Chapter Text
Dr. Kevin Cozner was a volcano of emotion, ready to erupt at the tiniest provocation. He did not know what to do with his hand, which was still clutching his phone, its hard edges digging into his palm. Through a mist of helpless rage mixed with dread, he reread the text message he had just received:
Dear Kevin,
due to further unforeseen incidents I have no choice but to postpone my flight to Paris indefinitely. I will call you as soon as I have taken care of these pressing matters here.
Love, your husband, Raymond Holt.
Then he read it a third time, gritting his teeth.
After the fourth reread he actively had to fight the urge to throw his phone against the wall.
Finally, with a sigh of frustration and despair, Kevin closed the application and, allowing himself a modicum of drama, let himself fall onto his bed. Lying there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, he contemplated calling his husband to confront him with the questions eating at him.
However, Kevin realized, as his tired hand pocketed his phone, if he called, there might be answers, and he did not know if he could handle them.
***
Originally, Raymond had been scheduled to arrive Friday evening. Now he wasn’t coming, and so Kevin found himself alone in the apartment he rented with only his sadness, anger and despair for company.
Truly he did not know how or when things had taken precisely this turn. Had their relationship soured the very moment he had first brought up the topic of a semester in Paris? Perhaps. He still remembered the expression on Raymond’s face, subtle surprise shifting into consternation. “A semester in Paris,” Raymond had echoed. Then, “A semester?” His frown deepening in tandem with the tone of his voice, “In Paris?”
Kevin’s suggestion had been ripped apart and transformed into two questions, each one loaded. Too long, too far away. Those had been Raymond’s main arguments during his hastily put together closing statement at the end of their debate on the issue. Actually, they had been his only arguments.
“Why leave for six months? Wouldn’t four weeks suffice?”
“A semester is six months, Raymond, you know that. If I want a teaching position I have to stay for the semester.”
“You have a teaching position here; you are head of your department. Why travel thousands of miles to do what you are already doing here? It makes no sense to me.”
“It is not the same thing at all. As much as I love Columbia, I could use a change of scenery. And the Sorbonne--”
“If it’s a change of scenery you want, why not go teach at Harvard for a semester?”
“Well, they have not offered--”
“I’m sure they would.”
“Raymond, that is not the point--”
“Or any other school here in the United States, such as Yale, Princeton, Cornell, Wellesley--”
“Raymond, please stop listing universities. I have been offered a teaching position at the Sorbonne for a semester and that is what we are discussing, not some hypothetical semester at a college here in the States.”
***
Raymond had never actually said the words I don’t want you to go. He had not said, please stay.
Quite frankly, Kevin did not know if it would have made a difference. He had wanted to go. He had felt he needed this time to focus on himself and his career.
To Raymond, he had presented several more or less scientific articles on the positive effects of periods of separation on long term relationships, which he had concluded with the well-known quote from Sextus Propoertius’ Elegies: semper in absentis felicior aestus amantis. Kevin had felt good about the points he had made. He had not once brought up the NYPD, nor the sacrifices he had made for Raymond’s career.
It would have been unfair, he thought, to tell Raymond about the opportunities he had missed early on in his own career by staying in New York. Because Kevin had made these choices gladly, he had been in love with Raymond and he had known he would not have been able to take any pleasure in his work if it meant being separated from Raymond.
Kevin had also not mentioned the times Raymond had been away on undercover missions, long periods Kevin had spent worried and miserable, waiting for his partner’s uncertain return. Those assignments had not been Raymond’s choice and there had been no way for him to refuse, therefore Kevin could not blame him.
Ergo, Kevin had been reasonable during their debate. He had won ‘fair and square’, as they said, and Raymond had no right to be as bitter and hurt as he now seemed.
***
For the first couple of weeks, they had been fine. Raymond had won the squash tournament with Detective Boyle, they’d talked every night, they’d planned Raymond’s visit, which, secretly, Kevin had thought of as something like a second honeymoon.
