“I think we need to talk.” Paul/Mike, Graceland
“Charlie knows.”
Mike looks rumpled, and soft with sleep, and Paul almost regrets waking him. They all have circles under their eyes constantly now, and sleep is a prized commodity in the house. But he’d woken from another nightmare, dreamed of burying Mike’s body in the sand, of his eyes opening in accusation as the shovel came down. It’s too much for Paul today – to hold the ideas of being a father and a murderer all wrapped up in one body.
Mike looks at him, quiet with the weight of the news.
“How’d she find out?” he asks.
“The tape resurfaced.” It’s vague but it’s all that matters, and Paul runs a hand over his hair and sits on the bed, trying not to.. look. No need to make this more complicated than it needs to be. It doesn’t matter that Mike’s sleep pants look soft, that the material drapes his thighs just right.
Mike just looks at him, leans back against the headboard of his bed. His hands are still and Paul feels like he’ll never be still again, wonders when everything got so tangled up in itself that he can’t see the way out for once.
“What do you think she’ll do?”
“Look, man, I got no damn idea.” He scrubs a hand over his face again and when he looks back, Mike is watching him with an inscrutable look on his face.
“Come here,” he says, and pats the bed next to him.
“What?”
“I said, come here.” It’s firm but gentle, and between one breath and the next Paul finds himself scooting up the bed.
They sit together for a long time, lost in their own thoughts. Paul feels awkward, a little off-kilter like Mike always makes him feel (and like he tries so hard not to show). But after awhile Mike turns to him with a half-smile and says again, “C’mere.”
Paul holds his eyes for a long moment, but eventually he slumps down, puts his head on one of those warm thighs, touches the fabric of Mike’s pants with the pads of his fingers. It’s as soft as he’d thought. He wonders what this is, since they never do this - he’s too gruff and Mike’s too stubborn for them to move in each other’s orbits too much without feathers getting ruffled. But it’s the middle of the night, Charlie’s safe, and Paul lets his mind drift with the slow movement of Mike’s fingers over his scalp.
He wakes up at dawn and neither of them have moved. Mike is touching him still, one hand on his arm, and when Paul shifts over he can see that Mike fell asleep sitting up. Paul’s heart hurts, just for a second, because the early light catches just the edge of Mike’s nose, the softness of his lips as he breathes in and out, slowly and deeply. This is a particular kind of lovely moment that people like Paul aren’t entitled to, and he knows it.
He extricates himself carefully, heart fluttering with the worry that he’ll wake Mike up and they’ll have to do the awkward morning dance of people who’ve recently been intimate and don’t know what to do with it. It’s easier this way, he tries to convince himself as he closes the door silently behind him.
It’s not until he’s in the kitchen pouring a glass of orange juice that he realizes he hadn’t dreamed at all.