Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness was comfort. It had taken Michael some time to realise. Even when he hadn't known he was marked by the Eye, Michael had known there was something going on, just outside his reach. It was frustrating, especially as it became more and more obvious that he was being kept in the dark on purpose, questions skillfully avoided, research discouraged. 

It wasn't anything new. Ryan had been the same, another aspect of his life just out of reach of his understanding. He hated it, being kept from knowing what he craved, craving knowing what he was purposefully being ignorant towards. Unsatisfied, helpless. Blind.

It was terror, the dark he kept being kept in, just outside the light, in reach, so close Michael could see it, behold it. Never reach it. There was no salvation in the unreachable light, it wouldn’t pull him out of the dark that terrified him, the dark that swallowed every idea for an answer to questions he so desperately wanted to resolve. It was fear and dread, and Michael fought against it, tried to find his way out, towards knowledge. They pushed him back, played with him, doused him further, deeper into the dark that came with not knowing, with uncertainty, with questioning sanity. And then he gave up, and embraced the darkness he was being kept in.

Darkness was comfort and when he turned himself towards it, gave himself to it, it was willingly, a choice, reverent. There had never been purpose in knowing for him, nothing divine about a Watcher he was kept from understanding. Nothing for him to do, no way to help. Michael turned his back to it all as he walked into the church, a windowless building, light banished from the unlit inside. A place of worship, of peace, of dread, of fear. Michael smiled when he was inside, welcomed by others who had turned their back on light, the world as it was, rotten and bright. 

He never looked back. He had been kept in the dark all his life. It felt right to finally choose it for himself.

*

Gerry was done with the Eye and everything else, really. Done trying to do good only to be hurt and fucked over, go home, lick his wounds, get hurt again. And he knew that he wasn't really making a difference in the first place. Most of those marked he saved had their fate only postponed. For every book and artifact he destroyed, new ones were created. It was all pointless and Gerry was so fucking done with it all. He knew there was no escape. But he could still make a choice, one for himself. He was stuck, but not optionless. He wanted to make them pay, every single entity, watch them writhe in pain, watch them sizzle, watch them burn . Good was an illusion, a lie, and he was angry, hungry for letting go, for giving into destruction. The Lightless Flame did not welcome him with open arms, but he didn't care. If needed, he would burn them down, too.

Gerry struck a match and set fire to that last piece of his old life, watched the bookstore go up in flames, orange, red, yellow, blue, books inside taking, feeding the fire that consumed them, and everything around the dusty paper he knew so well. Gerry could have laughed at the sight, relief, the ridiculous, heavy feeling the place still gave him years and years and years after his mother died, finally gone, soon ashes. He was done and when the siren approached Gerry turned his back to what used to be his life, what he had finally destroyed. 

Because destruction was what he craved, had been craving for too long. He never looked back. The mark of the eye clung, but not for long. Not after Gerry showed himself more than willing to burn it off. He would burn them all, destroy everything related to what he had been forced to collect, to revere as a child, throughout his life. Gerry was done and he wanted to see it all burn, and revel in the destruction of what had destroyed his life.

*

Michael loved the quiet that came with the dark. He hadn’t always enjoyed being alone with himself in darkness, nothing to distract from his always-whirring thoughts. But they weren’t like that anymore. Michael didn’t worry about answers to questions he had been asking all his life, no longer wondered how he could help while being kept from all information he’d need to do it properly. It wasn’t his cause, not anymore. Had never been. His help was appreciated here, in the dark. He was told what he needed to know, and didn’t care about the rest anymore. What did any of it matter? Eventually, it would all be swallowed by darkness.

He was early, as usual. He liked being early to any of the meetings, to have the dark place to himself, to stand in silence, eyes open into nothingness. It had an exquisite quality to it, those moments before anyone else arrived, just him and that which had embraced him when he had been lost and confused, and so, so frustrated, nearly mad with all things unexplained in his life. Driven by a curiosity that hadn’t entirely been his, kept from the answers, the light of revelation. Kept in the dark which terrified him. He smiled. The light had clearly never been for him. He was at his happiest in the dark, dark was comfort as much as it was fear. One day, the rest of the world would learn to understand. Or rather, give up on understanding. Give themselves to the comfort of the dark, the dread of the unknowable hidden within. Worship and terror went hand in hand and, one day, people would understand. He would help make them understand, open their eyes to the rapture that came with the dark.

