krempuff | Seeking some thrills, I been wanting one more

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Seeking some thrills, I been wanting one more

It was late when the Fight Club broke, or early, depending on how you looked at it. Krem was sore, aching, starting to get that shake in his limbs that spoke of the adrenaline finally leaking out of his systems. He took the collection of weaponry he'd taken out to the grounds back to his apartment, just so they were collected and safely stored. And then, too agitated to be alone, he walked.

His legs and lungs were aching. When he stopped, he was standing in front of the Bramford. He slid his hands over his gym slacks, realized he was wearing a pair that didn't have pockets and that he hadn't brought his phone anywhere with him. That was stupid of him.

It was late. He should, he knew, just go back home.

But then, aching, he was standing in front of Thomas's door. He knocked, hard enough that it would be able to be heard all the way back to the bedroom--he knew the acoustics of the inside of Thomas's apartment well by now--but almost hoping that Thomas would be asleep, and able to sleep through the noise of him coming by. If he didn't answer within a couple moments, Krem would go.

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Thomas had been sleeping. He'd fallen into a fairly comfortable doze a few hours ago and was now standing on that edge of dozing and deep sleep when the knock permeated his sleep.

He jerked, nearly falling out of bed. He rubbed at his eyes and peered around the darkened room. Someone had knocked. Someone was at his door. It was late, he could tell that by the darkness in the room and the moonlight spilling in through the window.

Grabbing some measure of alertness, Thomas scrambled out of bed and stumbled to his door. He pulled it open and peered blearily at his visitor.

"Krem?"

Krem looked up from staring at his feet. He could feel his face, tight with the bruises of fighting, but he hadn't bothered to look at the mess he must have been when he'd stopped in at his apartment. Most of the worst of the bruising was on his ribs and stomach and legs, and he could feel all of those blossoming tremendously.

Thomas looked blurry with sleep, rumpled, confused. Krem smiled as best he could.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured. "I know it's an odd hour. I just...it was quiet. I couldn't stand the quiet tonight."

"Why do you look like you just got hit by a shucking truck?" Thomas mumbled, stepping aside and gesturing Krem inside. He didn't think he'd slept through something major, hadn't heard screaming or the sounds of fighting from outside but Krem looked terrible.

"Is everything all right?" he asked once Krem was inside and Thomas could shut and lock the door. "Are you all right?"

Krem thumbed at his lip, impressed to find the ring still carefully intact. He probably should have considered a different piece of jewelry tonight, but it was too late now. At least it hadn't busted his lip or been ripped out.

"Yes, everything's fine," Krem assured, a bit absently. He leaned against the wall by the door for a moment, toeing off his shoes. The exhaustion was leaking in on the edges astoundingly now.

"Fight club," he said. He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them, breathing easily, slowly. "I went a little harder than I ought to have."

Thomas shook his head but didn't say anything about fight club or Krem's activities. If it was something he needed to do, he should do it but Thomas didn't really like to see him come dragging in here with battered and bruised.

"Any reason why you did that?" he asked around a yawn. "Something motivate you into doing things a little more harder than necessary?"

"Because I can take it," Krem said. He reached out and cupped the side of Thomas's neck, gentle, smiling as he yawned. The softness of sleep suited him so well, dampened some of the lines of worry and strain from his face, made him look young and careless.

"Still a lot of stress from the past couple weeks. Lots of people needed this. And I can take a beating." He smudged his thumb softly along the underside of Thomas's jaw. "Can we lay down? I'm exhausted."

"Just because you can take a beating doesn't mean you should let everyone beat the shuck out of you," Thomas admonished lightly. He smiled sadly, hating that there was still so much tension clinging to Krem.

"Do you want to take a shower or something first?" Thomas asked. "I'm sure I've got some clothes you can wear if you need to change."

"Not everyone," Krem assured, still gently smudging his thumb against Thomas's jaw. He stepped away from the wall, closer to him, and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to his mouth, hoping that the taste of blood from the inside of his mouth wasn't present on his lips.

