not the only one affected by the others presence. 

She yearned to reach out and run her hands along the taught muscles of his forearms and up along his biceps, feeling the strength that he held within the muscles, muscles that she more often than not dreamed about. Her eyes finally came to settle on his face. He looked pained, brow drawn downwards in feigned confusion and his lips pressed tightly together as if to stop himself from speaking, his eyes were what betrayed him. His pupils were blown so wide that the delicious brown was now but a small ring around them. Ash could only imagine her face mirrored his own, the lust was palpable, this was dangerous territory. 

His eyes were fixed intently on her and Ash had to gulp as his lips parted and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. Her thoughts were getting more and more muddled being this close to him in this situation. Ash took yet another small step backwards as to put enough distance between them for them both to clear their thoughts, failing to do so when she tripped on the edge of the rug that covered the majority of the living room. Her eyes widened in shock when she felt her back hit the ground and felt the breath of the Colonel on her face as he fell with her, landing in the perfect pushup position above her. If Ash thought their previous position was dangerous territory she didn’t have words to describe their current predicament, though she would be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined this situation before but with her in significantly less clothing. It took her till this moment to realise that Carrillo was in fact, only in a towel, that was now, hanging on by only a small margin and stretched tight and low along his hips. 

The position was compromising at best, her hands had one again found themselves attached to his glorious body, this time settling on his biceps just like she had wanted, the sheer mass of muscle contained beneath both her hands had her stomach in knots and a fire flowing through her veins. She watched, mesmerized, as a droplet of water made its descent from behind his ear, along the tight muscles of his neck and down into the dip of his collar bone, stopping for a moment before continuing down his chest. Ash involuntarily licked her lips, wanting nothing more to lean forward and run her tongue along the path the droplet was taking before sucking a mark wherever the droplet stilled. A movement to her right drew her attention away from gawking at his chest and up towards his face yet again. He had shifted himself onto one arm and was peering down at her with an unreadable expression on his face, but there was clearly some kind of intent swirling in the depth of his eyes.

Ash jumped momentarily when his hand settled heavily on her now exposed midriff, a hair's breadth away from the stitches that decorated her side. The smirk that graced his face when he felt her jump sent a bolt of pure unadulterated desire right to her core, the look on his face was lustful and hungry. Her breathing was beyond erratic now, there was a pent up tension in her body longing to be released but at this moment she was going to leave the fate of the situation in her commanding officers’ hands, since he so clearly fed off being in control. It was as if she forgot how to breathe as she felt his hand began to trail upwards, lifting her shirt in the process and exposing more of her toned stomach to the man before her, his hand moved inwards trailing the tip of his forefinger along the etched grove of her stomach and up towards her breasts in a teasing manner, but before he could reach the destination she so desperately hoped for he stilled, pondering for a moment as he searched her face for any kind of hesitation, finding none he continued his journey north between the valley of her breasts and along the hollow of her throat before settling his hand there with barely any pressure. 

 Ash let out a barely there moan, the action was much more comfortable and thrilling to her than she would care to admit out loud. She watched as his face went through varying emotions before settling on determination, and with measured movements the Colonel shifted his large hand slightly to guide her chin upwards slightly to be in the optimum position to finally plant a kiss that the both wanted so badly onto her lips. Ash watched with bated breath as his face oh so slowly made his way closer to her own, eyes searching for any hesitation that would have his moments ceasing in an instant, to his surprise, she began moving slightly off the floor to meet his advances and finally seal the deal and cross the line between professional and personal. 

They were a mere centimeters apart, breath mixing and both breathing unsteadily, when a shrill ringing pierced through the silence of their moment, ruining the potential moment of bliss for the Officers. It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured over the both of them, shocking enough to have Carrillo rolling to the left as fast as someone could yell ‘gun’ and Ash rolling the opposite direction and jumping to her feet. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife but as the Colonel looked at her with something akin to regret crossing his face Ash knew she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him for a moment longer, so she scampered away and into the comfort of her room, slamming the door on her way in before collapsing on her bed and trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. Had the Colonel really had the intention to kiss her? 

