Archive of Our Own

“Where are we going?” Tommy laughed, one arm held slightly out as he was blindly led forward.

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” came Wilbur’s voice beside him; his arm wrapped around his waist, his long strides shortened for his less confident ones.

He rolled his eyes, unseen behind the blindfold Wilbur had slipped over him. “You don’t like surprises,” he reminded him.

“But you do,” he said and Tommy could hear the smile in his voice. “Trust me?”

He leaned further into him, a smile of his own on his lips. “Always.”

As much as he’d tried to hide it from Wilbur, the last few months had been stressful for him. He believed everything he’d said to him but that didn’t stop the unease clawing at him. The police had set up a patrol around the parlor and it’d taken him two months to convince them it was a waste of time as well as bad for his business. He argued that the odds of the Guardian Angel Killer returning was minuscule and the constant police presence was turning off his clients.

The fact that he told him this with the Guardian Angel’s arm around his shoulders was both hilarious and nerve wracking.

They hadn’t looked twice at Wilbur when they came to the parlor to interview him again but it was still a while before he could leave their apartment without looking over his shoulder for an unmarked patrol car. He’d sketched more pig roasts in the last few months than he had in his life and it was only Wilbur’s interference that kept him from sticking them on the windows for all of them to see. If he added a few to his flash, well, that was just his prerogative as an artist, wasn’t it?

Long story short, he was overdue a vacation.

He’d looked at a few places, quiet cabins and secluded rentals only for Wilbur to pull the brochures out of his hands and announce that he’d take care of it. Tommy buried his control freak nature and basked in the quiet happiness he felt at the gesture. He followed his instructions and drove them out of the city to the coast and nearly melted when he led him to an art museum he’d been dying to visit.

Tommy’d practically vibrated out of his skin when he saw they had an entire exhibit dedicated to the history of various indigenous tattooing techniques. Wilbur’d listened to him with such a fond smile on his face as he read the information cards. He’d rambled for hours without pause, peppering in things he knew about the displays that weren’t on the cards.

The whole time, Wilbur let him go on; never complaining as he dragged him to see each display. Tommy made sure to spend extra long in the Egyptian exhibit; gleefully showing him the ancient cat figurines. He also hadn’t said no when he cleared out the gift shop so he easily ruled the trip as his favorite vacation ever.

Dinner had been wonderful too; both of them indulging in their favorites for such a special occasion. They’d playfully complained about their respective kids; his new apprentice Shroud was catching on almost quicker than he could teach and Wilbur’s students seemed to get rowdier every week. He pestered their friend Tubbo and demanded he send them pictures of Milo to make sure he was okay without his dads.

Apparently, Tubbo’s kid Michael was determined to keep an eye on him as well; resolutely following Milo everywhere to make sure he didn’t get lost in the unfamiliar environment and checking on the poor thing if he so much as twitched.

I gotta buy catnip when we get home, he decided. He deserves it.

Tommy was relaxed and happy walking arm in arm with Wilbur back to the hotel; breathing in the warm ocean breeze and watching the stars. When they got there, he expected that they’d have a drink, maybe watch a movie before making their way to the bedroom. Instead, Wilbur told him to get changed.

He’d told him nothing else except to wear something he didn’t mind being ruined. Wilbur wasn’t one for grand gestures outside of his more secretive life; preferring small, constant acts to show his love for him. For him to plan something so elaborate? Tommy was beyond excited.

The salty scent of the ocean grew stronger as they walked, the shrill cries of gulls filling the air.

“Are we at the pier?” Tommy asked but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think they’d walked far enough to get there and it was far too quiet; no shrieking kids or laughing adults. In fact, he hadn’t heard any noise for a while; no cars or people out for a late night stroll.

“Not quite,” Wilbur replied. “There’s a fence coming up, do you think you can get over it?”

“I think you can attest that I’m a pro at getting my leg over,” he grinned.

He snorted and took his hands, placing them on a hip high metal fence. He heard it creak as Wilbur hopped over it and slowly swung his leg over, sitting on top as his foot flailed to try and find the ground again. He tilted a little more and wobbled dangerously on the rickety fence and in his attempt to balance himself again, over-corrected and nearly tipped straight off before he felt Wilbur’s hands on his hips as he lifted him up and brought him over.

“Getting tired halfway through; you’re right, that does sound like you,” he said as he set him down.

“Rude!” He tried to playfully slap him and nearly fell when his hand met nothing but air.

“Elegant,” Wilbur deadpanned and he crossed his arms with a pout.

“I’d like to see you do better,” he grumbled and yelped when Wilbur swatted his ass.

“I just did,” he announced smugly.

I really should’ve expected that. He ignored the tingle of interest in his stomach and continued forward, each crack and tiny pebble making him fear for his life before Wilbur pulled them to a stop. He flinched as a loud rumbling filled the air; a large metal roller door was being opened.

Wilbur took his hand and he was led inside. He stuttered slightly as he stepped from gravel onto some kind of plastic; the surface crinkling beneath his feet. The door rattled again as Wilbur shut it and brought them further in; their steps echoing like they were in a large space.

“Did you rent me a studio space or something?” Tommy tried. “I know I mentioned wanting to get back into paints but this is a lil’ excessive.”

“You’ll see,” he hedged.

“Wilbuuuur,” he whined.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Wilbur teased.

Tommy nudged him; happy this time it actually connected. “Since when have I ever been a virtuous man?”

Wilbur stopped him again, his voice suddenly right next to his ear. “You’re not, but I know you can be a good boy,” he purred, sending shivers down his spine. “So stay.”

Motherfucker. “That’s cheating,” he pouted.

“No,” he said simply, lightly biting the fold of his ear and making his eyes flutter shut beneath the blindfold, “that’s strategy.”

He stepped away and despite Wilbur’s order, the sudden loneliness was almost enough to make Tommy pull the blindfold up. He didn’t like the dark at the best of times but it helped to know that if he really had to, he could take it off and Wilbur wouldn’t be mad at him. He shifted impatiently but he was told to stay and wait so he would.

He heard a light rustling, like buckles being done up then felt Wilbur come up behind him, running his hands up his arms. Tommy could feel how tense he was, his own anticipation building off it. “Okay, you ready?”

“Hell yeah!” he nodded, bouncing on his heels.

The blindfold gave way and Tommy blinked in the sudden light. He rubbed his eyes a little and then gasped as he saw what was in front of him.

They were in some kind of warehouse; the floor covered in large plastic tarps and hanging from the ceiling was a man.

Dirty blond and tall, he’d sweated through his like hoodie and Tommy could see the bruising lining his wrists where the thick rope had dug into his skin. He had a blindfold, gag and headphones on and was trembling with fear but even then, Tommy could still recognize him.

He thought he’d never have to see him again.

“Surprise,” Wilbur murmured.

“Wilbur...” he breathed, staring at the man. “How did you...?”

“You said once that if I were around when you were a kid, you’d call me an angel too,” he said. “When you told me about your fosters...it made me so angry that you had to go through that. So, I figured if I couldn’t be your angel back then, I could be now.”

