#friday has become his second most closest person/not person - beating stevie even

[anthonyed]

soulmate au: where your soulmate’s name is written on your skin [part 3]

[part 1] [part 2]

One thing keeps running in his mind; Stevie’s out on a mission.

He’s red in face, damp hair clinging all over and the sheet beneath him is soaked in sweat. It has barely been half an hour since he laid down, and he didn’t at all mean to sleep. Sleep hasn’t been on his mind. Not, when he can survive without it.

But his body betrayed and dragged him down over that one line that he dreaded and now he has decades of pain bursting out of his pores with a sludge for a mind.

And Stevie is out on a mission.

Clenching his fists in a feeble attempt to contain his shaking, he sits up.

His eyes immediately go to that blinking red light in the ceiling's corner.

He’s been told that it’s some sort of surveillance camera. Not meant to spy but is there, dormant, to only intervene when something that necessitates intervention happens.

James wasn’t entirely convinced about it. But he’d just been invited to bunk in someone else’s home for free with free food and safety. He wasn’t entirely on the side to get fussy and complain about things.

Besides, he had Stevie.

Now in his absence, the paranoid is acting up. Suspicions climb higher walls and his skin is prickling with the need to rip that surveillance camera off its wall.

He’s sliding his fists beneath his thigh to keep himself from reaching for anything to encourage that vandalising thought when three steady knocks reverberated the bedroom door.

His senses shift focus, momentarily distracted by the red light overhead as they scream at what or who could be behind that door.

He bites hard on the inside of his lower lip, contemplating what to do – it’s his first time being without Stevie. Alone. When an entirely too familiar voice speaks up, “James, it’s me,” and all his senses go limp, almost purring in the overwhelming comfort it brings.

His feet tremble when they touch the floor and he has to reach for support to get some kind of bearing.

Outside, Anthony’s voice rises with worry. “James?”

And he wants to say he’s fine. That he’s alright and it’s just that – Just that. He just, cannot stand up.

But how embarrassing is that.

Then, Anthony says, “I’m coming in, okay.” And the sheer thought of his soulmate catching him in this pathetic state sends him sinking down in the mattress. Wet sheets curling uncomfortably around his palms as he supports himself upright and he bites down an ashamed groan.

What is wrong with him?

“Hey. Hey? Look at me.”

Brown eyes wide and earnest, demanding for his attention. And James gives. Unfractured. Because Anthony deserves everything, whole.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks. His too rough fingers skating across James’ stubble covered jaw and cheek as he cups his face in place and looks up at him. At only him. From his place, with his knees on his floor – when he should be tall. When James should be the one grovelling at his feet, because Anthony deserves more.

Because James isn’t whole.

He’s fragments of broken something. One of two pieces of them and he can never attached only those two and pretend to be complete.

He can never be complete.

That’s the sickening truth of his story.

But for Anthony, his soulmate, he grunts. Something akin to a positive response, to indicate that he’s alright.

Since his tongue is still stuck on the roof of his mouth from the shame that rattles his core and now he can’t even look into Anthony’s eyes.

The hands around his face doesn’t waver. The grip remains grounding yet gentle as the skin under his eyes prickle from looping circles being rubbed around it.

“Wanna watch a movie with me?”

“I remember my mother’s hot chocolate recipe and I maybe a few years too rusty but I’ll make it good.” Anthony whispers.

Their foreheads touching and James willingly leans into it. A short graze of skin on skin – up and down – is all the answer that he can manage for the question.

-

“I think we have all the ingredients for it...,” Anthony muses as they ride the elevator together. James silent by his side, but sufficiently calmed by the contact of their fingers intertwined together.

“You have everything you need, boss.” The blinking red light quips and James shoots it a suspicious look.

At his side, Tony hums in satisfaction, giving a tiny squeeze to James’ hand. “Thanks, baby girl.” He smiles upwards, eyes closed in serenity which puts a little smile on James’ face.

He never understood the red light. He knows that it’s capable of thinking by itself. A form of intelligence. An artificial one, according to Stevie.