The door crashed open, sudden, and light flooded the dark room. The light was the red and orange of the dying sun, and Michael screwed his eyes shut against it, painful after so long in the dark. He did squint at the door after a moment - it was still too early for the rest to arrive if it was light outside, so who was it that forcefully opened the door and let light inside? - and there stood a black-clad figure, edges dissolving, seemingly on fire, back-lit by the last bright rays of sunlight. It was beauty, an eclipse made man, darkness alight, ablaze and Michael’s eyes went wide despite the sting of the light, and he felt like he should be falling to his knees in face of this orange light illuminating the figure, the man with his dark, wide eyes - mad, not like Michael’s in awe - black-painted lips pulled into a grin, a promise of finality, destruction, a force come to end it all, in violence, in all-consuming flame, the the beauty that was the light playing like fire in his raven hair.

Michael didn’t fall to his knees, and he pulled his mouth into a thin line, closing it again after it had fallen open at the sight. There was no beauty in light. This was an intruder.

Chapter Text

It was dark in the crumbling building. A church at some point, Gerry guessed by the couple stained glass windows, but it had fallen into itself and the moon was high and bright above them where the roof was long gone. It shouldn't be as dark as it was. Michael had only just come to and had wiggled against the rope tying his wrists and ankles to the chair. And yet he seemed to already be absorbing the light around them. Fine. He wouldn't be for long. 

Gerry waited for him to look up, waited for that spark of recognition in his eyes and for Michael’s lips to part in what would have undoubtedly been a rude comment, before dumping the lighter fluid over his head. A grin pulled at his lips as Michael started, coughed and wiggled against his restraints with more urgency. Gerry knew his knots. They would hold.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His eyes stared right into Gerry’s and there was no light to catch in them but somehow Gerry could still see the anger in them, seething as he spat out the words like he wanted to hurl them at Gerry. Gerry’s grin only widened.

He took his time to walk to Michael’s other side, took him in in the little moonlight that still reached them, caught in Michael’s wet curls and the furious lines of his face, the tension in his jaw. It was a good look on him. Not that Gerry had seen any bad ones on Michael since the day he had broken in that door. Michael had been pretty then, ethereal caught between the darkness of the room and the dying sunlight Gerry had let in through the door. His expression had been a different one then, confusion, maybe awe. It had settled into something not too unlike the fury on his features now quickly, but it hadn't quite been the same. 

They had crossed paths many a time since Gerry attempted and failed to burn that building down. Failed because of Michael. It was fine. Gerry had had his fair share of victories since and this would be his last. He had no time to deal with the constant disturbance of the cult. Or not the cult. Just Michael. This was personal, had been for a while. And it would end tonight. Somewhere, Gerry felt a pang of disappointment at the thought.

Gerry’s lighter slid into his hands and he lit it with unnecessary flourish. Michael rolled his eyes, but it didn’t hide the fact that his whole body seemed to tense up. Gerry leaned closer, self-satisfied, enjoyed Michael’s feeble attempts at getting further away from the small flame. The scent of the lighter fluid was biting, and Gerry brought the flame just a little closer. 

Michael’s face was more visible like that and Gerry thought it nearly a shame to burn something so beautiful. Beautiful but dangerous. Gerry still felt like there were dark spots in his vision sometimes. He could never blink them away fully, they'd just disappear after a while. It had been months. Part of him was starting to panic whether they would never go away fully. He wouldn't ask Michael if that was the case. He refused to. 

Instead, Gerry leaned in even closer, close enough to feel Michael’s quick breaths against his lips. Michael’s expression was still set in a mask of anger and he held Gerry’s gaze accordingly, though Gerry thought his eyes did look wider than usual. Grey like the moon above, but darker, like the sky at dawn. 

"You're the prettiest thing I've ever set fire to, Michael." His voice was sugar-sweet, smooth like honey and Michael looked startled for the shortest moment before he caught himself and went back to glaring at Gerry. 

But Gerry was satisfied, leaned back with a smug grin and brought the lighter to Michael’s soaked hair. It took immediately, of course it did. Gerry's flames wouldn't have needed assistance to consume whatever he wanted to see destroyed but he still liked doing this the old way occasionally. And it felt appropriate, for Michael. Maybe Gerry had been curious to see if it would flatten his curls. It had only a little and now they were aflame and Gerry took a couple steps back to have a better view. 

The fire spread quickly and soon Michael was the brightest thing in miles, body enveloped by flame. He watched, triumphant, while fiddling with his lighter. He had expected more struggle, more screaming. They usually screamed. Michael had seemingly frozen in his position, eyes wide, lips pressed into a tight line. Maybe shock? Gerry didn't know but tried to focus on the all-consuming flames, on how the light seemed to be returning to the room bit by bit as Michael burned. It didn’t feel as satisfying as he had hoped. Probably just the underwhelming reaction, he was sure.

Except something wasn't quite right. Michael wasn't burning. The flames were covering him head to toe and yet nothing seemed to be changing. They seemed to be dancing on him, consuming the lighter fluid without touching him. Gerry frowned at the realisation, squinted against the dark in case it was simply a trick of the light. Everything had gone so smoothly there was no reason for this not to work, either. Gerry was considering getting closer to examine what was going wrong when Michael suddenly straightened up in the chair. 