                                                           -------

To say little interaction happened between the two officers after the incident was not far from the truth. Despite her desires for the Colonel , Ash had been all but avoiding him since that fateful morning, hoping that by avoiding any contact possible with the man in question that her feelings would also be avoided, a plan that was full of holes considering it was only the two of them on the property and a good three hours of driving between them and the rest of civilisation. She knew her behaviour towards the man in question could be seen in multiple different ways but she was stubborn through and through, if she didn’t need to be near the man then she was never found near him.

Their late night tv watches, breakfast together with interesting little chats, dinner shared together when Carrillo wasn’t doing paperwork had all been scraped at Ash’s behest. She would wake up before him and quickly make some food and disappear either back to her room or go for a brisk walk around the tree lined property. She would force herself to stay in her room even after the multiple nightmares would have her jolting awake with a scream leaving her throat, while she had once sought comfort in pacing the living room she could now only reflect on the incident  that had occurred there and the look of regret that had graced the Colonels face. As for dinner time, the Colonel still cooked for the both of them, even if she was avoiding him, something she was highly grateful for, except now instead of sitting on the couch watching any number of things in quiet company, they now went their separate ways. Carrillo to his office and Greyson usually went outside to sit in nature and calm her frazzled nerves from being around her commanding officer. 

Her plan was going extremely well for a few days until she got a call from the medics back at base confirming that it was time for her to come and get her stitches removed as it had been a good few weeks now. This put a kink in her plans, she was still getting far too many dizzy spells randomly throughout the day which meant she wouldn’t be able to drive herself to the hospital so she would be forced to man up and ask the Colonel to drive her. Three hours in a car with the man who by all means she was trying to push down her feelings for was going to be a world of hell, infinitely more awkward than the current household situation. 

She got up off the couch and began moving in the direction of the room that was set up as the teams workspace only to stop dead in her track as the Colonel exited the room and stared directly at her before pointing at the phone current held in his left hand, “I just got a call from the medics, you're needed at the hospital to get those stitches taken out”  he pointed at her head and then gestured in the general direction of her stab wound, “ Doctors protocol call for me to drive you there, they want your concussion to be cleared before you’re allowed to drive” 

Ash began to open her mouth to voice her protest but was cut short when the Colonel levelled with a look that said ‘don't try me’ and the words, “That's an order soldier! Now let's go”.  Ash wanted to protest and kick up a fuss but she knew it was no use, he was probably pissed that she’d been ignoring him for the past three or four days, and rightfully so, she’d acted much like a petulant child rather than the strong young soldier he had recruited her for. Ash knew that the only way she would be able to survive the awkwardness of the car ride was to sleep, something she hadn’t got much of for the last few nights because she had been tossing and turning trying to figure out if what she had encountered with the Colonel had been a slip in his defenses or a trick to see if she was loyal to his cause. But as she glanced over to take in the disheveled appearance and tired eyes of the Colonel beside her, she knew he had been feeling the same or at the very least, not been sleeping like he used to, he looked far too tired. 

Ash dropped her seat backward in the SUV they were travelling in, a bulletproof rig the army had provided to keep the team safe whenever they did live fire practice or did a real raid, leaning her head against the cool window of the car brought a small moment of clarity for the young soldier, it might have been easier to apologize for her actions and try and smooth things over but that was not how Greyson worked. She would apologise when things got so bad that she had no other choice. The sense of peace the came from being around her commanding officer soon had her falling into a deep sleep, hopefully one that was peaceful and refreshing for once.

They were nearly two hours into the three hour drive to the base hospital when Carrillo heard a whimper come from the young officer in the seat beside him, at first he thought she had just bumped her head on the window as the road was rough in some areas, but when he heard another whimper and a quietly whispered “no” come from the sleeping female he had no choice but to look over at her and when he did he slowed the car down and threw it into park. The junior officer was sweating profusely, shaking violent and pale as a sheet, quietly mumbled words were tumbling from her lips as her brows were drawn together in a look of muted horror.  Carrillo didn’t know what to think but he knew he couldn’t let her suffer so he reached across the car and gently shook Greyson by her shoulder, increasing in intensity when she didn’t wake up the first time, it was on his forth more violent shake of her shoulder that she finally woke, glancing around with tears brimming in her eyes and a startled expression on her face.

