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“Lay down.”
“Huh?”
“Lay down. On the couch,” Killer says, gesturing towards the couch as if Cross has suddenly forgotten what one was.
“Why?” Cross asks, immediately suspicious. Cross had felt like a live wire from the moment he’d woken up, his body thrumming with volatile magic and his mind prickling with anxiety. He already knew that today was not going to be a good day.
Breakfast that morning almost turned into a brawl after Cross snapped at Dust for walking a little too closely behind him. Horror nearly punted him through a wall for the slight before Nightmare intervened, sitting everyone down at the table in their assigned seats like unruly toddlers. Breakfast was finished in tense silence, the hostile mood affecting everyone except Killer, who continued to pull increasingly ridiculous faces at Cross from across the table. Cross excused himself as soon as he was able, determined to go sulk in his room for the rest of the day. Killer had taken little time to find him and corner him in one of the castle’s living rooms.
“It’s always 20 questions with you,” Killer brushes him off easily. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”
“I didn’t think you were going to, asshole,” Cross prickles, trying to move past Killer towards the hall. “Leave me alone, Killer. I’m not in the mood.”
“Hmm,” Killer hums. “No, I don’t think I will,” Killer grabs Cross’s shoulder and pushes him hard. On any other day, Cross could have easily sidestepped out of the way, but his reflexes are unusually slow and stiff. Cross falls back against the well-worn cushions with little resistance beyond a quiet ‘oomph.’ Before he can protest, Killer clambers and settles into Cross’s lap like he belongs there.
“I really don’t want to have sex right now,” Cross tries his best to sound firm, but it sounds whiny even to his own metaphorical ears.
Killer tsks at him, bringing one of his hands up to cup Cross’s check. He pats it patronizingly. “And you always say I’m the one with a dirty mind! Can’t a guy just do something nice for his boyfriend for once?”
Cross flushes hotly. Whether it’s more from arousal or irritation, Cross couldn’t say. Killer takes the opportunity to subtly shift his weight and maneuver Cross until he’s fully horizontal against the couch cushions. Cross lets himself go all too willingly. “Most guys can do nice things for their boyfriends, I’m just not convinced that you can,” Cross sasses.
“Wow. I am wounded. Hurt. Betrayed. I may never recover,” Killer intones, not looking the least bit like he’s feeling any of those things. “Anyway, shut up for a minute,” Killer says, sliding up the length of Cross’s body to lay fully on top of him.
“Killer-" Cross’s voice stutters in his chest as Killer licks a long stripe up the side of his neck.
“Shh. No more talking. Let me help you relax,” Killer simpers, pressing his skull into the space between Cross’s collarbone and jaw. “It’s not a sex thing, I swear,” Killer adds as an obvious afterthought.
Cross grunts quietly but makes no more move to speak. He can very nearly feel the smugness rolling off of Killer in waves, pleased at Cross’s reluctant assent.
It’s usually uncomfortable to have Killer laying on top of him like this, but both of their respective jackets seem to provide enough cushioning between their bones to make it tolerable. As soon as Killer fully settles against him, Cross brings his hand up and under Killer’s jacket to rub at his spine through his shirt. Killer hums contentedly, grabbing at Cross’s jacket hood and burying his face even further into his neck.
Cross thinks he’s going to keep biting at him, but Killer continues to lay harmlessly on top of him, suspiciously quiet. Cross isn’t used to spending time with Killer without the sound of his incessant chatter running in the background. The silence makes Cross more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit.
He’s about to shove Killer off of him just to get Killer to say something, when suddenly he feels Killer start to rattle on top of him. It doesn’t sound like he’s crying, but Cross can’t imagine what else would cause him to shake like this.
“Are you okay?” Cross asks, startled.
Killer flinches, the odd sound he’s making coming to an abrupt halt. “Yeah, why? Are you okay?” Killer lifts himself up onto his elbows to peer down at Cross. Cross can’t see his eyelights, but he can tell Killer is looking him over.