Gerry froze. Michael was grinning . When he opened his eyes they were devoid of light, two dark irises amidst yellow flames. Except not. Michael stood, slowly, the rope securing him had burned through - the fire was burning, then - and the flames enveloping him were still there, somehow, but they weren't. They weren't because fire shouldn't be lack of light, shouldn't engulf Michael in shadow when Gerry had set out to destroy him in an inferno. 

It shouldn't be yielding to Michael’s will, and Michael shouldn't be casually running a burning hand through his burning hair and Gerry's flames shouldn't look like that. Void, like all light had been sucked out of them. But they were still there, Gerry could still see them, dancing on Michael’s skin. It looked mesmerizing, unreal. Ethereal. Gerry didn't know when his mouth had opened, but he was aware that he was gaping as Michael approached, expression smug, clearly enjoying seeing Gerry’s shock. He looked like the sun, like a deity to worship or die refusing to do so, and Gerry knew, in some corner of his mind, that he should run, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the sight, couldn’t stop trying to comprehend what he was seeing, couldn’t stop looking because if Michael had been pretty before, now he was unbearably so and Gerry felt like, in that moment, he understood the idea of sun worship because louder than the urge to run was the urge to bask in this beautifully terrible sight, to give himself fully to the overwhelming feeling of awe it was making him feel. In that instance, Gerry understood the Dark, in all its terrible glory, and for a moment he felt like he couldn’t remember the light of flames.

Michael was close enough for Gerry to feel the heat, familiar, fire burning faster, higher. It was tangible as Michael leaned in. Gerry could taste it on his tongue, the flames, the ash, and Michael’s eyes were bottomless, devoid of light and yet still glimmering with amusement. Gerry could still read them, saw Michael’s grin clearly through the flames burning and yet not burning as they should. They were in the dark now and Gerry had forgotten such things as the moon, the concept of light, because all there was was Michael, and Gerry was at his mercy.

There was a hand, not touching, just hovering over his cheek and Gerry felt his skin grow hot. He was long past being able to burn, but he still felt the heat and it was comfort as it had been for most of his life. Maybe if Michael’s gaze wasn’t keeping him frozen in place, Gerry would’ve leaned into it. 

As it was, he simply stared, awestruck, at Michael’s face, burning with some kind of void flames. Michael’s grin settled into something more pointed.

“You’re the loveliest thing that’s ever set me on fire, Gerry.” His tone was a mockery of Gerry’s earlier, dripping honey of darkest gold, and Gerry held back a shiver.

Michael only grinned, satisfied, and turned around. Gerry stayed frozen in place as he watched Michael leave the building, flames seemingly dying down as the light slowly returned. The moonlight felt nearly blinding to Gerry when it hit his eyes again, but he didn’t dare to blink until Michael was out of sight and Gerry was left in the ruins of a church, squinting against the pale light of the moon and trying to interpret the quick beating of his heart.

Chapter Text

Gerry watched the flames spread around him with a wide smile. The fire was eating away at the dark walls, licking at the windows that let no light through and Gerry’s grin only grew wider when heat caused the first one to burst and shatter. It was night, but still there was moonlight and starlight and the general luminescence of the closeby city. He felt more satisfaction about that than the flames he had made, revelled in the knowledge that he had not just destroyed the building but tainted the sacred darkness within, too. 

It was the same, general satisfaction he felt whenever he fucked with one of the entities, except this time there was also something delightfully personal about it. He still remembered seeing Michael in these halls for the very first time – that brief moment of (mutual) awe and confusion that had very quickly turned to fury on Michael’s lovely face, his own…Gerry wasn't sure what his expression might have been. He hadn't expected to find anyone in there. And it had mostly been that surprise that had him leave after a relatively short fight with Michael. Otherwise, this building would have been ashes a long while ago.

Part of Gerry was glad it hadn't worked out. Michael had left him dumbfounded last time. Gerry had taken weeks to recover from it. He had been so sure it would be his final triumph. He had been convinced that he'd be watching Michael burn. And he guessed in a way he had. Just not on his terms.

They hadn't run into each other since and Gerry had decided he wouldn't try to attack him personally anytime soon again. Which was fine. He was sure he could find something else that would hurt. Tonight was the first attempt at doing so.

Gerry recognised him by the sound of his steps, which was in itself somewhat amusing. He couldn't remember the last time he had spent enough time with one person to recognise the cadence of their steps. Probably not since his mother.

But while his mother’s steps had filled him with mostly terror by the end, these filled him with a variety of emotions. Irritation and annoyance, just bordering on something destructive, an urge to harm, close but not the same as rage or hatred. Humiliation – still stinging from their last run-in, but from all times before when Michael had left him dumbfounded – and of course the thrill, that full-body tingle Gerry got from watching things break and fall apart, from striking a match and watching what he held to it burn, from obliterating everything Entity-related he came across not because he had to but because he wanted to. 