“Wilbur!” Tommy spun around and brought him into a desperate kiss, pouring as much love into it as he could. Wilbur wrapped his arms around him and held him close.

“Happy anniversary,” Wilbur whispered against his lips.

He’d taken off his scarf, the v-neck of his shirt showing off every single one of his music note tattoos. His knife harness that hadn’t been there when they left the hotel was strapped to his thigh; the silver blades flashing tantalizingly in the light. Tommy drifted his fingers over the leather and looked back at the bound man.

His old foster father.

Dream Taken.

The long healed scars on his back began to ache as he watched him swing in place; welts that hadn’t existed for over a decade burning his skin.

“Wil...I want to. You have no idea how much I want to...” Tommy faltered. “But...what about the police? They’ll look into him and they’ll trace him back to me. They won’t brush it off again.” It was asking too much for them to ignore another connection between him and the Angel.

“Only if his death is credited to the Guardian Angel Killer,” Wilbur told him. He turned to him with a bemused frown. “In three days, his ex-husband will check on him like he does every week and he’ll have quietly disappeared. He won’t know when he went missing and he won’t particularly care. He’ll think he ran off or drank himself to death in some backwoods no-tell-motel and Dream Taken will fade from memory.”

Tommy stared at him, confused hope building in his gut. “But...you like exposing people,” he said. “To make sure their reputation is ruined; that everyone knows what they’ve done.”

“You’ve never wanted other people in your business. I don’t need the world to know what he did to you,” he said simply before his eyes darkened. “I just need him to pay for it.”

The look of rage and hunger sent shivers through him; awakening the instincts he’d nurtured over the past five years. He licked his lips and pulled out one of Wilbur’s knives, holding it up between them. “Do it.”

Wilbur took it with a grin and stalked over to Dream; roughly pulling off his blindfold and headphones. Dream cringed at the light and began to whimper at the sight of them. Wilbur wedged the knife between his face and the gag; easily slicing through the material and leaving a small cut behind. Wilbur had done worse to himself shaving but it was still enough to make Dream cry out.

“Do you recognize the man in front of you?” Wilbur demanded, his voice cold in a way Tommy had never heard. He stepped aside, putting him in full view of Dream.

Tommy stood tall, back straight and head held high and he hoped the rigid stance would be enough to hide the subtle shake taking over his body.

Dream gulped, his eyes flickering between them before jerkily shaking his head. “N-no,” he stuttered. “Please-“

“You should,” Wilbur sneered. “He’s the reason you’re here.”

“W-what? Why are you- I didn’t do anything!” he cried.

Wilbur gave a derisive scoff and turned back to him. “Reintroduce yourself,” he prompted.

It shouldn’t have surprised him; he’d changed a lot over the years but he couldn’t deny the disbelieving anger. This man had hurt him so badly, had made him too afraid to even breathe too loudly in fear of repercussions and he didn’t even have the decency to recognize him.

He took a deep breath and hardened his voice. “Thomas Simons.”

At once, all of the fear drained out of Dream’s eyes; replaced with that all too familiar anger.

“You!” he roared and Tommy couldn’t help his flinch, ice flooding through him. “You’re behind this! Did you hire this prick to scare me you little shit?!”

He forced his hands into fists to keep his arms from wrapping around his stomach. He thought he’d left his fear behind, that it had faded with time but looking into his rage filled eyes, he felt twelve again; small and weak and oh-so afraid.

He felt like if he looked, the alliums that had been so lovingly inked over the worst of his scars would have vanished; leaving nothing but bright red wounds.

Wilbur rounded Dream and punched him; his nose making a sickening crunch as it started spewing blood. “What makes you think all I’m going to do is scare you?” he growled. “Watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out.”

He roughly jammed the gag back into his whimpering mouth and walked back to him. Tommy tried to meet his gaze but he couldn’t take his eyes off Dream; terrified that he’d blink and the man would have freed himself somehow.

“Tommy, you are completely safe,” Wilbur soothed, cupping his cheek. “I promise, I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

He took a shuddering breath and managed to drag his eyes away and meet Wilbur’s. His eyes had lost that dangerous edge and looked at him with the same love they always had.

“I would never let anything happen to you,” he swore.

Tommy forced himself to relax and leaned into his hand; letting his warmth chase away the cold fear. There was one thing in the world he could always count on and that was Wilbur; his love for him, his drive to keep him safe. Nothing could beat that, certainly not the man he’d already hung from the ceiling.

He loved Wilbur more than he feared Dream.

Tommy cupped the side of his neck, his fingers caressing the proof of Wilbur’s capabilities and brought him into a slow kiss. “I know you won’t.”

He rested their foreheads together and stared at the blood that had dripped onto Wilbur’s hand. He smeared the drops with his thumb, watching how it turned their skin pink.

“I didn’t know how involved you wanted to be,” Wilbur murmured, watching the movement. “You don’t have to do anything, you can even go back to the hotel if you want and I’ll handle it-“

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “No, I wanna do stuff.”

He’d thought about it before; what he’d do if he ever had Dream at his mercy. He didn’t have the imagination Wilbur did when it came to exacting punishment but he’d wanted it too long to not be part of it.

Wilbur gave him a soft, happy smile, leaning in for another kiss and he felt himself settle even more. He stepped behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and directed their attention back to Dream. “Now, what does he need to pay for?”

Tommy held on tight to his arms and watched the man that haunted his nightmares. He said the first thing that flashed in his mind. “He...he took all of my jewelry, even what I was wearing,” he recounted. “He said he was fostering a boy, not a bitch.”

It shouldn’t have been such a big thing, shouldn’t stick out so obtrusively among the memories of the true pain Dream caused him. It happened years ago, but he could still remember the way painful hands ripped piercings from his ears. How his skin was red with blood and how he sobbed for hours.

He loved the way he looked. Even when he was a kid, he knew he wanted to make himself into a piece of art. To have his image be forcibly changed...a change that couldn’t be rectified for a long, long time…

Wilbur growled, burying his face in his hair and Tommy knew he understood. “What else?”

He swallowed heavily and leaned back into him as he pushed himself to remember; Wilbur’s arms tightening in response. He’d spent over a decade shoving it all down; he didn’t want to think about any of it.

“He choked me so hard I couldn’t talk for weeks,” he muttered. “If I was being disrespectful then I didn’t deserve to be heard.”

The first time Tommy dabbled in paints, he’d gotten a few drops on the desk in his room. Nothing that couldn’t be cleaned up but he hadn’t noticed them. When Dream came to check his room over, he’d hidden the paints under a loose floorboard but he saw the drops.

He beat him until his ears rung and choked him until his voice died away. It had happened to him before so Tommy thought he could handle it but Dream wasn’t done. He painted over his window; covering the glass in thick, black paint so no light could seep through and took the lightbulb out of the ceiling.

For days, he was locked in a pitch black room, unable to see, hear, or say a thing; the ringing darkness threatening to drown him. He was only let out at night, so even then, he still couldn’t see. He thought he’d go mad in there; his desperate banging on the door being ignored until he finally had a voice again to scream for mercy.