Which, his soulmate brought to life. Something unfeasible at that time, but he proved everyone wrong. It makes James swell in pride.

But it doesn’t make him explicitly trust the product. Even if it was Anthony’s creation, James struggles with trusting in general and it’s simply, tough. What more when he cannot even begin to understand how it functions.

However, as long as it keeps making Anthony smile, James thinks, he can start somewhere with the trust.

-

In the communal floor, Anthony sets to work in the kitchen while James resists the urge to hang by the hem of his shirt and follow every footstep and sits at the dining table.

He lets his eyes follow instead.

From the stretch and flex and riding of material up tanned skin.

He watches Anthony work the stove, jittery on his feet as he hums under his breath and measures and mixes all the ingredients he gathered on the counter.

James lets his head fall on the table, cushioning it with the fold of his arms as his eyes slide half close. “I’m sorry about killing your parents.” He relieves that’s been on his mind for so long.

Something clatters onto the floor as Anthony comes to a sudden halt. A whisper of curse fleeting through the air before he picks up the utensil and runs it under the water, rinsing.

“I remember it without the weight of emotion. I’m not sure about how I exactly feel about it but I’m sorry.” He frowns at the stiffening of Anthony’s back. “I’m sure once I’ve figured out all the emotions and stuffs, I’ll be more sorry but for now -,”

“Doesn’t matter.” Anthony turns. The tight smiles on his face failing to match the wild haggardness in his sunken eyes.

James clenches his fists, the discomfort of his soulmate bearing down on his shoulders as he lifts his head up, straightening up in his seat. “It looks like it does.”

The utensil in Anthony’s grasp slips again and lands with another loud clang. Anthony closes his eyes, breathing out another swear word.

His entire body begins to tremble then. Which is probably why James stands up in autopilot, closing in to his soulmate, seeking and wanting to give comfort.

“I’m sorry.” He says, cupping Anthony’s cheeks and bringing their foreheads together. Inhaling the air in between their space.

He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for now.

Is it for his parents’ death or for putting Anthony in this tortured position?

He doesn’t know.

Either way, “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, stroking the apple of Anthony’s cheeks. Round and round in small circles, wishing his soulmate will let him in. Let him take care of him.

Make him feel better.

The front of his shirt is fisted and he’s pulled in closer as a small shudder of exhale fans across James’ face. Their cheeks meet as Anthony nuzzles into him. “I’m okay” He whispers back shakily. Circling James’ wrist with his fingers and rubbing at its pulse point with his thumb. “We’re okay. We’ll move on.” He nods against James, breath stuttering when he inhales and exhales.

It is then when something hisses and sizzles in the background and at once, Anthony pushes away in alarm.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. It’s boiling. Shit!”

James struggles a little to wrap his head around the sudden shove and panic. His fist clenching and unclenching at his sides minutely until a warm brush of skin skids pass, spreading calm through his artificial nerves.

Anthony’s still dancing around with nervous energy as he stirs the pot on the counter. Free hand reaching for the scattered ingredients and he mumbles consistently under his breath.

But with each millisecond pause in between cleaning and salvaging the beverage, he reaches out for James. Allowing tiny brushes of skin against metal and sometimes lingering, even in his distraction.

James heart swells dangerously in his chest.

-

They’re curled up on the couch after. When the hot chocolate is done and the television is playing something that Anthony thought James will find enjoyable but, all James can think about is the weight over half of his left side where his soulmate is curled into a ball.

“I forgot how bad the CGI was in the 90s” he murmurs. Completely unaware of what he’s doing to James.

Just by snuggling with his metal arm. Something that has been installed as a weapon for the winter soldier, to aid with his mission; in murders. And here he is – a ball of light, James’ personal haven - wrapped warm and soft around it like he doesn’t even care about the mass of sin lodged in between each silver plate.

James wants to shake him off. Shift him so he’s on the right. Not on the wrong side.

For Anthony is a whisper of purity wrapped around hell and that is not proper at all.

But hells likes the taste of heaven.