There was no amorphous satisfaction of destruction behind it here – not that Gerry wouldn’t love to destroy him, but he found that after he failed last time he hadn’t been horribly upset about it – but just Michael , approaching him from the side of the building where the flames hadn’t spread as much. He knew Michael’s body was protected from the heat by those strange, dark not-flames. Gerry had expected it. He hadn’t assumed Michael stupid enough to enter the burning building carelessly even if the fire hadn’t yet fully consumed it.

“You’re late,” Gerry said when Michael came to a stop a couple steps in front of him – close enough for Gerry to see that peculiar darkness of his irises that had come with the void flames last time, too – because he felt giddy with triumph and revenge and because it was true. There was no saving the building, even if Michael managed to stop him. Gerry had started the fire – was feeding it still – but it would burn until there was nothing left to consume without him, too. He had always liked that about fire.

Michael had a strange expression on his face as he moved closer – something in his mouth bordering on amusement, his eyes too dark to reflect light and yet glinting in that same dangerous manner they had in that church weeks ago. Gerry could feel that prickling in his spine telling him to step back, much like he had that night, to get away from whatever was approaching, from those lightless flames dancing on skin that refused to burn.

Gerry didn’t give in to his urge to flee, to retreat this time, but held still where he was, returning Michael’s strange expression with a satisfied grin so wide it probably bordered on looking manic as he fiddled with the lighter in his hand.

*

Michael pressed closer, one hand on the back of Gerry’s hair, tilting it further back to kiss him deeper. Gerry’s mouth was hot – not in a pleasant way, but in the same way the burning walls around them were hot, an oppressive, scalding heat that felt like it was pushing against his very skin, trying to break through and ruin him. And Michael couldn’t get enough of it, his free hand on Gerry’s too-warm cheek – it was difficult to tell whether it was his skin or the heat from the surrounding room – his thumb tracing that smooth spot of scarred skin over and over because it somehow felt hotter than the rest of his face, like it might burn Michael’s fingertips off if he lingered for too long. Michael wanted to know if it’d feel the same with the scar on Gerry’s throat – the barely visible ones of his knuckles – whether they all felt this hot . 

Michael had found an old picture of him once – some old newspaper article that Michael hadn’t read because his eyes had landed on the small picture of Gerry’s face, expression unamused, the blank, scarred patches of skin Michael had noticed before filled with bold-lined eyes – two smaller ones, barely visible from the angle, by his ears, a bigger one on his throat. Michael’s hand wandered down, traced his neck – felt the slight difference in texture when his thumb found the scar, the heat – or maybe it was just Gerry’s lips parting in a gasp, sending another wave of something burning through him, something that felt like it was singing him much like Michael could feel the tips of his hair starting to singe as his focused wavered – Gerry’s teeth, nearly feeling cold in all-encompassing heat against his lips, Gerry’s hands, too hot, somehow finding skin without Michael noticing, making him arch, half-startled and all-needy into every touch. His hands moved and yet Michael could still feel them where they had been, like burnt imprints except the echo on his skin was less one of pain and more one of pleasure – promise – and Michael was so fucking hot and part of him was tempted to let the protective darkness slip and let his shirt burn off.

They pulled apart from the kiss and Gerry felt unsteady as his surroundings rematerialised around him, the blackness that had blocked out everything but the feeling of Michael’s mouth against his easing and suddenly Gerry could hear the raging fire around him again, could feel the heat, smell the burning air, thin and dry and painful to inhale. He blinked once, twice, trying to see so his brain could match view to sensation but he kept seeing nothing. Only pure, relentless darkness, deeper than any normal one Gerry knew. Very much the kind he had experienced once before, the first time Michael had gotten close enough to touch. He hadn’t kissed him then but he had left Gerry stumbling through an inescapable darkness for nearly a week and Gerry sometimes still felt it, briefly, thought his vision was going black only for it to pass with a couple blinks. It wasn’t passing right now.

“Michael!” he hissed through his teeth, a threat, a warning, and Gerry couldn’t see but one of his hands was still on Michael’s face and he tightened the grip on his jaw now, fighting the panic bubbling within and focusing instead on the anger, letting it seep into his fingertips like something hot and molten. 

Michael tried to pull away, but Gerry’s grip only tightened further, nails burying into his jaw, fingertips burning into Michael’s skin. Michael yelped, and jerked his head away – the motion hurt like hell and Michael’s hand immediately went to the burning skin of his jaw, hissed at the pain that only got worse when his fingers touched the burns.