“Everyday, it felt like I lost a piece of myself in that house,” Tommy recounted numbly. “I wasn’t allowed to make any noise. He’d beat me, burn my art if I left it somewhere he could find. He threatened to break my hands if I didn’t stop drawing.”

Wilbur ran his hand soothingly up and down his side. “Do you remember how long you were there?” he asked.

Tommy nodded. He didn’t just remember. He’d carved a tally into the slats under his bed. “Five hundred and thirteen days,” he whispered. “That was when I ran away.”

It never mattered how many he times he turned up to school with fresh bruises and torn clothing; that he never spoke to anyone but signed up for every after school program they offered. He’d flinch if anyone so much as raised their voice and shied away if they came too close. He was a neon sign for child abuse but Dream was a police officer; an upstanding member of a community already praising him for taking in a child that wasn’t his.

His other foster father never so much as laid a hand on him but it was clear as day that she was happy Dream was taking his anger out on someone else for a change. He’d found no help from George.

Tommy could’ve begged for help until he was blue in the face.

No one would’ve saved him.

“Five hundred and thirteen,” Wilbur repeated flatly. Tommy shuddered and and pressed into him as he kissed his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. Are you ready to start?”

He nodded, tingling with a mix of remembered dread and anticipation. “Let’s do this.”

Wilbur stepped out from behind him and the look on his face told Tommy he wasn’t just looking at his lover and best friend.

He was looking at the Guardian Angel Killer.

He took the blade back out of his thigh harness. “You heard him,” he said, voice deceptively mild as he yanked the gag out. “All the things you did to him; you’re now going to pay for. I’m giving you the chance to apologize before we begin.”

Dream just glared at them but Tommy saw the near desperate tinge in his eyes. “Why the fuck would I apologize to that little freak? Cut me down, that’s enough of this bullshit!”

Wilbur’s glare grew frigid as he stalked behind him; his rage sharp and burning cold. “True; apologizing now would be worthless,” he considered, pinching Dream’s ear like an errant child. “It’s obvious you wouldn’t mean it. I just find it amusing when my victims expect mercy for compliance.”

He met Tommy’s gaze. “You’ll find no mercy from me,” he promised them both and swiftly sliced off Dream’s ear.

Tommy almost jumped from the suddenness of it; how cleanly the blade cut through his flesh and the pitch of Dream’s screams. His eyes locked on the stump left behind; on the depth of the red blood gushing from it.

I’ve never seen blood so dark before.

“I would deafen you,” Wilbur said absently, ignoring his wails as he tossed the ear at Dream’s feet. “It’s the least you deserve for what you did to Tommy. But I want you to hear how pathetic you sound.”

And he did. Dream was screaming; truly screaming in a way that Tommy had never allowed himself to, sobbing as blood poured down his neck. He had the obscene desire to stride forward and pick up the ear; to turn the ruined flesh over in his hands and see if it had already cooled.

He took an unconscious step closer to them as the metallic scent of blood reached him.

“You threatened his hands,” Wilbur growled, flipping his hold on the knife. “He has more talent and worth in his pinky than you’ve ever displayed in your life.”

He sharply brought the butt of the blade down on his curled fingers and Tommy felt satisfaction ring through him at the loud crack of his knuckles breaking and the shrill cry Dream let out.

“I’m sorry!” he screeched. “I’m sorry, Tommy, please, make him stop!”

Tommy blinked as Dream looked beseechingly up at him, stumbling over pleas and apologies. Wilbur paused too, flicking his knife between his fingers.

There was no doubt in his mind that if he asked for it, Wilbur would let Dream go. He would threaten and blackmail him into keeping silent about who had abducted him; make sure he knew there was nowhere in the country Wilbur couldn’t get him if he squealed. Tommy could go on with his life knowing he’d gotten some revenge; that Dream had finally, if only briefly experienced true fear like he had.

But why should he?

He took a moment to just observe them; the man who taught him how to be afraid and the man giving him the tools to permanently keep himself safe. This was Wilbur in his element; blade in hand, victim cowering before him. He looked alive; each movement calculated and controlled as he circled Dream like a predator stalking its prey.

Every inch the avenging angel Tommy knew him to be.

“Please,” Dream begged him, cowering away from Wilbur.

Does he really think I’d ever choose him?

“Break another,” Tommy requested, voice almost breathless with desire as he crept closer.

Wilbur’s eyes filled with heat, his lips curling into a savage grin. Dream choked on his sobs where he hung between them; voice breaking as he pleaded with them. Wilbur spun the knife around, pressing the very tip of it against Dream’s knuckle with just enough pressure to split the skin and waited.

“Please, please don’t,” Dream begged.

Tommy let the anticipation build, watching both of them squirm for very different reasons. Wilbur licked his lips and stared at him with an intense gaze as he lightly twisted the knife; a single drop of blood falling down the blade. “Now.”

Wilbur slammed the heel of his palm against the knife; splintering the knuckle and severing the finger off entirely. Dream shrieked as his stump spurted blood, a few drops landing on Wilbur’s cheek. He desperately tried to curl his fingers in, trying to protect the ones he had left.

Tommy couldn’t hold in his manic laughter as the severed finger bounced next to the ear on the floor. He reached out with his foot, batting at the finger like Milo when the cat managed to catch a bug. He watched blood smear on his boot, making the leather shine.

Wilbur was grinning at him when he dragged his eyes back up, watching him play with it and waiting for him to continue. Tommy relished in the pained whimpers their victim was letting out, barely able to beg through the pain. If this was how Wilbur felt during his hunts...

He understood now why it was called bloodlust.

He nodded and Wilbur fisted Dream’s hair; the strands breaking off in his grip as he wrenched his head back. “You clearly don’t care for yourself as much as Tommy does,” he mused. “He would never let himself get into such a state. You see, Tommy is beautiful. And you tried to ruin that.”

Tommy stared at him, sure the blush lighting his cheeks was as dark as the blood dripping onto the floor. He knew Wilbur found him attractive - they’ve spent many a day, night, hell, lunch hour proving it - but to declare it to someone else, to Dream...

This time, there was nothing but pride making him stand tall.

“I’m sorry!” Dream wailed. “Please, god, I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to die,” Wilbur said plainly. He set his blade to his scalp. “Don’t worry; you won’t for a while.”

Tommy watched as he carved away pieces of his scalp, taking clumps of hair away; the lumps of flesh carelessly discarded before moving to a new patch. His own head tingled as he watched the blood drip down Dream’s face; dripping into his screaming mouth.

The exposed muscle should’ve been grotesque, pink and shining as it oozed blood but instead, he felt righteous. That the man that had caused him so much fear and pain was screaming and begging for mercy that he’d never believed in.

Tommy stood before the sobbing man and realized, even with him suspended, he was at eye level to him. Wilbur glanced up at him as he threw away another flap of skin.

“I’m taller than him,” he whispered.

Dream was always so big in his memories, blocking out all the light. Looking at him now, he seemed small; just a pathetic, lonely man that could’ve had every bit of love Tommy could offer and instead threw it away.