Then, seven weeks into his Paris semester, Raymond had told him that the fourteen day visit they had envisioned was no longer possible. He had contracted the mumps and had been forced to quarantine for nine days, which had completely thrown off his work schedule.
“A week,” he had said, “I will most definitely be able to come for a week.”
It had been a shock to Kevin, but he had recovered because he was happy in Paris, so happy, in fact, that he felt almost guilty about it.
After that, the fighting had started.
***
Kevin could not have said exactly what had triggered their first spat. Perhaps it had been some offhand remark about the house needing repairs or about some nosy neighbor commenting on Kevin’s long absence. Whatever it had been, it had made the vague feeling of guilt solidify; suddenly Kevin had felt its pressure on his chest, accompanied by the certainty that Raymond had placed it there on purpose.
He had been irritated, and had pointed out that he would return, he was not gone forever and that he would take care of things when he did, the way he had always done before he had gone to France.
He had not explicitly claimed that he was the one who did the majority of the housework - they did have a housekeeper who came in twice a week - though between him and Raymond he most certainly was, and Raymond could not have denied this.
He had also withstood the temptation to tell his husband that he could just imagine him sitting in his own filth and sulking like a toddler, listening to Wagner perhaps while composing a list of Kevin’s faults and offenses in iambic pentameter.
What Kevin had said, with some starch in his voice, was, “Remind me then to clean the gutters when I get back.”
“I will do no such thing. I will hire someone to do that tomorrow.”
“Why? That’s unnecessary. I can do it myself; I have done it before.” Besides, Raymond would not hire anyone. He would go to work, get wrapped up in whatever the shenanigans of the week were, and forget all about the gutters, and even if he didn’t, the last time he had tried to phone a company, they had hung up on him because they had mistaken him for a robocall.
“You will fall off the roof and break your neck,” Raymond had said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the one being ridiculous. There are three-hundred deaths from ladder falls per year in the U.S. alone.”
“And each year, there are 12,000 stairway accident deaths. Should I therefore not use our stairs anymore?” Kevin had posed the question sardonically, but it had prompted a moment of contemplative silence on the other end. “Raymond,” he had said quickly to disperse whatever absurd thoughts were festering in his husband’s mind, “it would be a waste of money to hire someone to do such a small task when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
“We have enough money. You are being too stingy, even for a W.A.S.P.”
Kevin had set his jaw. “Stop, this is a serious discussion. You’re being inappropriate and I won’t have it.”
“And yet I’m not the one whose mind seems to be constantly in the gutter.”
“How dare you,” Kevin had snapped, outraged at the admittedly hilarious pun, and then he had ended the call immediately, without any kind of goodbye.
***
Recalling these events now, Kevin found that anger and frustration could not withstand the budding fear and sadness sprouting from their midst. Was his marriage crumbling? And what if it was?
Raymond was not coming.
Swallowing the lump of despair rising in his throat, Kevin pulled the phone from his pocket to glance at the screen. Raymond was smiling up at him, happy and carefree with Cheddar in his arms. It was such a rare snapshot of Raymond’s million-watt smile, one he had had to swear he would never show Jake because Raymond thought he looked undignified. Kevin loved that picture. He loved Raymond. Despite the disappointment, despite the anxiety, despite the anger, the fact remained that he loved his husband.
There were no new messages.
With another sigh, Kevin rose from the bed. He tried to smooth his hopelessly creased tan dress slacks and green flannel shirt but gave up after a few seconds. Why bother? No one would see him.
He went into the kitchen, where he retrieved the bottle of Château Mouton he had procured to celebrate Raymond’s arrival. After opening the wine to let it breathe, he dragged himself over to his desk and sat down in front of his laptop. Then, he started cancelling each and every one of the reservations he had made for the week he had been planning to spend with his husband. As he did this, he thought, screw this, and went back to the kitchen. He grabbed the open bottle, eyed the cabinets for a guilty second, then thought, screw this once more and took a long drink straight from the open bottle.