Gerry finally managed to blink the room back into existence – everything so bright with raging flames he had to squint at first. He glared at Michael, expression morphing into something closer to satisfaction when he saw the neat fingerprints burnt into his jaw, the way his eyebrows were scrunched in pain.

Unfortunately, the moment Michael noticed his gaze he grinned. “For someone who cut ties with the Watcher, you sure are afraid of losing your sight,” he spat, taunt cruel and spoken with the certainty that it would hit where it hurt.

And it did, words catching on something deep and raw Gerry had no interest in inspecting closer, a sense of loss he had turned his back to with finality, knowing there would be no closure. Not that he would let Michael know any of that. He focused instead on the way Michael’s face contorted with pain as he carefully tried to feel the damage on his face. He deserved it.

The room suddenly shook as some part of the building came down, towards where the fire had started. Gerry enjoyed the short flash of panic crossing Michael’s expression – enjoyed even more how those infuriating dark flames keeping Gerry’s fire at bay flickered in spots, the flash of discomfort when Michael truly felt the heat.

"We should get out of here."

"Yeah…" Gerry’s hand went back to his waist and Michael went easily, drew closer without Gerry pulling him in and this time the kiss was more languid but not less heated and Gerry felt that tingling sensation at the back of his neck, the dread of that all-encompassing void. It was as much fear as it was excitement, a cruel kind of hunger for Michael to do it again so Gerry had an excuse to retaliate. 

But the next time they pulled apart – another part of the building was collapsing – the darkness was gone the moment Gerry blinked his eyes open and Michael’s lips were still parted and glistening as he threw a concerned look up at the ceiling. Gerry followed the curve of his throat with his eyes and he didn't know whether he wanted to ruin it or kiss it or both but he wanted to get them out and savour that strange uncertainty.

Michael accepted his outstretched hand without question – Gerry was sure it was desperation, not trust and revelled in the knowledge – and allowed Gerry to lead him outside, around cracks in the floor and collapsed, smouldering debris. 

And then they stood outside and Michael turned to look at the slowly collapsing building with a strange expression, a grin that wasn't quite mirthless but neither did it reach his eyes. Gerry realised neither of them had let go of the other's hand. He also realised that a lot of Michael’s hair and clothes were singed in places. He wondered if Michael was even aware. He just kept staring at the crumbling building with that weird expression.

“What?” Gerry eventually asked.

“Thought I’d care more.” 

They were silent. Gerry had nothing to say to that, and Michael’s expression didn’t change from that mix of surprise and amusement. A shiver ran through him, the night’s chill barely perceivable to Gerry but clearly there .

Gerry pressed his thumb into the palm of Michael’s hand, traced a line to his wrist – eyes lingering on his profile, the way the orange light from the fire was playing on the burnt fingerprints on the side of his face, how it was making Michael’s features look soft and inviting – the hollow of his throat a shadow Gerry still wanted to taste or devastate or both. Gerry breathed out, slowly, through his nose. “Do you want to come to mine?”

Michael’s face didn’t turn to him, but his eyes did. They watched each other in silence for a moment before Michael nodded, slowly, grin morphing into something more recognisable. “Yeah…yeah, I do.”

*

Gerry had him pressed against the door the moment it closed behind them, lips back on Michael’s waiting ones, still warm. One hand was back on Michael’s hip, the other feeling for the lightswitch next to the door because somehow his flat was so much darker than it had been outside, where the sky had already started to lighten. Michael’s hand caught his wandering one and guided it below his sweater – lips parting in a gasp against Gerry’s mouth, hot and sweet, and Gerry forgot the switch and deepened the kiss instead, hand running up Michael’s ribs, hot fingertips pressing into night-cooled skin, leaving Michael arching into it, something needy and desperate escaping his throat, hands taking firstfulls of Gerry’s coat to press him closer.

Gerry’s hands suddenly disappeared from where they had both found skin and Michael was about to complain when he understood and helped Gerry remove his coat, detached himself from the door to get rid of his jacket before Gerry clasped his hand and pulled him into the flat, stumbling out of his boots in the process. Michael slid out of his shoes with little trouble, and let Gerry lead the way – pulling him back when he was about to walk into or stumble over something in the dark, swallowed the curses spilling from his lips when he did end up hitting the edge of the bedroom door frame with his foot. 

Gerry let himself be pressed into the wooden frame and kissed back until he was too breathless to feel much of the dull ache in his foot, until Michael finally understood the insistent pull on his sweater and let go of where his fingers were digging into Gerry’s biceps to allow Gerry to finally pull the sweater over his head and let it fall to the floor in favour of running nails down Michael’s bare back. Michael shivered, gasped, hands tangling in his hair as he kissed Gerry hard. Gerry’s fingernails dug into his back as he kissed back. 