"If I can? More to get the dust and sweat off." Not that he hadn't been sweaty in Thomas's bed, but he felt grimy at the moment, in a way that spoke of the cling of dirt to his skin. It was different than just being a little sweaty.

"Almost everyone then," Thomas mumbled against his lips. He sighed quietly before stepping back, not wanting to get too caught up in kissing and Krem before he had a shower and was comfortable.

"Come on," he said, reaching to grab his wrist and tug him back towards the bathroom. "Go start the water, I'll get you some clothes. There should be soap and stuff in there already."

With that, he padded into his bedroom to try and find some clothes that would be comfortable for Krem.

Krem let himself be led into the bedroom, peeling off to go to the bathroom. He stripped just inside the door, not bothering with the door. Thomas had seen everything about him. Adding bruises to that tapestry didn't actually change the canvas itself. Beside, most of them were only just starting to turn from new red to the blues and purples of deep tissue and the hours they'd been on his body.

He started the shower, steaming but not outrageously hot, and ducked into it. The difference between the heat of the water and the chill of the night made more of a difference than the sting of it hitting his bruises. Still, to keep from bruising any more or spreading the ones he had, he made quick work, washing up with Thomas's soap and sighing as he let himself luxuriate only a little in the heat of the water relaxing his aching shoulders.

When he stepped out, carefully drying off, he found he was even more exhausted than he'd expected. He checked himself in the mirror. Bruises and a few cuts littered his skin, but they were all mostly superficial. He didn't feel like anything was broken or displaced. He cupped his hand under the faucet to catch some water and washed out his mouth quickly; he didn't spit up blood, which was encouraging in and of itself.

Still, his bruises and stomach were especially bruised, and his joints ached miserably. He stepped out of the bathroom, pulling his shorts on but nothing else for the moment, heading straight for Thomas's bed and collapsing into it.

Thomas was moving around his room quietly, picking up discarded clothes and locking windows when Krem found his way and face planted on his bed. For a second, Thomas just watched him lay there, wondering if he was already asleep.

"How did you even make it over here when you're this tired?" he asked, tossing a tee shirt onto his back and coming closer. "I'm surprised you didn't just pass out on the street."

"It just sort of hit me," Krem murmured. He rolled over and grabbed the tshirt that Thomas had thrown onto him. He pulled it on and sighed, curling on his side.

"Come here?" He reached out for Thomas.

"Give me a second," Thomas asked, disappearing out of the room again. He didn't stay gone too long and returned holding a water bottle that he handed to Krem.

Then, he slipped back into bed, pressing his face against his pillow.

"Drink something," he murmured. "You're going to be shucking sore in the morning."

Krem took the water bottle with a softly murmured thanks, watching Thomas with a soft, affectionate smile. Even just to be here, to not be turned away despite the hour, had softened all the lingering edges of his aggression and tension down to a smooth, dull roar, down to where he needed it. As Thomas settled back into bed, Krem cracked into the bottle and drank deeply.

Once he'd finished off about half the bottle, he curled in closer to Thomas's body, tucking himself in. Thomas was right, he was going to be sore and stiff and aching in the morning. But it would be alright.

He pressed a kiss to Thomas's shoulder, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was coming."

"It's all right," Thomas said, curling an arm around Krem even as he settled into the mattress and relaxed. Sleep was still clinging to him, making him uncoordinated and slow. He knew he'd be pulled back down pretty quick once they both settled down.

"You're just lucky I'm not some deep sleeper," he remarked with a sleepy laugh. "You might have been left out there to take a nap against my door or something. Maybe a neighbor would have invited you in."

The comfortable weight and warmth of Thomas's arm unraveled even more of the lingering poor, rough feelings in Krem's chest and he settled in as close as he could possibly get. One of his arms wound around Thomas as well and he sighed comfortably.