There was very little satisfaction in this, in drinking dramatically without anyone there to observe his despair. He wanted Raymond to witness this almost as much as he never wanted him to witness this. That, after all these years, Raymond Holt still had this much power over his emotions was truly vexing…
After two, if he was honest with himself, performative drafts from the bottle, Kevin had had his fill. He was not the kind of man who would drink himself into a stupor alone in a tiny two-room apartment in Paris. He paced the length of the wall and thought about how the comparatively cheap rent had been one of the selling points of his semester in France. He was making a lot more money than he was spending.
Not that he hadn’t been making an almost obscene amount of money anyway. Raymond had had one thing right, he really was a stingy W.A.S.P.
“Bzzz,” he said to the empty apartment, then, scandalized at himself, wondered if he was already intoxicated or merely losing his mind.
He missed Cheddar. Were he at home now and this upset, Cheddar would comfort him. Here, he was alone. No fluffy boy pawing at his leg to get his attention. There was only the landlord’s dog, whom Kevin had been trying to befriend, an elderly dachshund named Chirac, who would accept Kevin’s treats one day, then growl and snap at his fingers the next. Duplicitous bitch, Raymond would have said, were he here.
But he wasn’t.
And, lest Kevin forget, he would not be coming either.
***
Kevin had a dismal night. He slept fitfully, woke up groggy and borderline hungover despite how little he had actually drunk. Saturday morning he had no messages from Raymond and when he tried to call, it went straight to voicemail. He was almost relieved when it did, as he did not know what he would say to his husband.
He thought idly about going out to buy a pack of cigarettes, Gauloises, unfiltered, the kind that would bring Raymond close to apoplexy if he caught Kevin smoking them. Even the pipe at home was off limits now, since were Kevin brave enough to light up, his husband would inevitably appear as though conjured from another realm to gaze at him in judgment and recite cancer rates in his grave voice.
It was more than simple defiance that made him want to smoke, however, it was a need to do something, to combat this ache in his heart. He wanted to suck in tobacco smoke as though it was incense, as though it could exorcise whatever evil spirits had possessed him when during one of their recent conversations he had accused Raymond of harboring a secret aversion to bow ties.
Kevin stalked across his small study in his creased dress slacks and flannel shirt - he had slept in his underwear and slipped into the outfit he had worn the night before because nothing seemed to matter anymore - to pick up the cellphone he had tossed onto the armchair in the corner after he had been unable to reach Raymond.
He tried again now, still unsure what he would say. I love you, yes, that undeniable truth would certainly make its way past his lips this time. He would not hold it back; he would swallow his pride and let it go. And then what? If you want me to, I’ll drop everything and come home. No, he couldn’t. He could not go that far. Raymond would not ask that of him. But perhaps he had to say it, perhaps Raymond needed to hear it. What if Raymond called his bluff, though?
Kevin needn’t have worried, however, as the message played again: the number you have called is currently unavailable.
With a sigh, he tossed the phone back into the armchair where it bounced off the cushions and clattered to the floor. “Merde,” he said and went to pick it up and inspect it for damage. He marvelled at himself. Here he was, throwing his phone around when at home, he could not bear to toss even a banana peel into a trashcan. But the device had offended him, it was supposed to be his connection to his husband, his Stentor, and yet it had proven useless.
He was crouching down when he heard them, footsteps on the stairs, heavy and familiar. It could not be, but from the way Kevin's heart leapt into his throat, faster than his body could leap to the door, he knew it had to be.
It was Raymond.
Kevin had the door open before his husband could knock. Raymond was standing there, a look on his face Kevin knew only too well. Determination and apprehension. He was bracing himself for whatever was to come, looking too large, all together too real in the bright midday sun shining through the window behind him.
Kevin was grateful that his knees did not buckle from the rush of surprise and exasperation he felt. He had to be gaping like a fish.
“Hello, Kevin,” Raymond said. One of his hands was loosely curled around the handle of his wheeled suitcase, the other reached out now to shake Kevin’s. Kevin ignored it. He grabbed his husband by his lapel and pulled him across the threshold, suitcase and everything. Mid-pull he spun them around and kicked the door shut. He pushed Raymond against the wall of his narrow hallway, dislodging a framed Monet print and sending it crashing to the floor.