He didn’t bother holding in his laughter. Wilbur smiled and finally let Dream slump down, watching him sob and brokenly screech as he desperately ducked into his shoulders.

“I hope you’re good at counting,” Wilbur said suddenly.

Tommy dragged his eyes away from the wailing man. “Why?”

“You said you lost a piece of yourself for every day you were there,” he said, coming up beside him and holding out one of his knives. Tommy instinctually felt his stomach flip excitedly. “Now, you’re going to take those pieces back.”

He took the handle of the blade, comfortable with the weight of it in his hand. He turned it over in his hand, flipping it with ease. He was almost as familiar with these knives as Wilbur was, though he’d used them for a different purpose.

Tommy stepped forward and made the first cut, just a light nick along Dream’s arm. It was barely deeper than a paper cut but it still made the terrified man scream. “One?” he checked with Wilbur.

He nodded, his cheeks flushed and made his own cut along his back; matching Tommy’s depth. “Two.”

Dream jerked, trying to get away from both of their blades but with the blood dripping into his eyes, he couldn’t see where they were coming from.

Tommy cut deeper along his cheek, giggling slightly as he attempted to pull away. “Three.”

Wilbur grinned and sliced the bottom of his foot. “Four.”

His inner bicep. “Twenty-nine.”

Where his remaining earlobe joined his head. “Seventy-six.”

Between each of his fingers. “One hundred and seven, one hundred and eight, one hundred and nine...”

“Two hundred and fifty-two.”

“Three hundred and ninety-eight.”

“Four hundred and thirty-seven.”

Tommy’s hands were slick with blood; soaked up to his elbows, dripping off the ends of his fingers and knife onto the plastic covered floor like the gentle fall of rain. It spread on the ground around them; flowing like little rivers through the peaks and valleys of the plastic tarps.

His grip had slipped a few times, cutting shallower or deeper than he’d intended. He was almost giddy with it; the blood flooding his senses as he grinned and danced and cut.

Wilbur slit the back of Dream’s knee, severing the tendon. “Five hundred and twelve. Last one, Toms,” he announced as he straightened.

Tommy licked his lips, stepping through bloody puddles until he stood facing Dream. He grabbed him by the jaw, fingers digging into the cuts on his cheeks and forced him to lift his head up. He looked into the steadily dimming eyes of the man he had feared most; his own personal boogie man haunting him for almost twenty years.

“You tried so hard to break me,” he contemplated. “To beat me down and take away everything that made me me.”

Dream gurgled; his breathing shallow.

“Nothing you did to me worked,” Tommy gloated. “I have more love and happiness in my life than you could’ve ever hoped to experience. I’ve built a life with the man I love, making the art that you always tried to destroy. You failed and you’re going to die knowing that you failed.”

The grin that split his face was feral as he raised his blade to the meat of Dream’s throat; his skin bulging slightly over the blade.

“Five hundred and thirteen,” he purred and sliced across, a geyser of blood spewing out of Dream’s throat to cover them both. He watched it spurt out of him, drenching Dream even further until it finally slowed to a drizzle like a leaking tap.

Tommy stepped back and looked at what he and Wilbur had created. Dream’s sodden body was a crosshatched canvas; the vibrant red dripping down his body contrasting what little was visible of his pale, bloodless skin. They’d reduced him to this; to nothing more than rapidly cooling flesh.

He turned to Wilbur who was just as drenched as him; the ends of his hair wet and curling up, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his body. Splatters dotted his face, making his dark eyes look black. Tommy wondered if he looked the same; if the dark red coating his skin brought out the blue in his eyes.

He wondered if, in that moment, Wilbur found him as beautiful as he did.

The knife in his hand clattered to the ground and Tommy barely took a step before Wilbur strode forward and they were wrapped in each others arms; clutching the other as they shared a copper tanged kiss. His hands were warm as the cupped his cheek and slid into his hair, adding to the blood on his skin.

He only pulled away when the need to breathe grew too great and pressed their foreheads together; breath uneven and lips tingling from the force of the kiss.

“Thank you, Wilbur,” he gasped, peppering him with kisses. “Thank you so much.”

“You were amazing, ‘Toms,” Wilbur praised. “I never even imagined you’d do so well. That was...fuck, you were so hot.”

Tommy shivered and ducked into the crook of his neck. Blood coated his lips as he pressed kisses to each one of his music notes; laving them with his tongue and making Wilbur’s breath hitch and his grip on his hair tighten. The sound made heat rush through him as the tightness in his jeans became impossible to ignore.

“Wil...” he breathed, gripping his hips and pulling him flush against him so he could feel the hard line of his cock. “I need you.”

Wilbur brought him into a deep kiss and lowered them to the ground. Tommy broke the kiss to tug his shirt off, letting the wet material fall to the ground. He felt Dream’s blood soak into his clothes and hair. It just got him more excited; he spilled this blood, he took Dream’s life away. He spread his arms out over the floor, letting it slip over his skin.

Dream would never be able to hurt him ever again.

Wilbur ran his hands up his sides, his touch leaving his skin tingling as he dragged his shirt higher before pulling it over his head. Tommy hummed as his fingers drifted over his skin, creating trails of pink as he traced his tattoos.

He ground his hips against his thigh; the pressure on his cock making him moan and buck up.

Wilbur moved to undo his belt; none of his usual poise left in his rush and he did the same for Wilbur’s knife harness, his fingers struggling with the buckles. They were both shaking, adrenaline zipping through their veins and Tommy was near bursting with excitement.

“Stupid buckles, why didn’t you just use velcro?” he muttered impatiently.

“I could ask you the same,” Wilbur snorted, pulling his belt free and hissing as it whipped his arm and Tommy saw his cock jump in his sweats.

He broke into laughter as he finally got the harness unlatched and set it aside. Wilbur grinned down at him, his hands stilling as he let out uncontrollable snorts. Tommy pulled him down into a kiss, still laughing against his lips.

“That’s why. If you wanted to be whipped, love, all you had to do was ask,” he snickered, barely able to get the sentence out.

“Maybe when we get back,” he grinned before it softened into something fonder. “Right now, I just want you.”

His chuckles petered out and he ran his thumb over his cheekbone; the frantic need falling away. “Then have me,” he whispered.

Wilbur worked his jeans and boxers down and he kicked them off his legs; giving an appreciative hum when he took off his sweats. Wilbur dropped them to the side; catching his leg and achingly slowly kissing up his calf. He kissed the bend of his knee, hand gently gliding across his thigh as he gazed up at him.

His hand shifted to cup his ass, pulling his cheek aside to thumb at his hole and Tommy’s cock twitched against his stomach.

“In my back pocket,” he prompted. Wilbur raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged; his skin slipping over the blood soaked plastic. “I didn’t know what kind of surprise this was.”

Wilbur smiled and set his leg down, reaching over to dig through the sodden denim. “And people think I’m the practical one.”

“Learned through necessity,” Tommy grinned. “I like our alleyway quickies too much to be underprepared.”