Ash had to take long measured breaths to calm her frantically beating heart, that nightmare had been one of the worse yet and she was silently grateful that the man before her had woken her before it had got any worse, reliving the death of a family member was not something that Ash wanted to repeat, but it seemed her brain wanted to taunt her constantly. She had to hold back a muted sob as emotion overtook her body and the tears began to flow freely from her eyes, she hated look weak in front of people especially someone who she’d be working beneath for god knows how long. The blood was rushing in her ears cause her to zone out and try and focus on bringing herself back to a calm state, it wasn’t until she saw Carrillo’s fingers snapping in front of her face that she finally snapped out of it and turned her tear stained face to meet his own pained expression. 

“Care to tell me what has got you so upset Greyson? Is it the same thing that has had you waking up screaming in the middle of the night? I want to help you Ash” 

Hearing her first name leave the mouth of the man before her was like a shock to the system, but it had the desired effect, she felt the need to confess what was happening to her and why she was indeed having horrible nightmares almost every night since she woke up in the hospital bed nearly three weeks ago. Gulping down her pride and realising that out of anyone the Colonel was probably the best person to tell her troubles too incase her past came back to haunt her, she turned to him, a sad smile on her face and uttered, “It's a long story, Sir, but if you want to know I’m willing to share” 

Carrillo smiled softly at the young officer before him, reaching out to grasp her hand tightly in his own to instill a small sense of comfort, he nodded slowly, he had finally managed to crack into her defences but what he didn’t know is he was about to find out how truly broken the soldier before him really was. 

[banshee-cheekbones]

title: make it to tomorrow [ao3: here]

main pairing: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall

rating: Hard M

word count: ~2100 words

written for: the ‘robots′ square on my Teen Wolf Rare Character Bingo card and for the 2017 Summer Heat Mini Round over at the ROK LJ community.

summary: After all is said and done and the Breach is closed, Isaac and Scott share a moment in the catwalks above the Shatterdome, away from the victory party below.

(or, the Pacific Rim AU with "I'm so happy that we're alive" hand jobs.)

Mere hours ago, the Shatterdome had echoed with the sounds of an army prepping for war; yelling in half a dozen languages, the screech of metal against metal, the frantic, repetitive thud of booted feet crossing the expanse of the room over and over again. It’d been chaos; organized chaos, albeit, but chaos nonetheless.

Now, the vast space is filled with the sounds of joyous victory.

Isaac isn’t sure who is in charge of the music, but the speakers that are normally reserved for broadcasting announcements and orders are now spilling out pounding electronica tracks, the volume so high that the bass seems to reverberate through every surface he lays his hands upon. Drunken whoops and joyous yells break through the music every so often, along with the sharp crack of a cork exploding from a bottle of champagne.

For being an active military base, there seems to be a lot of the latter lying around.

Isaac’s sure that, if he ventured down from the catwalk, he wouldn’t have to ask for a drink. They’d shove full bottles in his arms, pour it down his throat, probably drench him in it. It’s all too possible that he’d end up on someone’s shoulders, carted around the room like a trophy or idol.

Some of the other pilots would absolutely love that. He’s sure they’re already down there having the time of their lives.

That’s all the more reason for him to stay away.

As far as he can tell, he’s the only one up in the catwalks; all the mechanics and technicians that usually fill them have abandoned their posts, are probably down below soaking in the revelry. Not that Isaac blames them; there’s nothing for them for them to be working on, after all. Every last one of the cavernous Jaeger bays is empty, their normal occupants either abandoned in the bay or ripped to pieces or blown to bits in another dimension.

Hopefully, they'll never be occupied again.

He has to believe they’ll never be occupied again, that what happened today is a permanent fix, because otherwise everything they did, all the people they lost-

(and that is not a line of thought he wants to pursue right now, because while he’s only been at the Shatterdome for two weeks, barely enough time to get to know anyone, he knows that they were good people, people with lives and hopes and dreams for after the apocalypse was thwarted, people who deserved to live)

-was for nothing.