Kevin did not care. Raymond was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock, his lips parting to say something Kevin would never hear because he preferred to press himself flush against his husband and cut him off with a kiss.
***
Raymond’s lips were sinfully soft if a little dry from the flight. Kevin rejoiced in their subtle movement against his, in the way they readily opened for him. He had missed this so much, he thought, as he slipped his hands under Raymond’s coat. It was too heavy for the weather - it must have been freezing in New York - and Raymond was hot under it, his skin warming Kevin’s palms even through the fabric of his shirt.
Raymond was pushing back against him now, not exactly fighting Kevin as he tried to maneuver them towards the bedroom, but attempting to get some control of the situation.
Kevin was not having this. He was still angry; he was still afraid. His heart was pounding violently. He felt like a small bird trapped inside a fist. He did not yet know whether he was to be saved or crushed. The only thing he knew was that Raymond was kissing him back just as desperately, that the space between them seemed too small even for their harsh breaths, and yet was still too wide a chasm. He needed to be closer.
He almost tripped over Raymond’s feet as he pushed them along the wall, past the bathroom door - Raymond winced a little when he bumped into the door handle - vaguely into the direction of the bedroom.
They managed to shed Raymond’s coat along the way, though for some reason, Raymond was still dragging his suitcase, which was now tangled in the coat.
“Kevin,” Raymond gasped as soon as Kevin was forced to stop for a much needed breath. His free hand settled on Kevin’s waist, gently trying to hold him at a distance. Kevin nuzzled into his cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t,” he said. “Not now.”
To give his plea more weight, he reached between them, his hand shamelessly cupping Raymond’s crotch. Raymond growled, the vibrations of the sound travelling through his body into Kevin’s, who shivered in response, his knees going weak. In that topsy-turvy moment, Raymond flipped them and pressed Kevin against the wall. He rocked his hips into the palm of Kevin’s hand at the same time that he captured his lips in a kiss.
Kevin closed his eyes, bedroom momentarily forgotten. He heard the suitcase topple over, then Raymond’s hands were on him, tugging his shirt out of his pants as his tongue slipped into Kevin’s mouth to steal his breath. In retaliation, Kevin squeezed Raymond’s erection through his pants. His other hand was busy groping his husband’s magnificent behind.
Raymond was more efficient. Once the shirt was untucked, he popped open the button on Kevin’s pants and lowered the zipper without breaking their kiss. Breathless, Kevin bucked against him, at once eager for and frustrated with what little friction his erection could receive through still too many layers of fabric. He wrapped his arms around Raymond’s neck, so desperate he was almost ready to beg.
Raymond’s dark eyes were open, looking directly into his. Kevin felt feverish with lust and helpless in his husband’s arms. Raymond moved them through the next open door, which led into the study. Kevin did not care much that his pants were sliding down his hips with every step. He needed all of his coordination to unbutton Raymond’s shirt as Raymond walked him backwards without knowing where they were going.
Neither of them had enough attention to spare for their surroundings. Kevin tripped again, this time over some bunched up fabric, which he kicked away, while Raymond tugged on his boxers. His pants were around his knees. He stepped on something that made a cracking noise as Raymond attempted to back him against a wall again for purchase. Kevin had finally undone his husband’s trousers when he stumbled and, in a flailing attempt to keep from falling, knocked a stack of books off his desk. He heard Raymond tut as he was caught and pushed firmly down onto the floor.
Kevin found himself staring up at Raymond, who was kneeling over him. He wondered what his husband saw in his no doubt ridiculous, flushed face that made his eyes turn so dark with lust. Raymond’s shirt was hanging open over his bare chest; his trousers were undone. Even after all these years, Kevin could barely look at him for fear his heart might leap out of his chest.
He moved in for another kiss and Raymond met him halfway with just as much urgency as before. One of Raymond’s hands cupped the back of Kevin’s neck, the other was rummaging around somewhere, and when Kevin opened his eyes, he realized in breathless wonder that his husband had dug a bottle of lube out of the suitcase he had so deviously dragged along.
