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The late sunset of Megaton shines through the sky with a final grace, the last few hues of orange, blue, and pink decorating the departing afternoon of Megaton in a beautiful display. Kyle's lighter flicks one, two, three times too many as his fingers tremble and shake in a fervent anxiety coming over him, like the crashing waves of the ocean. Thinking about the sight of Derek pummeling that raider stupid enough to point his gun in Kyle's direction just--did something to him.
Watching him work was a feeling like no other--he could almost feel the pain of the crash when Derek landed a shoulder check on the raider, knocking him onto the dirt. He didn't flinch at the sight of Derek thrusting a foot into the man's testicles and another into his temple, the man curling into a fetal position and screaming for Derek to stop, his pleads and apologies cut off through punches as Derek straddled him and landed elbows between punches, only accepting the apologies when the man's last breath was only a rattle.
Fuck--that fucking did for Kyle. Just thinking about it gave him the jitters.
The good kind.
Whitesnake blares loudly on his radio, the ember of his Benson & Hedges burns as bright as the afternoon sun, reminding him of how him and his boys used to watch the sunset before they started their bonfires--when they needed an escape from the small town suffocation of Dry Bones. He only really smoked when this--this funny feeling--really got to him. A good smoke always settled his nerves, but since he's met the cutest, most adorable little stranger that stumbled into town--passed out and dehydrated--he finds himself getting into some bad habits.
His mother always told him and his little sister that staring was rude, but when it came to Derek--he just couldn't help it. He caught himself watching Derek like a hawk, whether he noticed or not. The white tank top that did so little to cover the flex of his scapula and contain the mass of his pectorals made it look like he was going to burst out of it if he moved too fast. The way his biceps and forearms came alive during his calisthenics routine, or when he was slamming a heavy bag down onto a wrestling mat, made Kyle wonder why anyone would even attempt to attack him. Lord almighty, he was a sight for sore eyes, alright. Kyle finds that he loses all sense when that damn tank top comes off.
What got him going especially was the look on his face when the two of them sparred--the uchi-mata to guillotine combination that Derek performed on him was dangerously good--the sight of sweat glistening on his body as the electric fan whirred was always a nice view, the sound of Derek's ragged panting a richly rewarding sound as he stood over him, a weary smile on his face--the ripples of tingling that Kyle got from the physical rush of being struck was the best kind of release.
It was cute how worried Derek got when Kyle didn't tap right away to his chokes, too busy enjoying the heat that would fill his head as his vision blurred and blackened, or the half-serious chiding Derek gave when Kyle didn't verbally admit defeat when he trapped him into a wristlock. To see him fret despite Kyle's own reassurances was such a considerate thing--a particular sweetness about him whenever he inquired as to his well-being.
That, and the way the slightest bit of blush would creep onto his face, giving more warmth to those soft, chocolate brown eyes when Kyle smiles and says 'I'm good, baby'. When Amata asks as to why he was always calling Derek 'baby', Kyle always jumps to the classic defense of, 'I'm part Italian, it's how we talk!' and thank God above that Amata can't see through his obvious bullshit--that, or at least she's nice enough to not push the issue any further.
While his chokes were one thing, his punches were another. He always made sure not to hit too hard and made Kyle wear protective equipment (no matter how much he insisted otherwise), but good God the feeling of Derek wrapping him tight in a clinch felt just like a hug with the added bonus of a gut punch or a liver shot that would make him hit Derek a little harder— just so Derek could return a heavier blow in kind. He found that goading Derek into hitting him harder often worked like a charm--and Kyle was all too happy to be on the receiving end of his blows--each punch just like a kiss. The bruises he earned from their rumbles were intimate marks to him, ones he cherished deeply solely because Derek gave them to him, as if he had his own little pieces of him that he could keep all to himself.
It was like some sort of secret thing to Kyle, which made it all the more better.
Yesterday's match was a little bit of a tipsy tirade, a dragged out thing that Kyle got to savor every single fucking minute of. The pure sensation of Derek's weight lingering on top of him just a little too long was something Kyle was basking in as Derek complimented his grappling game--joking about how all his years spent lifting compound buckets and sheetrock really paid off. The butterflies nestled deep in Kyle's stomach began to stir and flutter just as Derek brushed Kyle's hair out of his face, his touch a warmth that Kyle needed more and more of with each passing session.