They pulled apart after a moment – Gerry with something stuck between whine and moan as Michael forced his head back by pulling on his hair – to catch their breaths, both gasping for air. Gerry was vaguely aware of the fact that the blinds were open and usually street lantern light would be creeping into his room at this time. The angle his head was at should have revealed the pale streaks of light on his ceiling he spent countless sleepless nights staring at. There was only darkness and then Michael’s lips were on his throat and his hand was cupping the back of Gerry’s head, touch soothing. 

“Can you find your bed without falling over the rug or something or do you need some assistance ?” Michael chuckled into the hollow of his throat, finger idly tracing the line of his neck to his shoulder, making a shiver run through his body.

“Shut up ,” Gerry groaned, shoved him playfully off of him - he missed the contact, the heat , but the dissatisfied noise escaping Michael’s lips was worth it. Gerry could barely make out his face in the dark but it was enough to imagine the way his brows must be slightly drawn together in annoyance, his eyes lowered, lips pinched. 

Gerry grinned, reached semi-blindly for Michael, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him flush against him. Whatever comeback Michael had had on his tongue got stuck in his throat in a stuttering, surprised gasp and he nearly stumbled when Gerry started walking him back, further into the bedroom. Gerry made sure to hold him secure, fingers splayed on his ribs – the slightest movement making Michael’s breath hitch in his throat so sweetly – and when they reached the edge of the bed, Gerry’s hands came to his shoulders instead, pushed him down. Michael went wordlessly, still a little stunned but very much not complaining when Gerry gave him a satisfied grin and then proceeded to finally take off that fucking shirt. Michael buried his fingers in the sheets to keep himself from getting up and touch , the memory of skin near-burning beneath his fingers still breathtakingly clear. 

Gerry climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, and Michael’s breath he’d been holding came out just a little uneven, hands immediately finding their way to Gerry’s hips. His skin wasn't scalding anymore, but still hotter than it had any right to be and Michael’s hands moved up his back and pressed him closer – gasping at the feeling of skin against skin. 

Gerry’s mouth was there to kiss the noise from his lips, hands cradling Michael’s face, jaw, fingers playing on his neck and Michael’s hands wandered up his back – traced the too-smooth skin of his spine, trying to feel for an end to it – how many fucking eyes had it been? – and Gerry broke away from the kiss with a gasp, back arching into Michael’s touch, fingers digging into Michael’s shoulders. 

Michael opened his eyes in time to see Gerry’s thick eyelashes flutter open, dark eyes looking nearly black with how blown his pupils were. His eyes were unfocused, hazy, a contrast to the high flush in his cheeks, the red of the tip of his ears, his lips. Stray hair strands had fallen into his face, one stuck to his chapped lips, swaying with every harsh exhale. Gerry’s whole body moved with his panting and Michael could feel it where his hands rested against his lower back, between his shoulder blades. He felt muscles shift where their bodies were pressed flush and it was maddening and beautiful and Michael couldn’t help the appreciative hum escaping his lips as he brought one hand to comb through Gerry’s hair, brushing it out of his face so Michael could appreciate the blush, the pale skin of the scars on Gerry’s jaw joints. Gerry let his head fall forward, pressed his forehead to Michael’s – his hair slipping back into his face with the movement, strands brushing Michael’s cheek, his shoulder, making him shiver.

“Glad you’re enjoying the view,” Gerry mumbled, crooked nose pressed into Michael’s cheek right beside his own, lips brushing the sensitive skin above Michael’s upper lip as they moved, breath so hot Michael thought he could melt under it. “I can’t fucking see shit.” The annoyance in his voice didn’t mask the needy tone fully.

Gerry’s hand had found its way to Michael’s chest, was starting to move down. Michael’s eyes fluttered close with a hum, turning into something more akin to a gasp as Gerry’s fingers trailed down his stomach. Michael’s grip tightened in his hair, nails of his other hand burying into Gerry’s lower back. 

"What do you need to s–" his breath hitched, turned into a hiss as Gerry’s fingertips teased below his waistband. "To see," Michael breathed, sounding too winded. Gerry pressed his lips to Michael’s upper lip, fingers undoing the button of Michael’s pants slowly. Michael tilted his head to lean into the kiss, breath catching in his throat as he hummed, "You seem to be doing fine as is."

"It's not need. I want to see you." His free hand traced Michael’s arm, making him shudder. Another press of lips, this time below Michael’s eye, quieter, "You're pretty."

Michael took a moment to understand – nails were scraping against the sensitive inside of Michael’s arm, the other hand unzipping his pants, torturously slow, Gerry’s breath burning his cheek – then huffed a shaky laugh, kissed the corner of Gerry’s mouth. "I'll consider."