Kevin gave him a look. One that said, I cannot believe you thought you would get laid after everything you said to me on the phone.
Raymond returned his look and added a tiny, smug lift of his eyebrows that Kevin read as, Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?
Kevin had no choice but to huff an exasperated laugh and pull him down for another kiss.
***
He closed his eyes against the burn, his body going rigid despite himself. Raymond’s breath was hot on the back of his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The creaky wooden floor chafed his skin with every push.
Still this feeling after years and years, of offering himself up and trusting blindly, being so vulnerable. But he knew Raymond now, he thought, as well as any person could know another.
And Raymond was always careful and gentle, even now in this strange haze of impatience and need, he went slow, and touched Kevin like he was precious.
“Are you alright, dear?” he always asked, though there was really no need to anymore.
“Yes,” Kevin replied despite the fact that Raymond could tell just as well without words.
He pushed back against his husband, feeling him slide in deep and perfect. Raymond’s arm wrapped around his chest; his other hand was on Kevin’s hip.
Kevin rested his cheek on his forearm to look up over his shoulder. There was always this expression of deep concentration on Raymond’s face, a sort of fascination too, as he lifted himself to stare at the point where they were connected.
And Kevin always blushed when he thought of his body so exposed. Then bit his lip when Raymond started to move in earnest and released him to brace himself on the floor. The brunt of his weight was still on Kevin though, who did not mind, who soaked in his husband’s heat.
This was pleasure. The discomfort of lying on his stomach on the floor next to a pile of books and a suitcase that looked gutted with clothes and toiletries bulging out of it like entrails only added to it.
This was what he had needed, the raw intimacy of Raymond inside him, driving out doubt and fear and anger, leaving no room for anything but immediate sensation.
Their harsh breathing accelerating almost in time with his heartbeat. Raymond leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to the nape of his neck. Kevin pinned to the floor by his husband’s weight and Raymond rocking into him in his firm and sure rhythm. He could not even really touch himself like this and suspected he wouldn’t need to, not when he could feel and hear Raymond’s pleasure so clearly and draw his own from it.
Back when they were young, back when he knew virtually nothing, Kevin had known one thing, that this intensity, this feeling of too much and not enough, of coming apart and being held together, that this was love and that he could let go of everything else but this.
***
When Raymond came, he buried his face in Kevin’s shoulder, wrapping one arm around Kevin and all but collapsing on top of him. The air was driven from Kevin’s lungs. He managed a soft “Ooof” and almost blacked out.
Raymond rolled off him immediately, his hands coming up to cup Kevin’s face. He looked so worried and appalled at himself that Kevin smiled and kissed him.
“I’m fine,” he said, turning over onto his back, “but…” and he quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at his erection.
“Of course,” Raymond replied as though Kevin had actually voiced his request. He proceeded to kiss down Kevin’s chest, his clever hands following the path his mouth was taking and Kevin lay back and let him do as he pleased.
And what a miracle, that this should please Raymond as much as it pleased Kevin.
***
On the floor, after Kevin had gasped and shuddered through the haze of pleasure and his fingers were merely idly stroking Raymond’s head instead of clutching at it, Kevin looked around.
Sunlight was slanting in through the window, illuminating the path of destruction they had carved through the apartment. Next to the pile of fabric that was Raymond’s coat, dragged all the way to the door of the study, lay the object Kevin had stepped on.
Raymond’s phone, its screen badly cracked.
He turned his head to look at his husband who had pulled away to settle next to him, on his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
Raymond had pulled up his trousers, but his shirt was still open and, Kevin noticed, somewhat disturbingly, he was wearing one shoe. Clearly, they had both taken leave of their senses.
They needed to get up off the floor and pick up the pieces.
Raymond reached over, slow and deliberate, holding Kevin’s gaze, he cupped Kevin’s cheek and brushed his thumb lovingly along his lips. Kevin looked into his husband’s eyes and knew.
They would.