Abruptly, the sound of nearby footsteps thudding against metal breaks through the music, and he pulls his gaze away from the deep shadows of the bay that previously held Alpha Wolf, which is now entombed in the murky waters of the ocean. Most of the overhead lights have been switched off, so it’s a few moments before Isaac can actually make out the figure of someone coming towards him. He gets ready to defend his absence from the party below, starts combing through excuses in search of one that won’t just lead to more invasive questions that he doesn’t feel up to answering.

Thankfully, before he actually has to decide on an excuse, he recognizes the figure, and he relaxes back against the sturdy railing.

“I figured you were up here,” Scott says, smiling as he leans up beside Isaac. There are three stitches holding together his eyebrow, and butterfly bandages dot his forehead and cheeks. Two of the fingers on his left hand are bound together in a splint, and dark bruises march up and down both arms, extending from his wrists to where the sleeve of his tee bisects his bicep.

All things considered, the fact that he’s in one piece, that they’re both in one piece, is something of a minor miracle.

“How was the party?” Isaac asks, sliding down to rest on the ground with his legs stretched out and his back pressed against the railing. His ankle bone is bruised, and although the painkillers that were thrust upon him in the medical bay are top-grade, it’s probably best to get off it sooner rather than later.

“Skipped over most of it, actually,” Scott says, sinking down beside him, a wince momentarily passing over his face. “Last I saw, they were hoisting Jackson around on their shoulders.”

“I’m sure he’s absolutely loving that,” Isaac mutters.

“He probably won’t even remember it tomorrow, if he keeps drinking like he was.”

It’s the last either of them say for what feels like hours. Isaac isn’t sure when Scott’s head drops down onto his shoulder, but he follows suit by carefully lowering his own head down so that he doesn’t end up resting his ear on any of Scott’s battle scars. Their hands end up entangled together shortly after, and Isaac finds himself entranced by the way their fingers slot together, like they were solely designed for that purpose.

“It’s so quiet,” Scott eventually murmurs, the words washing over where Isaac’s collarbone branches away from the collar of his t-shirt. The Shatterdome is still echoing with noise; if anything, the music and yelling has only increased in volume, but Isaac knows what Scott means.

Without the drift connecting them, without Scott sharing every single inch and hidden corner of his brain, his own mind seems painfully quiet and empty.

“It is.” If he concentrates hard, closes his eyes and does his best to block out the sounds of revelry filling every inch of space, he can still feel something connecting his mind to Scott’s. Something thin and tenuous, like a loose thread gently unraveling from a well-worn sweater.

He wonders how long they have before that thread reaches its end and tears away for good.

He wonders what that will change between them. If that will change anything.

He hopes with everything he has that it doesn’t. Scott’s the first person in years that he’s been able to depend on, and even though they’ve known each other for all of two weeks, he’s not sure if he knows how to go back to being on his own again.

Even if he was interrogated, he wouldn’t be able to definitively answer which of them leans in first; what he knows, and what matters most, is that their mouths meet and immediately meld together like they’ve been doing so for years.

They don’t stay leaning against the railing for long; Scott slowly slumps over, until he’s stretched out on his back, and Isaac is obliged to follow him. Thankfully, the catwalk is more than wide enough to safely accommodate them so, once they’ve moved safely away from the edge, they pick up right where they left off. The only difference is that, this time, Isaac is slotted between Scott’s legs, and Scott’s right hand is fisted tightly in his hair, tugging slightly whenever Isaac shifts.

He was starting to think that his hair was getting too long, but he’s definitely reconsidering that notion.

The rough metal of the catwalk scrapes against his knees, even through the thick fabric of his pants, and he can’t imagine that it feels comfortable against Scott’s undoubtedly bruised back. But when he pulls away for a moment, before he can even part his lips to ask, Scott shakes his head fiercely.

“I don’t want to move,” he says, tightening his fingers in Isaac’s hair. “I’m fine. Kiss me.”

That’s all the assurance Isaac needs to dive back in.

