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They are strong, he realizes one day.
He realizes while they were both taking a bath, the warm water relaxing their muscles after a long day of hunting and whatever they did in that hellhole of a town. When they offer to clean him, their hands full of soap rubbing his back as he leans forward, distracted or maybe just tired.
It’s when he hears an impatient huff behind him before he feels one of their hands dig in his shoulder, pulling him back and holding him in place.
“Damn it, do you want to get washed or not?” They bite out as they scrub with more force, not waiting for a response.
He keeps quiet, unable to even respond with an annoyed grunt. Because he is suddenly alert, overly aware of the strong grip that burns his flesh, keeping him still with its force and his shock, noticing how each callus slightly scratches his skin. Something goes through him, not dread nor danger, let alone fear . It's something different, like an electric current that shocked him the moment they forced him back and left him tingling with something that doesn't know itself.
He keeps thinking about it for the rest of the day, making him unable to concentrate on anything else. He gives up on trying to read the same page that hasn't been turned in too many minutes, mocking him, and goes to bed early.
But he doesn't sleep. He can’t. It’s still there, refusing to be ignored.
He is left lying down on bed, frowning at the roof as if it had been the one that made it happen, and not the person lying next to him whose warmth he is soaking in. He is not used to this, to being the last one awake, and even less so by a nagging memory that just happened.
He struggles to remember if they were always that strong. He knows they weren't when they first met, when he fired a bullet expertly close to their head, when they tried to run away in his own territory, their lost steps leaving the easiest trail to follow; when he pinned them down and could barely feel them try to get out of his grasp.
They had been weak. Their hits had been pitiful and their demands had no bite.
Then, when did that change? And how had he never noticed?
Working on the plots of soil he never looked at couldn't have been it, maybe a part of it, but not all. He has seen them fight wolves, knowing where to make it hurt the most. He knows they fight people in the city, the bruises and bloody noses are proof enough, and even if they have tears in their eyes, the air of triumph and satisfaction tells him they won. He sees them swim on the lake, maybe they do it at the beach too. He wonders how far they can go.
He turns his head towards them, watching as they sleep peacefully. He extends one arm and slowly pulls back the sheets, revealing a slightly toned upper arm, the curve of the muscle suddenly visible now that he is looking for it.
They tend to wear baggy clothes during winter, he muses, so maybe that's why he hadn't seen them. When was the last time they fucked naked? He can’t remember, he is always too impatient to think of anything other than getting enough out of the way, and they surely have not complained. He is sure that if he wasted time on that they would take matters into their own hands.
He blinks slowly. He doesn't dislike that idea. He isn't used to not disliking the idea of not being the one in control, he can’t afford to let his guard down. But for some reason, it doesn't bother him when it’s them in his head. It’s not like they haven't done something similar before, take charge in the heat of the moment. But they never overpowered him with their body, not like when their hand kept him still with a strain that did not show on their voice, like keeping him in place was effortless, like the fact that he is stronger means nothing when the other hand could have stopped washing his back and maybe held him by the hip, leaving a handprint that would stand out between the pale scars, the pressure from the palm making him arch his back, his neck exposed for the tips of their teeth to run slightly over his pulse, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind-
A shiver goes through his spine, blooming throughout his body, exactly like the one he felt before in the bath,, his breath leaving him in an audible, shuddering sigh.
Oh. He doesn't dislike that at all .