"I would've excused myself before then," he said softly. Gone to Hild's or Adaline's, or not, maybe just home. But he wanted to be here, with Thomas. He wanted to wake up in this bed when the morning came, even if Thomas had already headed out for a run. "But I'm glad you got up."

He kissed his shoulder again, yawned and nuzzled in, mumbled a helpless little, "Go back to sleep. It's late."

"Too bad," he mumbled already well on his way to falling back to sleep. "It would have been funny to find you on my doorstep in the morning."

He stretched one last time, finding a good, comfortable, warm spot to settle down in and fell quiet. Krem didn't have to tell him twice.

He was asleep again within seconds.

Krem lingered in wakefulness for only a little while afterward, listening to the slow sounds of Thomas's breathing evening out, letting his body get as comfortable as it was going to. There was a familiarity to the aches and pains, something like home, even if the soft bed and the warm body were not. Those were nice and better than home. He fell to a blessedly dreamless sleep curled in against Thomas.

Exhaustion kept him asleep with hours, but he woke to the first hints of light coming in through Thomas's window.

Without opening his eyes, his hand reached out, seeking the water bottle he hadn't finished the night before.

Thomas did not wake up with the first light filtering through the window. Sometimes he did when he wanted to go out for an early run or he had some things to take care of but today was not that day.

He'd flipped onto his belly at some point and his face was pressed into the pillow, hair askew and mouth slightly open. He didn't move when Krem did.

Krem drank his water, set the water bottle aside and then, finally, opened his eyes. He laid there, watching Thomas's sleeping face in the quiet, early light. He looked peaceful, carefree, relaxed of the wear of stress and strain and worry. Krem gently smoothed his fingers against his hair, though there was no arranging it really; it was unruly with sleep, and too much attention would definitely rouse Thomas.

He felt like he'd been hit like a truck. It was a sort of spectacularly miserable feeling. He probably looked even worse, and knew it was only going to get worse from there.

The touch, light as it was, still made Thomas shift and stretch slightly. He didn't come awake, not all the way, but he was a little more alert than he had been. He fought against it, of course, because sleep was a rare thing for him but it was going to be futile in the end.

Deep sleep turned into dozing and soon enough, Thomas was rubbing at his eyes with his hands, just barely hanging onto the last dregs of his snooze.

Thomas's breathing changed first, before he stirred or started to rub at his eyes. Krem considered stopping his gentle rearrangement of Thomas's unruly, sleep tousled hair. By then, Thomas was already rubbing at his eyes, making protesting sleepy noises that dragged a breathy chuckle out of Krem.

He burrowed into the blankets, into Thomas's warmth, despite the ache in his body. He snuck an arm under Thomas's chest and cast the other one over his back, holding him close. Even though he'd stayed over before, they had always been planned occasions, and there was something so tender, so wholesome about the spontaneity of this. Something honest about it.

"Sorry," he whispered, like he could lull Thomas back to sleep rather than rouse him further with his voice. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Why are you awake already?" Thomas mumbled, finding himself swimming up to the surface and shucking hating it. There weren't many times that he went through nights without having a terrible dream so when he did, he tried stubbornly to preserve them.

"Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, half dead because of what you did to yourself yesterday?" he asked, sighing and tucking himself up against Krem. "Go back to sleep, you shank."

"I can let you go back to sleep," Krem murmured, even as Thomas was tucking and pressing in close. It was hard to imagine sleeping, now that he was awake, but he was always like that when he was awake. He'd been like that for years.

"You can even kick me out of bed if you want."

But he didn't think Thomas would, not really. If--or when, more likely--he got out of this bed, it wouldn't be because Thomas forced him out.

"I'm not going to kick you out," Thomas told him, shaking his head. He was undecided on the whole going back to sleep thing. If he waited too long, he'd be awake and he wasn't sure if he wanted that or if he wanted to get a few more hours.

"Why'd you fight so many people last night?" Thomas asked, not sure if he'd asked that last night or not. "Were there not enough people to go around? You probably would have saved yourself some pain."

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