Chapter Text
"I said 'knock knock, bitch'," Lucius calls, rapping his knuckles incessantly under the number 207 plate until he hears motion in the room and the door finally opens. "That means let me in."
"Don't suppose you'll fuck off if I ignore you long enough?" Izzy says, scowling, but he steps out of the way without pressing an argument when Lucius shoves him gently in the chest and lets himself inside.
"Too late, babe. Have you heard the racket that pair are making? Ed's on top, if you were wondering, and Stede thinks he's so good, oh, darling, oh god, so good—" His not actually terrible impression fades into a snort of laughter at the disgusted look on Izzy's face. "Could've been worse, could've told you about the bit where Ed went you look so fucking beautiful with your mouth round my cock, babylove—"
"Shut the fuck up," Izzy tells him, but for once there's no real bite to it. He just sounds exhausted. Looks it, too, but, like, in a cute way. His greying hair looks soft, washed and dried with none of the gunk he usually puts in there to slick it back, and instead of the black jeans and rock band t-shirts he wears every day he's got on loose grey sweatpants with a little hole in the knee and a plain white vest. He looks... comfortable? Relaxed? Well, not quite. This man's probably never felt relaxed in his entire life. He seems to thrive on stress.
After stepping out of his slides, Lucius goes over to chuck his room key on the bedside table and lifts the thrown-aside covers so he can shuffle himself over the lingering patch of heat from Izzy's body and settle on the cooler half of the sheet. "Come on. Swear I won't grope you. I genuinely just want to get away from that pair howling the roof off, because if I have a wank over it, which I totally will if I stay in that room one more minute, I'll never respect myself again."
Izzy's arms are folded now, maybe in annoyance or as some kind of barrier between himself and his uninvited lodger, or possibly both. "Go and bother Fang, he's always happy to see you for some fucking reason."
"No point, I can hear him and Ivan snoring already. They definitely got a quickie in, that's a post-shag snore if ever I heard one. And I blew them both in the service station loos earlier too, so they'll be passed out til morning now. I mean, possibly even dead? Sorry in advance if that happens."
"What about Jimenez?"
"Get lost! Would you go and wake Jim up for anything less than a tsunami warning?"
"So I'm your last choice, am I?"
"Ohh, you do care!" Lucius says, pleased. He pats the mattress beside him, and reluctantly Izzy gets in.
"Should've warned you the walls here are paper," he says, grudgingly accepting just a little bit of blame, and reaches to turn off the lamp. "I've set my alarm for seven. If you fuck off back to your own room before then, don't slam the door and wake me."
"I actually wasn't raised in a barn, you know."
"Night, then."
"Yeah, night," Lucius says, wondering how long is polite to leave it now before he moves in for a little kiss and cuddle in the dark, because obviously he's going to and obviously Izzy knows it. Less than a fortnight's passed since his birthday party and they've hooked up twice again since then, but it's all been very quick and clandestine—once in Izzy's precious vintage Rover in the headland car park like fumbling teenagers, once in the workshop after everyone else went home—and none of the encounters have ever been mentioned again in the light of day so who the fuck knows where they stand now?
Lucius pillows his head on his folded arm and peers through the gloom. The ever-present docklands glow seeping in through the thin curtains is just enough to catch the lines of Izzy's face, the slow motion of his blinking eyelids. He's watching Lucius right back.
"So..." Lucius starts, dragging the word to several times its actual length, oddly embarrassed to have been caught out. "Just, you know, for reference, do you like me?"
"Was it someone else's prick I had the other side of my tonsils?" Izzy says, loaded with sarcasm, and that's a fucking shock and a half. He's not usually this forthright about stuff. It's kind of hot. Makes Lucius feel like his mouth's about to start watering, like he's getting ready to have his own tonsils battered, which—fingers crossed.
"I don't even know how many dicks I've sucked attached to people I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire," he points out reasonably. "You can like fucking me and still think I'm a twat at the same time."
"Does it matter?"
"Matters to me," Lucius says honestly.
"Why?"
"Cos I like you."
Izzy's tone is faintly incredulous now, almost suspicious, like he's not used to hearing that kind of thing. "Why?"
"Didn't at first. Thought you were a massive arsehole, honestly, the way you stomp about and talk down to people and act so angry all the time. But I swear to god, the stupid bitch drama you and Stede bring to my life is so fucking delicious. The joy I get watching you two dickheads tear strips off each other. That man's never met his match before and he is so fucking confused by you not just falling for his charms like everyone else in the world and honestly I'm living for it. Makes me wanna break both kneecaps and my jawbone sucking the life out of you every single time you drop a zinger on him."
There's silence for a moment, then Izzy says, "I don't even know what the fuck to say to that."
"Why would you say anything when you could just fuck my face?"
"I don't want to fuck your stupid face," Izzy snaps.
"Ooh, are we going all the way? That's cool too."
"Don't you ever fucking rest? I'm tired. And I'm just fucking worried about the new..." Then he catches himself and stops abruptly. "Never mind," he mutters, letting out a long slow breath and starting to turn onto his side facing away.
When Lucius reaches for him and touches his shoulder, Izzy freezes still. "Sorry, babe," Lucius says softly, beginning to move just his thumb in gentle little soothing strokes across Izzy's warm skin. "I'm teasing. I mean, mostly I'm teasing, I wouldn't actually say no if—you know what, never mind, clearly it's not the time and place for it. Do you want to talk about it? Whatever you were about to say?"
"I just want to sleep," Izzy insists, sounding on the brink of losing his patience, and Lucius gives up.
"Fine. Sleep, then. But... will you kick me out if I get a bit closer?"
The silence feels like it drags on a beat too long before Izzy finally mutters, "How much closer?"
Not a rejection. Plenty to work with. Lucius wriggles a few inches nearer to him, reaching out to lay a tentative hand on Izzy's hip under the covers. "Like, I dunno, maybe this close?"
He hears a soft sigh. Not an irritated sigh, just a breath. "I suppose that's alright," Izzy says. His voice is weird, like he's trying to sound resentful but it's getting tangled up with embarrassed longing. Lucius wonders when this poor bastard last let someone make him the little spoon and decides it was probably about 1992, and that's really fucking depressing.
"Or..."
Cautiously, like Pete trying to pet every feral stray cat he sees, Lucius moves closer in slow, non-threatening stages. By the time he's got his front pressed close to Izzy's back, Izzy's relented enough to actually lean into his warmth and not get too spooked when Lucius slides an arm around his chest to hold him there.
"Okay?" he murmurs.
"Mm."
Well, that's about as close to a yes as he's likely to get. Good enough. If Izzy wants to fret about the launch all night because the people getting all the glory for it are too busy blithely calling each other babylove and shaking the windows with their moans, he should at least get to do it in comfort and company.
"I don't like anyone," Izzy says stubbornly a long time later.
Sleepy, not quite dozing but getting close, Lucius buries his nose in the back of Izzy's hair and very gently kisses the nape of his neck. "I know," he soothes, and waits for him to fall asleep in his arms.