“What’s that sound you were making? You were shaking.”
Confusion flickers briefly across Killer’s face, before he smothers it with an eerily blank expression. “I was just purring, dude. You don’t have to make it weird,” Killer says, clearly defensive.
Cross gets the distinct feeling he’s said something wrong. “Purring? Like what cats do?” he asks carefully.
“No. Purring like what skeletons do,” Killer pauses, drumming his fingers slowly against one of Cross’s upper ribs. “Wait,” the drumming stops, “Wait a minute, do you not know how to purr?”
Cross’s shoulders hunch forward defensively. “No. I mean… I don’t know. Maybe I knew how to at some point? Or maybe I never did.” A bitter laugh tears its way out of his throat before he can stop it. “Who knows, honestly.”
A strange look passes over Killer’s face, but it’s gone before Cross can really get a read on it. “Do you want me to stop?” Killer asks, surprisingly earnest.
“Um,” Cross can feel himself relax marginally. Killer isn’t going to judge him over something like this. For not knowing better. He’s okay. They’re okay. “I don’t know. I honestly didn’t get to hear much of it earlier.”
“Okay,” Killer says, patting the front of Cross’s ribs twice. “Just let me know if you want me to stop and I will. It should help mellow you out a bit, at least.”
Cross isn’t really sure what Killer means by that, but he nods anyway. Killer settles back in the same position on top of him, with his mouth pressed into the side of Cross’s neck. This close, Cross can feel when Killer swallows, his breath seeming to catch roughly on something each time he does. Cross gives what he hopes is an encouraging stroke at the base of Killer’s spine and that’s all it takes to prompt Killer to start purring.
Cross feels Killer’s purr, more than he hears it. It’s a quiet little thing that he can feel thrumming through Killer’s ribcage. It’s a good sound, Cross realizes belatedly, knowing now that it’s not something stemming from hurt or fear.
Cross continues to stroke his hand slowly up the length of Killer’s spine, scratching lightly at his shoulder blades. Killer’s purr kicks up a couple of notches, not becoming much louder, but becoming noticeably stronger. Cross can feel his soul start to beat in time with Killer’s slow, breathy exhales. It isn’t long before Cross’s eyes start to drift shut, feeling utterly content.
“There you go,” Killer says, the purr making his voice sound thick and smug. “Feel better?”
Cross barely manages an affirmative hum, before his mind tips back into the pleasant haze he’s found himself in. Cross feels a heady warmth travel up the length of his spine, making him shiver pleasantly. Everything that’s not Killer’s steady presence recedes into the background. The anxious noise in his head fades to almost nothing. Cross can’t remember the last time it was anything besides a dull roar.
Cross makes a quiet, inquisitive noise when the vibrations pulsing above him slow to a stop. He tries to blink himself out of the haze he’s settled into, but everything remains stubbornly fuzzy around the edges.
Killer gazes down at him with that same strange expression from earlier. “You’re purring.”
Puzzled, Cross brings up his hand to touch his throat. It feels like a jet engine.
“It’s really fucking loud, dude,” Killer snorts. If he didn’t know any better, Cross would say that he almost seems impressed.
Afraid to speak, Cross settles firmly back into the couch and retaliates by purring even harder. Killer was right. It’s really loud.
Cross feels Killer shake above him with poorly restrained laughter, but he can’t bring himself to care. Especially when Killer returns his purring with nearly equal amounts of enthusiasm, rubbing his cheek against Cross’s shoulder like a big, weird cat. Warmth settles deep in his bones and the feeling of safety swells up so strongly within him that he’d be suspicious of it in any other context.
It feels good to see Killer so comfortable. Cross realizes that he so desperately wants Killer to be happy, that he wants to be the one to make him happy.
Cross loses track of time. After a while, Cross can hear Killer’s purring slowly starting to peter out again, slipping gradually towards unconsciousness. Cross realizes he isn’t far behind.
Killer’s body is pressed securely against him. Grounding, but not suffocating. Safe with him.
He’s okay. They’re okay.