He snorted and pulled out the single packet of lube he’d stuffed in his pocket. Tommy caught his hand before he could rip it open. He brought it up to his face and looked into Wilbur’s eyes. He slowly licked up his palm and Wilbur let out a shaky breath as he closed his lips around his finger and sunk down to the base. He sucked it clean of blood, swallowing down his mouthful and slowly drew it out of his mouth.

“Fuck, Toms,” Wilbur breathed.

He smirked and moved onto the next, cleaning it just as thoroughly before lying back and spreading his legs out. Wilbur crawled overtop of him, holding his clean hand up as he brought him into a heated kiss.

“You,” he growled between kisses, “are incredible.”

He ground his hips down and Tommy gasped into his mouth at the electric pleasure of their cocks rubbing against each other. His piercings kept being nudged, sending sparks of bright pleasure down his spine. He broke away to look and moaned at the sight of Wilbur’s weeping cock grinding against his own.

“If you don’t hurry up and put your fingers in me, this is going to end embarrassingly quickly,” he warned.

“Maybe I want you to,” Wilbur purred, dragging his teeth down his jaw and nipping at his neck. “Maybe I want to drag you to the brink over and over again, until all you know is pleasure and heat and me.”

He shivered and let his head fall back, surrendering to Wilbur’s mouth as he sucked deep bruises into his skin. He whimpered at a sharp bite. “You’re already all I know,” he gasped. “You’re everything.”

Wilbur moaned against his skin as he kissed down his chest, worshiping his floral chest piece and recreation of his rib cage. Tommy panted beneath him, arching up into his mouth as Wilbur dipped his tongue into his navel, playing with the jewel of his piercing.

He drifted lower, ghosting his breath over his cock before finally drawing back to throw his legs over his shoulders; lifting his hips off the ground. His fingers rubbed over his twitching hole. The lube had warmed on his fingers and he shuddered as it dripped down his cleft.

“Wil, if you tease me right now, I swear...” he started, though he doubted he sounded very threatening with his unsteady voice and hips desperately thrusting against nothing.

“You’re not being very polite you know,” Wilbur absently pointed out, pressing against him with the slightest pressure.

Tommy pouted, even as heat shot through him at the unvoiced request. “Please, Wilbur, shove your fingers in me,” he simpered, fluttering his eyelashes for good measure. “Stretch me wide open so you can fuck into me. You make me so hard, Wil; fuck me ‘til I’m dripping.”

“Fuck, that’s better,” he groaned, finally pushing a finger inside him. “You say the dirtiest things, Toms.”

“Yesss,” he hissed as he started working him open. “Gimme more, you know I can take it. Want you to fill me up.”

“You want more?” he repeated with a smirk. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Huh-fuck!” he cried out as Wilbur quickly added another finger and took the head of his dick in his mouth; tongue working over his piercing. “You...ohhh, fuck, Wilbur.”

He locked his legs around Wilbur’s head as he swallowed him down; his free hand gliding over his stomach, smearing even more blood over his skin.

“You w-want me to talk dirty, love?” Tommy stuttered as he ran his tongue over his jacob’s ladder. “Want me to tell you how hot your mouth is? How much I want you to suck me dry?”

He could only give the tiniest of thrusts, panting and moaning towards the ceiling as he tried to ride Wilbur’s fingers and push deeper into his throat. He worked a third finger inside him, stretching him wider; the lewd sound of his fingers fucking into him making heat bloom across his skin.

“At dinner, when you were finishing dessert and you sucked your fingers clean; I knew you only did it to tease me,” he panted, remembering the look in his eyes as he licked the cream up. “Were you thinking about this? Wishing it was my cock in your mouth, painting your lips white. You would’ve gotten on your knees in a heartbeat if I asked you, wouldn’t you? Show all those people they can look but only you can touch.”

He whined as Wilbur moaned, the vibrations running up his cock. Wilbur could joke all he liked about his exhibitionist tendencies but he knew he loved showing him off just as much; leaving dark hickies on his skin, laying his claim for everyone to see.

“I would’ve let you,” Tommy continued. “Let you fuck me over the table; let ‘em all know I’m yours. Ahh, god, Wil!”

His hips jerked as Wilbur worked his fingers in a slow drag over his prostate, pressing in hard against it and swallowing as his cock began to weep precum. He didn’t let up; rubbing his sweet spot over and over until his legs shook violently over his shoulders.

“Wil-Wilbur, ‘m gonna cum,” he warned, threading his fingers through his hair and holding him close. Wilbur took him fully into his throat until his nose pressed against his skin. “W-Wilby, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Wilbur rammed viciously against his prostate and swallowed around him and Tommy screamed to the ceiling as he tumbled over the edge; spilling down his throat, his hole throbbing around his fingers as he milked him dry.

He kept working his tongue and fingers, not giving him a moment to recover and he didn’t even have the chance to start going soft after his high finally faded. Pleasure turned to overstimulated pain and circled back around again, leaving Tommy sobbing as he was rocked by wave after unforgiving wave.

He writhed as Wilbur swallowed around him again, his shoulders slipping over the tarp. “Wil, I’m ready, I can’t take anymore,” he begged, hands desperately tugging at his hair. “I need you in me, please.”

Wilbur held his gaze as he slowly drew back with a wet slurp, finally letting his cock fall from his mouth and pulled his fingers free; setting his trembling legs back down as he sucked in breath after deep breath. His hole throbbed at the emptiness, longing to be filled with something even bigger.

Arms slipped under him and Tommy gasped as he was suddenly lifted upright to sit in Wilbur’s lap. Their kiss was filthy and deep; tongues sharing copper and salt, their arms wrapped so tightly around each other, it felt like they could never be parted.

Tommy reached out with a shaking hand for the lube packet and drizzled the rest over Wilbur’s cock, making him hiss and twitch at the cold as it dripped down his shaft. He held him by the base and hovered over him until the head teased his rim. He tried to thrust down, to bury the entire length of his thick cock inside him but Wilbur held him still.

“Wilbur...” he whined, trying to wiggle out of his hold.

“Relax, Toms,” Wilbur purred. “I want you to feel every inch of my cock inside you; splitting you open just the way you like.”

“You and your damn self control,” he cursed, breaking off into a moan as the head of his cock slid into him.

“You know you like it when I draw it out, don’t even try to deny it,” he said, but Tommy could hear how thick his voice had gotten; how much he wanted to thrust up and fuck into him too.

I like it when I’m not going out of my mind, he wanted to argue but he couldn’t get enough breath to force it out.

Wilbur kept a firm grip on his thighs, only letting him sink down little by little. “You can’t tell me you don’t like slow,” he murmured. “When you feel nothing but this.”

Tommy whimpered as his ass finally met his hips, grinding in little circles as his hole fluttered and clenched around him.

“Fuck, Wilbur,” he gasped.

He tried to start moving but his jelly legs wouldn’t hold him, only letting him lift a few inches. He whined in frustration and Wilbur’s hands slipped over his blood slick skin as he helped him rock.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed, voice almost reverent. “Always feel so good around me; make me feel so fucking good.”

