Fanfic: Harbor (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: Harbor
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Fox/Collin
Spoilers: -
Summary: Collin comes home.
Word Count: 1379
Date First Posted: 08-01-2003
Date Revised: 25-05-2011
Beta: Tink.
Awards: -
Notes: Collin POV. The flip side to Removed. Again, apart from looking at some grammatical things, I didn't touch the structure of this one, I'm too happy with how it currently sits. I like my Collin-voice, in this. Now these are both listed as F/C fics, but I think it's still technically before they became a couple, if I'm remembering correctly. They're just very close, and Collin really needs the physical and emotional support at these times, which Fox is only too happy to provide. They were written in conjunction with the events going on in the Fox and Collin LJs at the time, however, and I believe in that and the comics they were slowly getting closer in the romantic sense. But not quite there yet :)
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ

He throws his keys down on the table and gives me the dazzling smile he's been giving me since I got to his parents' place yesterday. I don't really mind, though. I give him a small smile in return and leave the room to dump my sports bag on my bed.

It's good to be home.

Some time spent at the Maharassa's had been good. I got to hang out with Fatima, Mrs Maharassa cooked fabulous food, and I helped, and Mr Maharassa took me down into his workshop and showed me his new tinkerings.

But most of my time was spent with Fox. After our little reunion in the driveway -- which I'm glad no one else was around to see -- we wrestled and joked, played basketball badly, and dozed curled up on the rug in front of the TV watching B-grade movies.

In less than one day, he made up for all of the fucking garbage I'd had to put up with in the previous five.

"I'm having a shower," I announce to him from the bedroom, before grabbing a change of clothes and walking into the bathroom. I close the door behind me, studiously ignoring my reflection.

With many students still away for the holidays, there is no shortage of hot water. I take the time to wash my hair, and stand under the spray, head up and eyes closed until the water starts to seep under my eyelids. I drop my chin to my chest and let the water pelt the back of my neck.

It feels wonderful, but I eventually make my way out. Changing into my warm clothes, I walk back out into our main living room, still towel drying my hair.

Fox has set his desk chair in the middle of the room, and dragged over the small table that usually sits on the other side of the sofa. On it are a pair of gloves, a comb, some plastic, and the small jar of hair dye he bought from the drug store on the way back.

My steps slowly carry me to the chair where I sit down. Fox comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. He gives me his dazzling smile once again, and something about it melts me just a little more when he sees I am sitting in his chair.

He moves behind me and puts the towel I was drying my hair with around my shoulders. I feel his fingers comb through my hair, separating some specific damp strands. It wouldn't be hard to tell the newly-bleached pale stripe from the rest of my hair.

I see him pick up the small jar of dye and the plastic just before I close my eyes. His touch is soothing, and lulls me. I don't sleep, but I feel very relaxed as he gently paints my hair.

Fox is very careful. He brushes past me as he walks around, softly humming in his own tuneless Fox way. Skimming a touch of his forearm, or his cloth-covered chest... hearing him and smelling him and feeling him. It's familial and it restores my sanity.

He continues until he finishes the job properly. I reluctantly blink my eyes open when finished. Fox looks down to me with a soft smile on his handsome face. Without words, we both walk over to the couch. He sits down and flicks on the tv, while I settle myself next to him, my arm looped with his, hands touching.

I curl my feet on the couch and lean in. Almost immediately, I swear. I forgot that the dye was still wet. A blue liquid line is currently soaking its way into his grey shirt. I begin to get up to look for a damp cloth but he stops me.

"It's ok," he says gently. He pulls the towel from around my neck and settles it against his chest, before guiding me back down. I rest my head against him, protected by the towel, and snake one arm around his waist. We watch tv and wait for the dye to set.

I hear my name being spoken softly. In a way that actually makes me like it. "Collin." I blink my eyes open slowly. Damnit, I must have fallen asleep.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he actually sounds sorry. I never fail to marvel at Fox's guileless sincerity. "It's time to wash the dye out. Do you feel like taking another shower?"

I'm warm and comfortable, and though my earlier shower felt particularly good, I don't want to give up the comfort I have right now. I lift my head somewhat groggily and shake it.

Fox is amiable. "Ok. Come with me." He shifts my weight off him, takes my hands and helps me to stand. He holds my hands for a moment longer before dropping them. I watch him as he drags his desk chair from the centre of the room to the bathroom. I follow him curiously.

He sets up the chair with the backrest towards the sink, and then looks up at me expectantly. Fox smiles a little and gives the chair a flourishing gesture. Fox is not stupid, but he's definitely not one for practical and useful brainstorms. But sometimes, just sometimes, I think he's the smartest person I've ever met.

I walk to the bathroom without pause and sit down. He takes the stained towel and puts it on the sink between the porcelain and my neck. The stretch back is a little uncomfortable, but that slight discomfort is more than made up for when the nicely warm water starts streaming through my hair.

My eyes flutter closed. His fingertips work through the strands, washing them, but not only that, they make contact with pressure points in my skull. He massages and presses until tightness and pain that I didn't even know was in my head seeps out into the water like so much blue hair dye.

Fox has the hands of a lover. I imagine that they have been able to elicit a response from anyone he has ever touched. Their contact never fails to make you feel. They are supple and tender, and linger in the right spots every time. They are the only hands that make me feel.

As they drain the tension out, they also seem to drain my strength. The water stops, his hands leave, and I am stirred from my neck-cricking but happy place. He looks down on me and I can see a lot of things. I can see how much he loves me. I only hope he can get the same satisfaction from my expression.

He helps me up again, seeing as all of my limbs have turned to lime jello. The towel once again is utilized and he helps me dry my hair. I feel like I'm about six years old, but that diminutive of my age isn't a bad thing for once. Not this time.

We walk into our bedroom and he steers me towards my bed. I pull back the covers and climb in. The sheets are a little cold, but I'm so happy to be there I don't care for the moment. Fox pulls them up around me, using his hand to rub and warm me a little. My eyes are closed but I feel him start to pull away.

"No," I say, and it stops him. I pull the covers back a little and shuffle over. It's the middle of the day, I know, and he's probably not even fucking tired, but I hope against hope that he lies down next to me so that I can doze knowing everything's not just a dream.

There is a soft noise that I identify as Fox toeing his sneakers off before the side of my bed dips under his weight and arms that are never cold wrap around me. I turn in his embrace and lodge my head underneath his chin. He laughs softly, huskily, and lets me clutch him as tightly as I want.

And it doesn't matter how much I hate Hollywood cinema or the vacillating musicals of old; they did get one thing right.

There's no place like home.

~finis