Part of him thinks that they should be talking about this, trying to work through things before they step over a line that they can’t come back from, but that part only remains in the forefront of his mind for a few moments. The last few weeks have been an absolute exercise in control, in keeping himself carefully between the lines, so that he didn’t jeopardize the mission. The drift was no better, because for every errant thought that slipped through, every memory of his father or every half-thought out musing about what Scott would sound like choking back a moan, there were dozens, hundreds more that he had to keep hidden away.

He’s tired of holding himself back.

The others down below are celebrating their victory with rivers of booze.

Isaac is going to celebrate by letting himself go.

His own various aches and pains let themselves be known across his body as he rolls his hips down against Scott’s, but he does his best to ignore the urge to pull away when Scott’s fingers press into a bruise or trail over a line of fresh stitches. When he braces his forehead against Scott’s to take a breath, the butterfly bandages holding Scott together scrape against his skin, and he silently apologizes for any pain he’s causing before he dives back in.

By the time Scott’s fingers yank open his button and zipper, Isaac already feels like he’s walking along the edge, whether it’s from the adrenaline that has yet to totally wane from his system or from the sheer fact that he’s alive, they’re both alive, still living and breathing and able to touch each other.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to last,” he laughs against Scott’s swollen mouth, words trailing into a gasp as Scott’s fingers slide past the elastic of his boxers.

“I was going to say the same thing,” Scott grins, arching his hips into the line of Isaac’s thigh. “There’s always later for that.”

Later.

Hearing that word pass from Scott’s lips officially shuts down the last remnants of concern in Isaac’s mind.

When Scott’s fingers wrap around Isaac’s cock, Isaac’s breath catches in his throat. He wants to return the favor, but for a few moments, all he can focus on is the feeling of Scott’s calloused palm, the slick slide of his thumb slipping across the head of him. It’s just on the right side of overwhelming, and he thrusts his hips into the loose circle of Scott’s fist, bites back a groan as his mind finally sparks back to life. He sits back slightly, putting more weight onto his knees, so that he can better access the zipper of Scott’s pants. His fingers, normally so sure of themselves, fumble and skitter, until he finally manages to get the button open with a frustrated growl.

“Take your time,” Scott says quietly, resting his free hand on Isaac’s face. The metal of his splint is warm against Isaac’s cheekbone and he twists to press his lips to it, another silent apology.

The real thing can wait until later.

He gets Scott’s zipper down with more ease, yanks his pants down his hips until he can get his hand inside. It’s far from a great angle; warning twinges of pain shoot through his wrist, but he ignores them.

What’s a little more pain, after all?

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry about finding a way to work through a wrist cramp; before the warnings can turn into the real thing, Scott spurts onto Isaac’s fingers with a sudden gasp. His head drops back against the catwalk with an alarmingly loud thud that seems to echo. The grip of his fingers around Isaac’s cock grows tighter, and he twists his wrist in a unfamiliar way that makes fireworks go off behind Isaac’s eyes.

He comes with his teeth pressed into Scott’s bottom lip and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Who the blood belongs to, he couldn’t say.

Once he’s gotten his breath back, he wipes his hand off on the thigh of his pants and carefully lowers himself to the ground at Scott’s side, wincing as every ache and pain that he’s been ignoring makes itself known with a vengeance, painkillers be damned. Scott wipes his own hand off on the hem of his shirt before carefully tucking himself back into his pants. There’s a fine sheen of sweat covering his face, and when he rolls his head to face Isaac, so close that their noses brush together, a smile more radiant than the nuclear heart of a Jaeger splits his mouth.

“We’re here,” he says. One of the bandages dotting his forehead is slowly turning red, the skin underneath freshly split open. “We’re here.”

Now that the adrenaline has started to melt away, replaced by pain and rational thought, Isaac is ready to admit that, at some point, they’ll have to talk further. They can’t just ignore what happened today, all of it; they need to mourn for the people they lost, find their place in a world no longer on the edge of disaster, figure out how they fit together without the drift to tie them together.

But all of that can wait for tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, dropping one hand to Scott’s chest, right above his pounding, beautifully strong heart. “We’re here.”

He leaves the I’m not going anywhere unspoken, but he trusts that somehow, Scott hears it all the same.