He ran his hand up Wilbur’s throat, his bloodstained eyes turned red as he remembered what he told Dream. “All those things you said to him...” he whispered.

“I meant every word, Toms. Every...single...one,” he promised, thrusting up and emphasizing his words.

He gasped, lacing his fingers through Wilbur’s hair as he ground down to meet his thrusts.

“He had no idea how perfect you are,” he said. “How much light you bring to the world despite his attempts to snuff it out. I never knew what art was until I saw you for the first time.”

Tommy’s face flushed bright red. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” he mumbled.

“So you can handle me talking dirty but not me saying how much I love you?” Wilbur asked, his expression awed as he looked at him. “How much I love waking up beside you every morning and how much I look forward to falling asleep with you? That hearing your laughter can be the only thing that gets me through my day?”

“Wilbur...” His earnestness was almost too much to handle, his rhythm faltering as he grew flustered. He tried to duck into Wilbur’s neck but he wouldn’t let him, cradling his neck and looking deep into his eyes.

“How did I get through all those years without you?” Wilbur wondered. “I didn’t even realize how lonely I was; how a part of me felt missing.”

“I felt the same,” Tommy confessed.

Meeting Wilbur felt like puzzle pieces falling into place; fitting together and complimenting each other in ways that felt like they were always supposed to be. Wilbur could’ve chosen any other parlor to get his first music note, could’ve chosen any of the hundreds of artists that worked in the city but he chose him.

Tommy could’ve refused to tattoo him when he found out his reaction to it. Could’ve been too much of a coward to confess his feelings, could’ve turned him in when he found out about him being the Guardian Angel Killer, but it never even crossed his mind.

Neither of them believed in fate; they’d been hurt too much to believe in any kind of pre-written master plan. Life was a series of choices and they had and always would choose each other.

“Marry me, Toms,” Wilbur panted.

Tommy stopped moving.

“What?” he whispered.

His hands shifted to cup his face. “Marry me,” he repeated breathlessly. “I love you so much, Tommy; more than I ever thought I could love someone. Please, will you marry me?”

His vision went blurry as tears filled his eyes. “Wilbur...yes,” he choked out. “Yes, I’ll marry you; of course I will!”

The relief and the love in Wilbur’s eyes made his tears overflow and he brought him into a desperate kiss. It made him rock in his lap and the pleasure was so much sharper than before; each touch magnified until he felt like he was made of pure light.

“I love you,” tommy sobbed and started riding again. “I love you so much, Wil.”

“I love you too,” he returned, wrapping a hand around his forgotten cock, making him jolt as the knot in his gut wound tighter and tighter. “More than anything.”

“I love you,” he hiccuped. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, Toms.”

His orgasm was almost an afterthought when it washed over him; triggering Wilbur to spill inside him. As powerful as it was, it meant nothing in the face of their closeness; of Wilbur’s arms holding him, panting into each other’s mouths, the tears trailing down his face for once having nothing to do with pain.

They washed the blood off in the sea, the cool water soothing their heat flushed bodies. The bright moonlight shone off their slick skin as the red gradually faded away. Wilbur lovingly scrubbed the blood from his hair, making sure every strand was clean.

They held each other close as they gently bobbed with the waves. Tommy was blissfully relaxed in Wilbur’s arms; taking full advantage of him holding up him up. His fingers drifted up and down his back, connecting a winding path between his alliums.

“Thank you, Wil,” Tommy murmured against his skin. “That was so amazing.”

He pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You know this completely blows my gifts out of the water, right?”

He snorted softly. “I like the daggers; they’re really beautiful. I’ve never worked with glass before. And you know I’ll use that electric blanket the second we get home.”

He smiled at that. He knew when he bought it that Wilbur would end up living in the thing and the warmth would probably entice Milo into it as well. He also realized that he’d created the ultimate tripping hazard; Wilbur had the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere and had the tendency to just drop when the desire to nap struck him. With the additional padding to make it weighted, Tommy wept for the future state of his ankles.

He nuzzled into Wilbur’s neck, breathing in the scent of his salty skin. “I don’t know how you manage not to take shit,” he confessed, fingers tracing his eyes. “I wanna take his ear and finger so bad. Just...put ‘em in a jar and watch the only parts left of him float on my desk.”

“It’s a difficult urge to curb,” he said. “You think, ‘it’s so small, no one would notice it’, or you could just pass it off as taxidermy or an oddity collection. But in the long run, it’s nothing but a risk. It can be equally comforting to know there’s nothing left of him at all.”

He hummed. That’s true. “I just can’t believe it’s over,” he mumbled. “It felt like it lasted ten seconds and ten years.”

“It’s a lot; even without the connection you had to him,” Wilbur agreed. ‘Had’ to me, he considered. I like the sound of that. That connection severed, just like Dream. “But it’s not over yet.”

Tommy pulled back to look at him. “It’s not?”

“You know what happens after my hunts; now it’s your turn.” His thumb caressed the delicate skin beneath his eye. “Let me give you your music note.”

He shivered and drifted his fingers over his throat. His entire neck and chest were already covered and he didn’t want something so special on his shoulders where he would barely ever see it.

Wilbur caught his hand. “We’ll find room,” he promised. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” he breathed. His answer would always be yes.

He gave him a beautiful smile and brought him into a deep kiss; letting their bodies rock together to the beat of the ocean.

Tommy dried out on a rock as Wilbur took care of Dream’s corpse. He felt so indulgent, almost drunk as he listened to the waves; his naked body spread out beneath the warm moonlight and he didn’t fight it as he fell into a light doze.

He roused as he felt a hand drifting in slow circles over his stomach and opened his eyes to see Wilbur - his fiancé - looking down at him so fondly it made his heart stutter.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Light,” he smiled and tangled their fingers together. “Free.”

That barely even covered it; he was floating on cloud fucking nine. He hadn’t realized just how much Dream had kept infecting his life; how, even subconsciously, he’d watched out for him in the street, waiting for him to darken his doorstep again.

Wilbur returned the smile and dropped a light kiss on his palm. “I was the same after my first kill,” he replied and Tommy paused. Wilbur picked up the duffle bag by his feet and pulled out a set of his clothes.

“You never talk about that,” he said carefully as he pulled his briefs up his legs.

Wilbur was proud of all of his kills; had walked him through the story behind every one of his eyes but whenever he’d tried asking about his first, he’d always closed off. Said that the first didn’t matter as much as the others but Tommy could always tell he was holding something back.

Wilbur fiddled with the shirt he was unfolding. “You know how I said I was privately educated?” he checked and Tommy nodded. “It was my tutor. My parents mostly ignored me; even when I was a kid, they’d be gone for days at a time and I’d be left with him. I was being trained to take over their law firm and he made it very clear that there were no excuses for failure; any error or hesitation was met with swift and severe correction.”

Tommy thought about his body, how his skin was riddled with scars. He’d always thought some of them looked as old as his.

He’d tried his hardest to avoid thinking that some looked even older.

“I left the second I turned eighteen,” he said. “I dropped out of law school and I had to figure out what I actually wanted to do with my life. I wound up in a music teaching course. I thought if I could be a better man than my tutor, could guide kids the way I should’ve been, it would finally give me the closure I needed.