For all the cold that surrounds the metal, it thrives from the warmth and heat that Anthony willingly gives and James – He, aches for it.

It’s wrong, but it feels so right that he can’t keep his eyes and mind off of his soulmate.

“You don’t mind the arm?” He whispers over dark curls, lips brushing over soft strands which he leans into until his mouth’s pressed over them.

Anthony hums, leaning into him in return. “It’s a part of you.” He says easily. Like he’s never ever been bothered by it. Even once.

James struggles to breathe. “What are you doing to me?” He murmurs his thought out aloud, unbeknownst to himself.

The chatter from the television comes to a sudden stop. Two vertical line appearing stark white at the top left corner when James looks up. “What do you want me to do you?” Anthony asks, whisper soft, looking up at him.

James’ throat spasms shut, then opens and he swallows audibly. “Everything.” He breathes out honestly. Flesh fingers reaching to brush away the curls fallen over Anthony’s forehead and he follows his gut, pressing a kiss over the stretch of exposed skin.

Anthony shudders in his hold. “If I ask you out for dates?”

“I’ll say yes.”

“If I ask you to kiss me…,”

“I’ll say yes.” James answers without a hesitation.

Anthony closes his eyes and breathes. When he blinks open, a new kind of vulnerability is etched along those golden specks littered across his big brown eyes. “And if I ask you to stay.” He asks softly.

James tips his head up, holding his gaze, “Then I’ll stay.” He whispers faithfully. “But I can’t do all the others when you have Ms Potts.” He shakes his head, heart aching in his chest. “Not when you’re both engaged. It’s wrong.”

“What?” Anthony jerks away, peeling himself off of James’ side without warnings. “I’m not engaged –,” He protests before realization dawns upon him. “Have you been reading the gossip columns, James?” He squints at him.

“It was on the news.” James frowns at the where he’s still connected with Anthony; his left arm.

Anthony sinks back with a groan, head tipping backwards into James’ shoulder, his body back to pinning half of James’ like it had been before and James allows himself to breathe again, in relief at the weight of his soulmate.

Anthony curls all his metal fingers into a fist. “They lie.” He says, uncurling the trigger finger. “Rule number one on living in this century, snowflake, is to never trust the media as it is.” His thumb runs along James’ index absently.

James spreads out all his fingers and link them with his soulmates’. Half of him feeling nauseated looking at the way wrong envelopes all the rights in the world; evil intertwined with goodness, while the other half of him cannot help but be enthralled by it.

Anthony curls further into him, head tucking beneath James’ chin as he squeezes James’ hand, smiling dopily when he looks up at him. James stutters, “Wh- What’s the second rule?” He asks, drinking in their proximity – something warm coiling deep within his lower belly.

“The second rule -,” Anthony inhales shakily, his eyes fleeting downwards and James realizes where he’s looking at, his own gaze following Anthony’s lead, dropping to pink lips longingly. “The second rule,” Anthony repeats, much closer than he’s been before.

Too close. And James gives in to the thrill of wants pounding inside him, ducking his head, just a smidge away and –

“The second rule is you kiss me.” Anthony whispers, snapping the final thread between them. Blinking widely when he pulls back after just a peck, much to James’ frustration.

So he drops all his worries and doubts and presses his mouth over Anthony’s. Soft and slow at first then increasingly coaxing until they part and he swipes a hot tongue into the space between his soulmate’s mouth, licking in, getting a taste of him – just a tease, before he pulls away, smirking when Anthony follows, “And you kiss me back.” He brushes a thumb over the swell of Anthony’s bottom lip.

To his delight, his soulmate snorts, before giving into a fit of giggles, leaning into him – spreading warmth and happiness all over and James smiles endlessly, pressing his lips over the mess of curls tucked beneath his chin.

He’s wrong. He knows. He can never be complete. He’s aware.

But he has a soulmate who wants him for him – the way he is; broken and scared and covered in sins.

A soulmate who wants him to stay. And stay, James will. Until Anthony throws him away, James will stick by him, give him everything he has and makes sure nothing else matters over him.