"C'mon, let me see it," Chris murmurs, trailing an apologetic hand over Chad's bristled jaw. "Fuck off," Chad retorts, voice muffled, as he tilts his head back, pressing the heel of his palm against his left eye. "C'mon, now." Gentle fingers pry Chad's hand away from his face, and Chris winces in sympathy when he gets a look at the purple and black bruise blossoming spectacularly over stretched skin. "Quite a shiner you've got there, son." Chad squints through his bad eye and tries for a glare. It almost looks cute. Not that Chris would dream of saying it. Not with the fragile peace between them. "Y'think?" Chad's gaze skitters over the equally spectacular bruise Chris knows is on his chin, and he frowns. "I do that?" "Didn't do it to myself," Chris replies, grinning, figuring it's safe enough now to step forward. He straddles Chad's lap, careful to distribute his weight, and presses the ice bag to Chad's eye. Chad hisses in pain, steadying himself by placing his hands on Chris' hips. "Better?" Chris murmurs, watching closely for any signs of further discomfort. He hadn't seen any other injuries, but they're still a little hopped up on adrenaline, and he figures they won't be able to take total stock until much later. "Wet," Chad corrects, and smiles. "What about you?" "Well, I don't think you broke anything." "This time." "This time," Chris agrees, and rubs his lips across Chad's, setting the bag back on the counter. His fingers, damp from the ice, trace the sharp hollows of Chad's cheeks. "Next time, maybe we should just battle it out over a game of pool or something." Chad's laughter echoes off the tiles. "You really think we need to be around anything that could be a weapon?" Chris' lips quirk in a self-deprecating smile. "Unlike our fists?" Their mingled laugher is raspy, intimate, and Chris takes another steadying breath. The worst is definitely over. "Yeah, exactly." Chad's breath is warm against his lips for the next soft kiss. "Y'know, if you were really in the mood to make it up to me..." Chris murmurs, with another smile. Chad raises an eyebrow. "You threw the first punch." "You pissed me off," Chris shrugs, not denying it. Aren't too many people that can get him seeing red as fast as Chad. "I always piss you off," Chad points out, and his smirk makes him look impossibly young. "Not always." "When we're awake and not fucking, then." "Wouldn't be us if we weren't." Chris' lips twitch in another smile. "J called, by the way. Wanted to make sure we hadn't killed each other on the way home." "He's such a good wife." "I hope you appreciate him," Chris remarks, then tilts his head slightly. "You can call him back later." "How much later?" Chad asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Depends." Chris slides his hand over Chad's chest, then down, palming Chad's crotch through the thin fabric of his boxers. They've finally moved onto the part of the fight Chris likes the best – and make-up sex with Chad is unlike anything else Chris has ever had. "How do you want to come?" "Hard and fast," Chad groans. His hips are pinned by Chris' weight, and Chris figures Chad's thighs have to be going numb, but it doesn't seem to be stopping Chad from pressing a kiss to Chris' chin as he slides gentle lips on Chad's swollen eye, contrasting sharply with the hard, possessive slide of his hand. Their moans echo loudly in the small room, and Chris thinks they'll probably break the damn seat again, but he doesn't give a shit about that. Their mouths come together in a crash of lips and teeth, both tasting blood, and now they're fighting again, but for a different reason. A much better reason, if anyone was asking Chris. Chad frantically pushes at Chris' shorts – "Need you, Jesus, c'mon" – and Chris laughs, low and mean, not quite ready to give in just yet. "Gotta earn it." "Bastard," Chad growls, and pushes up, toppling Chris to the bath mats with a dull thud. Chris wheezes, the backs of his shoulders smarting from the slap against the floor, but he surges up, grappling and tugging at Chad's boxers while Chad pulls at Chris' shorts. Chris bangs his head on the cabinet door, and Chad bangs his elbow into the side of the bathtub, both of them trying to maneuver the tiny space. Chris bites hard at Chad's collarbone, muttering for Chad to take him already, calling him a pussy, and Chad hisses, yanking on Chris' hair. Chad mutters, unintelligible sounds that have Chris' blood pumping, his dick hard, as he curses and flails for the bottle of lotion on the counter. He knocks over the bag, and ice spills over the floor, wet and cold, stinging his back. Finally, he presses the bottle into Chad's hand, and Chad gets the lotion cap open, applying a quick coat to his cock before Chris spreads his legs, pulling on Chad's shoulders as Chad lines up and shoves in, both of them grunting when Chad pushes forward, rough and impatient. One hard thrust, then another, the burn of it stinging – "Like that, don't you, bitch" – and Chris digs bruises on Chad's biceps, the kiss brutally hard, each thrust harder, faster, more, c'mon – And, just as quickly, like a switch going off, the mood changes. Chad slows down, no longer frantic, stroking Chris' matted, sweat-damp hair, and Chris croons nonsense in Chad's mouth, the words unimportant. They lap at the droplets of blood still clinging to their lips, the kiss turning voluptuous and slick, and Chad starts to move, steady and slow. Chris hooks a leg across the back of Chad's thighs and Chad braces one hand on the slippery floor, curling the other around Chris' cock, and it's cramped and the room is too hot and Chad isn't getting nearly the leverage that Chris needs, but it's alright, they can do it like this, this is fine as long as Chad keeps moving and they keep kissing, and Chris moves with him, tight and hot and flexing against Chad's cock with each slow thrust. Chad comes first, gasping against Chris' neck, face contorting in pleasure, and two tugs later, Chris comes, heavy and sticky between their slick bodies. Chad sucks in harsh breath after harsh breath, nuzzling Chris' jaw, and Chris slides his hands over Chad's slick back, not quite up to moving just yet. He can vaguely make out Chad murmuring something about a shower, and yeah, that'd be nice. In a few minutes. Or five. Not like either of them have to be anywhere, and even if they did, wouldn't be the first time that they've blown off the world after a fight.
|