“It worked for a while. I pushed the anger down, focused on my job, helped as many kids as I could,” Wilbur’s jaw clenched. “Then I saw him with a kid at the park. He couldn’t have been older than ten and his eyes...they were just like mine. Empty. Afraid.”

Tommy swung his legs off the rock and pulled Wilbur between them. He tugged the wrinkled shirt out of his hands and held them in his own; running his thumbs over his knuckles.

“I didn’t plan anything or even think about it, I just did,” Wilbur continued with a helpless shrug. “I followed him home and it was like I just snapped...I tore him apart. I barely remember doing it. By the time I came back to myself, it was over. I didn’t feel angry or satisfied, like I thought I would...I just felt safe.”

“It was so unexpected,” he recalled, his voice soft with awe. “I was twenty two years old and for the first time I could remember, I wasn’t afraid.”

Tommy stood and cupped his face. “Now, neither am I,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving me that.”

Wilbur wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Your kids, they have no idea how lucky they are to have you as their teacher,” he told him. “The world has no idea how lucky they are to have you as their angel.”

Tommy brought him into a kiss, sighing happily against his mouth.

“And you have no idea how lucky I am to be able to call you mine.”

The rest of the weekend was perfect. They barely left the bed in their hotel room, too busy loving and losing themselves in each other.

Tommy spent hours looking at engagement rings; fantasizing about how each would look on his finger, what his wedding ring would eventually look like. Wilbur was never the possession type, but he saw him eyeing some of the red and blue tungsten rings. He gleefully bookmarked them when he wasn’t looking.

His anxiety tried to rear its ugly head; to convince him that they’d be caught, that Dream would find a way to hurt him even from beyond the grave, but he trusted Wilbur. If he told him no one would find out about what they’d done, then he believed him.

It also filled him with no small amount of vindictive joy to imagine Dream’s body, wherever it was, being eaten by worms.

He was almost more eager to get home than he was to go away; leaving his bags in a pile in the living room to practically skip towards his study. Wilbur walked in at a far more sedate pace; taking Milo out of his crate and showing him that they were home.

Tommy threw himself onto his chair, making it spin and roll all the way across his desk. He glanced at his draw full of stencils before ignoring them to pull out a fresh sheet of paper. This was his music note and while he still wanted it to look like Wilbur’s, he wanted to design it from scratch.

“We just drove for five hours, you sure you don’t want to wait a day?” Wilbur asked as he entered the room.

He didn’t need to look up to know he was smirking at him. “I needed this on me yesterday; you’re lucky I didn’t go out and buy supplies mid-romantic getaway,” he said, tilting his head to check if the lines were lopsided.

That would’ve been hot, he thought, sucking on his bottom lip. He pictured himself strung out on the hotel’s extravagantly dressed bed - panting and moaning as Wilbur inked his skin, the buzz of the machine maybe mixing with the sound of a vibrator to really challenge his ability to keep still - and shifted in his chair.

We racked up enough of a cleaning bill though, he considered. Those sheets will never be the same.

Wilbur snorted, a fond sound and shook his head. “I’ll order some food then,” he said, switching on the stereo and caressing the back of his neck on his way out.

Tommy grinned as he sketched gently curving lashes. Every time he thought he couldn’t love the man more...

As much as he loved showing off his art, he couldn’t stand people hovering over his as he drew. In the same room? Totally fine. But being watched and having someone look over his shoulder during the process made his skin crawl beneath the eyes of judgement. Back off his canvas, he didn’t need any backseat artists.

Wilbur understood that, never smothering him or pressing to be shown an unfinished piece. He also gave him his undivided attention when Tommy did want to show him a design; letting him go into detail about color theory and composition and things that surely went over his head without a breath of complaint.

And it went both ways; when Wilbur’s eyes hurt too much or a migraine made it impossible to finish marking, Tommy happily read out his student’s music history essays. He dutifully wrote down critiques and corrections and wondered what the kids thought when they got them back with someone else’s handwriting.

Soon Wilbur could tell them he’d had help from his husband.

Tommy squealed and started a new note when his pencil accidentally scratched out the one he was working on.

It took hours until he was happy with a design; sheet after sheet of hundreds of notes littering the floor around him. He’d paused long enough to eat - and Wilbur had bought him a serve of sweet and sour pork - fuck he couldn’t wait to marry him - and cuddle with Milo on the ground to stretch his back out from its hunched position, then he was back to it.

There was one thing tingling in the back of his mind; the smallest of problems that he joyfully troubleshooted as he etched the design onto transfer paper.

Wilbur couldn’t use a tattoo gun.

Tommy had tried to teach him; brought out the imitation skin he used with apprentices and told him about needle depth and the proper angle for the gun. He was patient and Wilbur tried his best but for all that his hands were unwavering, he couldn’t draw a picture to save his life. So he decided to go with the next best solution.

Scarification.

Tommy offered it at his parlor but it was a rare enough art that he considered himself a little out of practice. Wilbur though? No one knew their way around a blade better than he did.

One of his marks had been a serial killer, an insane man convinced the children he killed had stolen something from him. Wilbur had painstakingly carved their names into his back, each numbered one through eight in order of their deaths.

Tommy knew he could do delicate work, had felt the bite of his blades on his skin. He trusted him with this piece more than any artist he’d ever been tattooed by.

That didn’t make it any less of a bitch trying to place the stencil; his head tilted all the way back, his eyes straining down to see his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“It’s too bad we can’t do this your way,” Wilbur commented from where he was slouched in the doorway, Milo snoozing contently on his shoulders.

Tommy smirked and rotated the stencil. “You’re a whiney bottom, baby; you wouldn’t make it,” he teased. He grumbled and ducked his head but not before he saw the blush dusting his cheeks.

He’d been delighted when he found out Wilbur turned into a complete pillow princess when he bottomed. Having such a powerful, commanding man turn to putty the second he put a finger in his ass almost made him cum on the spot. Pliant and whining, Wilbur would take anything he was given and more.

Tommy shivered and pressed the stencil against his skin; setting it in the middle of his jaw. He dropped the paper and opened and closed his mouth, checking how the pull of his skin changed the lines and making sure it didn’t look distorted.

He spun towards Wilbur, keeping his head leaned back. “Good?”

He stepped forward and cupped his jaw, bringing him down to face him. “Perfect,” he said and pecked his lips.

Tommy smiled. “You ready?”

He hesitated. “You’ve drunk a lot of water?” he checked. “Put on numbing cream?”

He shot him an indulgent look. “Yes.”

“I watched you eat, so I know you’re fine there,” he mumbled and Tommy bit back a snicker at his uncharacteristic fussing. He looked over the items set up on the counter. “I’ve got apple slices and some candy ready to go; should you have one anyway just in case?”

“Wilbur, relax,” he soothed, running his hands up his sides. “You’re gonna do just fine. You’ve cut me before, this is no different.”

“It’s a little bit more than we usually do,” he grumbled. “I just want to make sure it goes okay.”