Derek--always such a sweetheart, despite not being much of a people person,--apologized for getting some of his sweat on Kyle, who shrugged and told Derek he didn't mind at all--he liked all the rush Derek was able to give him, telling him that for someone his size--he certainly knew how to throw around men twice his size like ragdolls. Derek had shrugged at this--saying it was years of trial and error, but Kyle shook his head and doubled down--telling Derek that he liked how aggressive he got, and that 'you don't have to hold back with me, not at all'. Derek was amused by this and asked him if he was only letting him win and Kyle shook his head in damn near shock and told him in no uncertain terms that Derek was earning all of his victories, after all, 'the win is only a win when you force them to admit defeat'. He was sort of relieved by this, and Kyle only reassured him that he'll 'keep making you earn it as long as you keep showing me who's boss'. Realizing he'd almost let too much slip, Kyle froze as a slight panic set in, and before he could make a decent recovery--Derek had laughed, slinking an arm around him and putting him in a friendly little headlock, pulling him into his chest.
Was this love? Was he really feeling this way--or was he just addicted to getting off on what Derek could give to him?
His Benson burns with another drag, a shaky exhale as the tingles come on again, so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't register Derek slinking next to him, making him yelp as Derek laughs.
"Spooked you, didn't I? Oh, hey! I love Whitesnake!" Derek greets, resting his elbow on the guard rail of the metal structure outside their shared Megaton home, his brow furrowing in a slight worry as he takes notice of Kyle's eyes, "You did a damn good job turnin’ those stupid fucks into a bloody paste today—they had no idea what hit ‘em ‘til they were dead! What are you up to out here?”
“I’m just taking in the sunset. Me and my boys used to just sit and watch sunsets all the time. Guess I’m just nostalgic.” Kyle lies, hoping Derek will just leave it alone, but his hopes are dashed when Derek crosses his arms,
“You sure? That’s not the face of someone ‘just taking in the sunset’.” Derek tries, his hand on Kyle's shoulder brings jolts of electricity as Kyle takes another drag, looking out to the sunset, “You know you can tell me anything!”
"Aw, it ain't nothin', baby. I'm just...thinkin'." Kyle deflects, and Derek frowns, detecting obvious bullshit.
Thinking about you.
"You don't gotta lie to me--what's goin' on? Talk to me, bud." Derek presses, and Kyle sighs, taking another drag.
Before he can exhale, however, his Benson's out of his mouth--a mischievous grin on Derek's face.
"Give--Give that back!" Kyle moans, snatching at his cigarette as Derek slips past him, turning to face him--the cigarette in his mouth, the scorching of the ember as bright as the sun.
Before Kyle can reach for it, Derek's hand clenches the fabric of his drop tank--an arm outstretched to prevent him from advancing. Kyle relents, a slight pout on his face as a guitar solo echoes from his radio. Derek yanks him forward and blows the smoke back in his face. Stunned, Kyle hacks and sputters as the smoke clears, a now-visible blush coloring his cheeks as Derek cackles, his fingers running through a strand of Kyle’s hair.
Did—did he really just do that? Did that just happen?
"Open." Derek commands, a drop in his voice that is demanding, his tone a sort of don't-make-me-ask-twice to it, "C'mon, smoking kills--it's a bad habit of yours."
Fuck, he’s so fucked and he knows it.
And he likes it.
His thumb traces his bottom lip as Kyle obeys, Derek's eyes boring into his as the Benson is back at home in its rightful spot in Kyle's mouth, who takes another drag, the burning feeling in the back of his throat a method of prevention in making sure the truth doesn't spill out. Kyle looks at him, in awe and wonder, their heartbeats matching a rhythm unheard.
"I can think of worse habits." Kyle replies, nose comedically up in the air, a small grin on his face as he opens one eye to look down at Derek, shrugging.
"Such as?"
"You."
This makes Derek pause, eyes narrowing in confusion and shock--mouth ever so slightly agape. Kyle feels himself cringe--of course he'd see through his humorous facade. His lip trembles, biting it so hard that the slightest bit of blood draws—wishing Derek would just leave it alone.
"Whoa, hey. Did--did I do something wrong last night? Did I take it too far? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Derek anxiously fires off, and Kyle says nothing as he puts a hand on Derek's shoulder and shushes him with a finger to his lips.
Now, Derek's really confused.
"You did nothing to me at all, little buddy. I'm just...lost in thought, thinking about everything--and nothing." Kyle lies, like his mother's favorite rug, and Derek scoffs--his patience waning by the second.
"Stop lying to me, man! Stop that shit!" Derek curses, a worried tone carrying his voice--something Kyle's never heard before, "Whatever it is that's botherin' you, you can't keep shoving that shit down. Me and Amata? We're here for you, always! We're not goin' anywhere. We care deeply about you, and ever since we got back, you’ve been moody all day. Spill it—what’s wrong?”
His command voice is like a growl, Kyle thinks—such a guttural, raw thing that only twists the knife—driving his feelings for the man deeper and deeper. It wasn’t just a physical affection Kyle had for the smaller man looking up at him, he appreciated how he didn’t hesitate to be vulnerable when he saw something was bothering him or Amata.
