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Care Package

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Zack had not asked, but he had hoped. He'd dressed the apartment in some deep greens to prepare for a visit. Different than he would have chosen without motivation. He tended to stick to neutrals, blank walls, monotones. He had an overactive mind. It needed lack to rest.

Like the simple, repetitive beats, shifting minutely in their patterns, that he listened to daily to fill space in his mind. Like the lift and lower of his body in Walter's lap, big hands wrapped under his thighs, moving him like he was featherlight. Walter was still rife with endorphins from the fight, feeling no pain or tiredness.

Over Walter's shoulder, Zack watched the bowl of apples on his counter bob in his vision. The lights were on. They'd been happy to see each other and didn't bother to set a mood that was already there. The colors were beautiful—striated fuji, rosey san-fuji, shinano gold, deep red akibae—helped him to focus on the present.

He let his hands glide over Walter's shoulders to take in their breadth like he'd been doing for eleven years, still in wonder of this man. He heard Walter's breathing roughen. Sabre reached between them to take himself in a firm grip the way he liked it. He turned his face into Walter's neck to groan quietly.

His breathing got faster, his movements got faster. This was the most fun part; when all Walter's intense carefulness would fall away for a few moments. He was tugging him down hard into his lap, his grip getting stronger on his legs. Forgetting all the hard limits he'd placed on himself to get through everyday life as a man so large and powerful.

Zack could always take it. He was made durable by years of fighting. Made to love this by years of scrapping for wins. He got there first, hot and wet on his chest and knuckles, just one more sensation in the abundance of them. Pleased by the stretch of being pushed down all of the sudden, so Walter could get as deep as possible.

He felt the moment Walter's caution fell back into place, hands softening, easing him up a bit. Sabre smiled. He would have been happy to keep going, but Walter could only let go of his control for so long. Sometimes he'd let Zack suck on him after. Get him hard again, aching and sensitive, while he lay on his back and gripped the sheets.

Tonight, however, he'd been in a high-impact fight (Sabre knew Big Japan style), and he would need to ice and rest. They'd both need to try to come back to civilized, so they would be respectable guests when they visited Zack's mum tomorrow. She always liked to check up on them, when they came to London. Especially now that everything was official, after the marriage in April.

Walter sighed and wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his hands up and down his back. He leaned back then, checked his face. Zack gave him a playful smile, so Walter kissed him and helped him up. They showered and attempted to figure out where Walter needed ice the most.

Turned out to be his hip, so Walter lay on his side on the bed with an ice pack balanced there, watching Zack try to cook. As was often the case, Zack had gotten ravenously hungry after sex. He was attempting a fry-up with the last of the food in his fridge, since he'd be in London for ten days.

"I know you've missed the taste of char," Zack said.

Walter smiled.

"Always makes me think of you."

Zack grinned. Walter got hungry after fights too. Hungry enough to even eat Zack's cooking. Sabre had just somehow managed to burn the spinach. He hadn't realized spinach was burnable. (It usually only went in his morning smoothie in handfuls.)

He opened up a couple packets of chana masala from last month's care package. Walter had obviously been coached by Zack's mum and sent him a bunch of precooked meals, his favorite athletic socks, a bottle of his usual bronzer, and the vegan multivitamins that didn't give him heartburn.

They were both making the transition from being together when their schedules lined up, as they had been doing over the years, to being together deliberately, making one another a priority. Zack served the whole vegetable mess over rice, carrying two bowls to bed with him. It was good enough, with the spices to help. A home-cooked meal was a home-cooked meal, however you got there.