Gerry sighed, nose skimming Michael’s cheek before he scraped his teeth along the shell of Michael’s ear. "Consider while moving up, I'm about to fall off the edge," he whispered, hand coming back to rest on Michael’s chest, pushing. Michael registered the words a moment later – brain too preoccupied with the momentary loss of Gerry’s hand, the flick of tongue against his ear. He chuckled, then, let go of Gerry’s hair and back in favour of squeezing his thighs for a moment. "Get up then."

Gerry pressed his lips to the spot below his ear with a hum before climbing out of his lap. He swayed a little, disoriented – the darkness was a lot more difficult to ignore without Michael pressed against him and while Gerry knew this was his room it didn't feel right like this. He brushed it off, unwilling to linger on it when he could hear Michael shuffle on the bed, the sound of what Gerry assumed were his pants hitting the floor. Gerry was acutely aware of the fact that Michael was watching him even if he could not even make out his outline now that he had moved further back. 

Gerry climbed back onto the bed after ridding himself of his remaining clothes, followed the noise of Michael’s still-heavy breathing, though Michael’s hand quickly found his shoulder and guided him – hands tracing his arms, his sides as Gerry moved closer, his own hands finding skin – Michael’s bare leg, his chest, arm – and then Michael’s hands were on his face and his lips brushed Gerry’s and then they were kissing again. It was messy even with Michael’s guidance and Gerry struggled for a moment to find a comfortable position without breaking the kiss – preferably one that didn’t involve having Michael hissing in pain because he kept putting his hand where his hair was lying, accidentally pulling it. 

They figured something out eventually – Gerry couldn’t tell how , only knew he could feel Michael’s warm skin flush against his in so many places it was impossible to think, Michael’s fingernails running up and down his arms doing very little to keep the last bit of focus from breaking. He tried opening his eyes after catching his breath for a moment and found himself squinting against light that was unbearably bright after all the darkness. 

Michael’s eyes were boring into him, grey nearly swallowed by wide-blown pupils, framed by those lovely, curved, pale lashes that made for a striking contrast. The dark blush spread on his face, neck, shoulder made his freckles stand out starkly; messy, stray curls catching the dim light and looking nearly luminescent against flushed skin where they brushed his shoulder and neck. Gerry’s fingers traced one corkscrew curl laying on his collarbone, followed the curve of the bone – more pronounced when Michael arched into the touch with a sigh, head tilting back, revealing the curve of his neck, his throat – watched Michael’s lashes flutter mesmerizingly as his finger followed the line of his throat to his chin. Gerry traced his jaw, cupped it – noted the way Michael’s eyebrows drew together for just a short, pained moment, the quiet hiss escaping through his teeth – when Gerry fit hot fingertips against the burnt imprints he had left there earlier, skin a barely noticeable different shade of red from Michael’s blush. Michael met his eyes again, looking up at Gerry through his lashes as Gerry’s thumb traced his lower lip, red from kissing.

“Happy?” Michael mumbled, voice low and a little rough, breath hot against the pad of Gerry's thumb.

Gerry took a moment to gather himself enough to respond – Michael’s subtle shifting beneath him, maybe trying to adjust his position to be more comfortable, maybe trying to drive Gerry insane with his thigh between Gerry’s legs, was not helping – the grip of the hand that had been resting on Michael’s arm tightening slightly as he breathed out through his nose.

He licked his lips – why did they suddenly feel so dry – and gently pressed down on Michael’s bottom lip, just to do something, just to watch it give under the touch. “That’s one word you could use,” Gerry managed to breathe before he gave into the urge to press their lips together in another heated kiss, hand burying in Michael’s hair, the other finding its way to his thigh; nails running through short, sensitive hairs there.

Michael gasped into the kiss, fingernails digging into his back to press him close, feel the heat from Gerry’s skin seep through his own, match the heat bubbling just below it, spiking with every scrape of Gerry’s teeth against his lips, his tongue. The feeling of his fingers tangled in Michael’s curls, the sensation of Gerry’s too-hot fingertips digging into his leg, burning – not like he had his face, not something fleeting and painful but something that set Michael alight, on fire. It felt obliterating – like he could lose himself, burn to ashes, to nothing, and it would be worth it for this, for the fire, the burning to destruction.

Gerry knew that if he’d open his eyes everything would be black as pitch again – could feel the pressing darkness through his eyelids – and he found he couldn’t care less about it. Every sound, touch felt magnified in the dark – Michael was gasping and cursing into his mouth – teeth scraping Gerry’s lips maddeningly in the process – and his body was hot and alive below him – heart pounding where their chests were pressed together, shudders and shivers leaving Gerry breathless because he could feel everything, could hear the sheets shift and trust it was good, no monsters hiding in the dark but just Michael – the way Michael’s nails ran down his back just right, leaving hot trails Gerry knew would still be there by morning. 