The three of them had been through their fair share of trauma and suffering, but it seems as though this only reinforced the bond between them. Derek was always super protective of the both of them—intent on being there for them in and out of battle, whether he was watching Amata’s back while she tended to a couple cuts a raider with a kitchen knife gave her or cooking food for all three of them as Pantera crackled from a radio.
He’d always be checking in on them, no matter the time of day—making sure they ate, were sufficiently hydrated (always tossing Kyle water after their little scraps), and that they were being given ample time to rest. Amata and Kyle had both taken turns returning the favor, checking that Derek was getting enough rest and that he wasn’t pushing himself too hard during his training—ensuring that the one always taking care of them was being cared for in return.
He was always sorta just looming right next to them, only speaking when spoken to, watching for the slightest giveaway of trouble, always surveying the area—the safety off of Judgement and Seeing Red at the ready, already having his mind made up about just how he was gonna make you suffer.
Kyle's tears cloud his vision and his judgement, trying to think of a lie on the spot that he can tell Derek, but nothing comes up. He looks down at Derek, feeling like a pathetic mess of a man, shaking his head and laughing—all cornered and rushed.
"It's not---I—I—..." Kyle tries, but he can't do it.
He can't risk losing him, too.
Derek's now fully worried, unsure how to comfort the sobbing man, yanking him inside the house. He runs his fingers through Kyle's hair and wipes his tears away--Kyle too afraid to look at him.
"There's my big guy!" Derek jokes, and Kyle laughs at this, the lights burning his eyes as he sniffles, his tears continuing to fall, "O-Okay! Okay! Let's--let's sit you down. It--it's me, ain't it?"
"NO! JUST--STOP FUCKING ASKING! GO--GO AWAY!" Kyle yells, and Derek's confusion shifts fully into anger, shoving Kyle.
"Listen, you stubborn fuck! I'M TRYIN' TO HELP YOU! You're the stupid ass who won't tell me what's wrong! You know what? Fuck this, I'm goin for a walk--"
A gasping sob escapes Kyle before Derek can open the door fully, snatching Derek’s wrist.
“Let go of me.” Derek demands, wrestling his wrist away, grasping the doorknob.
It’s now or never.
"I--I love you."
Derek freezes, like a deer in headlights, trying to process what Kyle's just said, the words dry on his tongue--as his face contorts into uncertainty.
Kyle carefully lets the door shut with a click as more tears stream down his face, clearing his throat and airing himself out. There's a loudly uncomfortable silence between, and for a moment, Kyle thinks he might be better off dead.
He has to be a man about this, come what may.
"I--I don't care if you hate me for telling you--but, but I have to get this out. I'm in love with you. I've loved you from the second I met you--I--I ain't ever met anyone like you, before. Just being near you makes me happy, seeing you rip and tear through a crowd of raiders just--just gives me these good fucking chills. All this sparring I do with you ain't just because I like to wrestle--it's an intimate thing to me--it's sacred. I know it makes you happy--I just love seeing you smile or blush when I call you baby, I love seeing you yawn in the morning and make coffee, I love hearing your voice and--and your laugh--I just--fuck--I don't wanna ruin my friendship with you--and--and I understand if you never wanna see me aga--"
His kiss is so forceful that it nearly breaks Kyle's nose, not that he'd mind, his tongue wet as Kyle moans, Derek's hands snaring themselves onto his biceps and pushing him into the door with a thump. Derek smirks as he grips Kyle tighter, a certain pleasure erupting in him as Kyle whimpers with need.
When they break apart, Kyle blinks trying to register what happened between synapses firing in his brain and neurons activating. Derek's breath is warm against his cool skin, lining kisses up, up, up his neck, delighting in Kyle's sharp gasp.
"I love you, too. I ain't afraid of what I feel for you. You get it, you get me--you always understand how I feel, and you're always there to keep me balanced, and--and you make me feel human. You shouldn't be afraid, neither. What matters is that I love you. I don't care about nothing else." Derek breathes, and Kyle's tears shift from sadness to joy, "Hey, hey, hey--no more tears. I gotcha, baby, cuz I know you got me--and I'll always take care of you, just like you take care of me."
Kyle wraps Derek into a big hug, landing kisses into his collarbone and neck that makes Derek laugh. Derek grins and cocks his head as Kyle’s hand travels up the smoothness of his Harley Davidson shirt, the muscles in his back like iron—Kyle taking the fresh opportunity to get his hands all over him.
"Whoa, whoa! Slow it down, Casanova! C'mon, why don't we meet Amata at Jenny's and get some ice cream?" Derek suggests, and Kyle sniffles, nodding in agreement.
"Better hurry before the chocolate ice cream runs out." Kyle teases, and Derek's eyes widen, wrapping his hand into Kyle's and pulling him along.
"Shit!"
Kyle laughs again, letting Derek pull him along--as the moon comes over the sky.
Kyle's question had finally been answered.
This was love