“And it will,“ he promised. “This is just like a tattoo; I know how to do my prep. Trust me.”

Wilbur’s eyes softened, the worry fading away. “Always.”

He kissed him again and watched as he went to deposit Milo in his bed nest. The last thing they needed was a little blind, blood covered kitty trailing bloody paw prints over the apartment. The bathroom was going to reek of bleach enough as it was.

Tommy sat on the stool and dropped his head back to rest on the counter, keeping his neck and jaw straight and facing Wilbur. Everything was wrapped in cling film and carefully sterilized. They could’ve done it in the parlor - all of his equipment was there and his chair would’ve been a hell of a lot comfier - but it felt different to Wilbur’s eyes; more intimate and deserved to be done in private.

“Comfortable?” Wilbur checked, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“Yep,” he answered, shifting his head on the counter.

He hummed, nearly glaring at his neck. “Hang on,” he muttered. He left the bathroom and came back in with his travel pillow; wrapping it in cling film before lifting his head to wedge it between his neck and the edge of the counter. “Better?”

God, it was so much better. “It’s gonna get ruined,” he warned.

“Then I’ll buy a new one,” he shrugged and and thoroughly washed his hands.

Tommy felt so warm he could melt. “You’re such a softie,” he smiled.

“We’re going to be here for a while, I don’t want you complaining about neck pain for the next week,” he defended.

“Whatever you say, Wil,” he cooed.

Wilbur sat on the stool opposite him and scooted in as close as he could; hooking Tommy’s legs over his so he could lean in better. Pulling on a pair of gloves and a mask, he unwrapped the surgical scalpel and seemed to relax the instant the blade was in his hand.

“Okay, if you want a break, just tap my leg,” he told him.

“Yes, sir,” he replied with a cheeky salute.

“Toms,” he warned. He just winked at him and rested his hands on the outside of Wilbur’s thighs, letting his body go boneless. Wilbur rolled his eyes and began lowering the scalpel. “Alright, first cut in three...two...one.”

Tommy let out a hard breath through his nose as his chin bloomed with a sharp pain and the cloying scent of his own blood filled the air.

“Feel okay?” Wilbur asked and he hummed an affirmative; running his hands reassuringly over his legs.

Wilbur worked slowly and methodically; carefully dabbing his blood away in between each cut. Tommy couldn’t help but smile; he was trying his best to be soft handed but that didn’t stop the gauze from feeling like sandpaper on his skin.

It wasn’t long before his entire lower jaw just radiated pain; even with the numbing cream, it carried down his neck as his nerves lit up with every cut. Tommy just kept his eyes shut and didn’t fight it, letting the pain wash over him as he kept himself steady and still.

“Okay, last bit,” Wilbur warned and pulled the gauze the tweezers sat on closer to him. He took a steadying breath and shot him a thumbs up.

He’d run him through every part of the scarification tattoo; explained how most of the cuts worked like line work and just needed to be simple incisions that were gradually widened. The only part that was different was the circle of the note; it wasn’t just a cut, it was a removal. He wanted it to be a solid color as if he’d packed it with pigment. That only happened when the entire layer of skin was cut away.

That was why there was half a dozen oranges with circle cut outs in the skins sitting on their dining room table. Wilbur was confident he’d be able to pull his lines and maintain depth but he’d wanted to practice getting a clean, tight shape.

Wilbur carefully pressed the scalpel beneath his skin, gripping it with the tweezers once he’d gotten an edge up. Tommy didn’t let himself so much as breathe as he formed the circle but he couldn’t help the restless kneading of his hands on his thighs.

“Almost there,” Wilbur promised.

He felt the tension as he cut the skin away from his flesh; the pull of it as the rest of the shape was held firmly but gently out of the way and finally the soft snap as it was cut off.

“Done,” Wilbur said as he sat back, tugging his mask down and giving him a smile. “I don’t think blowouts apply here, but it looks pretty good.”

He held back his grin, not wanting to stretch his skin and brought his hands up between them. “Picture?”

He pulled off one of his gloves and took his phone out of his pocket. Wilbur wasn’t exactly the best at taking pictures so he made sure to stay extra still. He waited for him to turn the phone around but he stuck it back in his pocket and he gave a protesting whine.

“Let me finish up here then I’ll show you,” Wilbur promised.

Tommy pouted but stayed reclined as Wilbur cleaned him up, gently wiping away any blood that had run down his neck. He grimaced at the press of the gauze on his raw chin as he bandaged him up; the tape making it rub just the slightest bit as it was secured in place. He sighed in relief once everything was taped down and it nearly turned into a yelp as Wilbur scooped him up.

“C’n walk,” he lightly protested.

“Mm, and I can carry you,” he replied, heading into the bedroom. “What’s your point?”

He let his smile come through at that. “Softie,” he mumbled before wincing.

“Shh, don’t talk,” he said and set him down on the bed.

“You love my voice,” he accused.

Wilbur just rolled his eyes. He took out a package of apple sauce but instead of taking off the lid, he punctured a hole.

“Squeeze from the bottom, let it come to you,” he told him and went to clean the bloodied mess left in the bathroom.

Tommy carefully leaned against the headboard and let the applesauce pool in his mouth; trying to let it fall down his throat as much as he could without swallowing. He hummed in delight as it cooled his chin from the inside out.

Milo popped out of his nest with an inquisitive ‘murrp’ and he had to look at him out of the corner of his eye as he reached out to pet him.

I’m not hurt, sweet boy, he tried to project to his feline brain. All is good in the world.

Wilbur came back into the bedroom, watching them both with a fond look. He returned it as best he could and wiggled to lay flat on the bed. Wilbur helped him down before placing Milo in his lap. He packed pillows against his side and settled in on his other so he wouldn’t roll. Neck and chin tattoos were notoriously difficult to heal, but scarification? A whole other level. They weren’t taking any chances.

“Show me,” Tommy demanded once he was comfortable.

Wilbur smiled and held his phone up above his face so he wouldn’t be tempted to tilt his head down. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at the picture of his chin, the bright pink note sitting proudly in the centre. Soon enough it would fade to white; the opposite of Wilbur’s black. The light to his dark, fitting together just as perfectly as they do.

“It’s beautiful, Wil,” he said, reaching up to touch the edge of the gauze as a happy tear fell down his cheek. “It’s perfect.”

Wilbur gently wiped it away. “I’m happy you like it,” he said and pressed a kiss on top of his head. “You nap, I’ll set an alarm to change over your wraps.”

Tommy hummed and tucked in as close as he could. “Love you, Wil,” he murmured.

He ran his fingers through his hair and he melted at the light scratch of his nails against his scalp. “I love you too, Tommy.”

Nothing put him to sleep quicker than having Wilbur’s fingers twisting through his hair; gently untangling any knots before mindlessly braiding and unbraiding the long strands and tonight proved to be no exception. He drifted, content in the arms of the man he loved, in the home they created together.

Soothed by the simple sound of purring and Wilbur’s breathing; the lights strung across the ceiling dancing behind his lids, there was nowhere Tommy would rather be.