wound & wound (pt. 3)

Winnow sits on the edge of the bathtub, as Asca fiddles through the box until they find the alcohol, wool cream and a bandage. He would give Winnow space but there is none to be spared, so their legs frame Winnow’s, and they look so nervous and guilty — Winnow puts his uninjured hand on their hip before he second guesses himself. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve gotten worse cuts from cutting potatoes. Remember?” He nudges their knee. When Asca doesn’t respond, Winnow dives his head, dueling for attention. “Please don’t feel bad about it,” and Asca tsks, “Of course I will feel bad about this,” before wiping the blood and applying the balm.

Winnow feels light-bellied and heavy-chested, wound with the deliberate ways in which Asca folds the cloth around his arm; he glances up at him, to catch Winnow smiling, and that puts a smile on their face too. When he tucks in the end of cloth, Winnow kicks his shin and, grinning, asks, “So are you going to kiss it better or what?”. The room is half-lit, he is half-hidden, and it’s easy enough to be a little bold.

“Oh moons, not now,” Asca replies, almost smiling, and Winnow doubts they mean it.  

“‘Not now`? When, then, exactly do I get to ask what exactly did you mean with – what you said about. You know.” Asca just rolls his eyes.

“What, it’s not like only you can do- whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Flirting? Of course, you can flirt back.” This is going great in Winnow’s book, so he tries to move the hand from Asca’s hip to their lower back, but it’s swatted away.

“Oh, I always thought flirting implies meaning what you say, and it’s obvious that for you it’s just a way to-”

“So then did you mean what you said about me on my knees?” he whisper-yells.

“Winnoow,” he whines. “I’m not sure what I meant.” They search for words and find the ones to stop Winnow’s heart for a moment, saying it like he hates to admit it but has no other choice. “I can’t imagine it being untrue. Maybe I wanted to see what you would do.”

“And what did it seem like I would do?” Winnow is breathless, embarrassed by how loud his heart is beating, how Asca might be able to feel it now that they are putting their hand on the crook of his neck, fingers going up into his hair, leaving a trail of shivers behind. 

“I don’t know.” It’s the longest they held his gaze, discovering and exposing, undoing them both. Asca shifts closer. “Are you going to do anything at all?” and he moves his hand down his jaw, thumb dragging over his lower lip. “Or do I have to do everything around here?”

Winnow does not need to be told twice; he pulls him in and Asca falls. Their kiss is immediate, a reckoning of hunger, a breaking of dawn. And he feels the simplicity of the world pausing, of finding a tether to stop his anxious thoughts. He holds them close and covers them in a pour of kisses, some sweet, others less so, most somewhere in the middle. All of them with both of them smiling.