Michael threw his head back with a moan, back arching into Gerry and Gerry wasn’t sure why, too distracted – overwhelmed – with sensation himself but his lips felt nearly cold without Michael’s mouth pressed against them and something between a complaint and a threat left his throat, eyes opening – momentarily confused by the utter darkness before he remembered. Michael was still breathing hard below him – still close enough for Gerry to feel each breath brush his jaw, sending shivers down his spine – and Gerry moved blindly like he had before, a certain thrill in not knowing where he'd end up but being certain it would be Michael , gorgeous and pretty even in the dark, in voice and touch. 

His lips found what he assumed was Michael’s jaw, the soft spot below it where Michael’s pulse raced below his tongue, his teeth when Gerry sucked in skin. He could feel one of Michael’s hands wander further down his back – warm fingers against the too-smooth skin of his scarred spine making his breath catch in his throat again – and Gerry continued kissing, biting at Michael’s neck – felt his head tilt to the side and took the invitation to find more skin to ruin, leave it red and purple – or if the light didn't return leave it aching, which was just as good. 

Michael’s hand found his where it was resting on his thigh, squeezed it before moving it –  guiding it – and there was thrill to this, too, to be guided in the dark, to trust rather than urge to shed light on it, to see . It felt like some kind of final separation from the itch that persisted even after he burned the Eye out of his life, replaced with the feeling of Michael’s fingers dancing up his spine. It felt divine, Michael’s skin against his, Michael’s hand guiding his up his thigh – Michael’s uneven, gasping breathing and racing heart – and Gerry knew he would’ve scoffed at himself for thinking of divinity in this moment – in the complete, unnatural darkness of his bedroom – had he not been barely keeping it together, breath coming dizzyingly quick against where he had pressed his forehead into Michael’s shoulder. Gerry had lost track of whether his eyes were closed or open but he could feel his hand, and Michael’s – Michael – and knew sight would add nothing to this.

*

Gerry’s eyes were still closed – the room quiet – and yet he knew Michael was there. Less because of the vague presence he could feel beside him in bed and more because the darkness behind Gerry’s eyelids was complete. Not the usual, red-tinted kind he was used to from late mornings, where the sunlight always crept in through his crappy blinds. And Gerry knew it was late. The darkness might have been bottomless with his eyes closed, but he could feel the warmth of where the sun was shining onto his face.

“You’re still here,” he mumbled, not surprised but still feeling like commenting on the fact.

Michael hummed beside him, which sounded closer to a purr. “You did burn the place I’d be at right now down last night.”

His tone was conversational, casual, voice a little rough from sleep. Gerry opened his eyes – felt his heart skip a beat with dread that the darkness wouldn’t lift once he did, and couldn’t help but sigh quietly in relief when it did, after all. His room still seemed strangely dim for how sun-warmed he felt, but he could make out his ceiling and the speckling of sunlight through his blinds and when he turned his head to the side he could make out Michael, barely. 

The light clearly avoided him but Gerry could still make out his silhouette, the curve of his shoulder, the messy curls that seemed to somehow catch the occasional speck of sunlight anyway, single strands looking like crinkled livewire and reminding Gerry of how Michael’s hair had tickled his chin when they were falling asleep. Michael looked right at home, face half-pressed into the pillow, relaxed. Gerry couldn’t see his eyes but knew he was looking at him.

“And? Does that mean you’ll stay here now?” Sleep made the amusement in his voice sound a little hazy around the edges and Gerry chuckled at it more than his tease.

He felt the mattress dip, heard the sheets shuffle and suddenly a new weight settled on his hips and Michael’s face was blocking the light – despite Gerry being well-aware that the window was on the other side of the room – features sharp despite the lack of light. He flashed him a grin and his eyes went black for a moment, two lightless vaguely round shapes in his round face. Gerry couldn't take his eyes off of it – breathed deeply, deliberately when he could feel Michael’s long fingers wandering down his sides.

"Your apartment isn't quite my style. Too much light." He winked, and the darkness left at once, leaving Gerry squinting against the sudden, although still dim, light. Michael gave him a wide, satisfied grin, "I do mean that as an offence."

Gerry snorted. "Wouldn't have taken it any other way."

He brought his hand to Michael’s cheek, traced the raised skin of the finger-shaped burn marks. Michael didn't flinch back, but Gerry felt a slight twitch, as if he was fighting the urge to. He grinned. He didn't know if it still hurt or if Michael was afraid of him repeating it, but either was good. "Not so unfazed after all…"

Michael rolled his eyes and bent down – not before Gerry caught the beginnings of a blush across his cheeks – and Gerry’s self-satisfied chuckle got stuck in his throat as Michael pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, trailing down his chest – his hands following the curve of his hips, his thighs – and Gerry couldn’t help his eyelids fluttering close again, darkness crushing again as he arched into Michael’s lips following the trail of hair down his stomach.