Work Text:
There is a leaf in his sock. It scrapes his ankle as he sits at his desk, furiously signing off on paper after paper, checking that everything is in order. He won't be able to seal the case up tonight but he can get a good jump on it. He scratches at his ankle, feels the leaf crumble inside and reaches in to pull out the crisp, jagged bits. It makes him itchier and he sighs as he realizes how many tiny specks of not only leaf but dirt and rock are embedded in his sock after traipsing about in the woods earlier, the itching isn't going to stop. It about sums up the whole day, the way he feels, they caught their guy and saved two girls but it still felt like a defeat. Charlie Wilkinson turned out just like his father, and Aaron worries about that every single day of his life as a father...turning out like his own, the minute he's pushed to whatever his brink is and he raises a hand at Jack. He feels his palms go clammy at the thought and he stands, finished with this case for the night. Can't consider it a moment longer, he has to get out.
The lights flicker off slowly, the new LED bulbs take longer to extinguish and leave a haze behind as they fade. He's fascinated by it nightly, the way they die like a star, slowly burn to dust, there is no crisp on and off. He blinks, it leaves a halo behind when he closes his eyes, bursts of yellow and showers of blues and greens. He's tired, too tired to be here.
“Want to grab a beer?” Dave asks, and Aaron pauses, his instinct is to say no but he's beat and everyone else seems to be going. It's hard for him to pass up the odd chance at being included, at feeling like part of the team.
“Yeah,” he begins, but as the yellow envelope is pushed into his hand along with a pen, he's reminded why it is he keeps his distance. He's acutely aware of every pair of eyes on him as he signs his acceptance of the papers, feels the fibers of the paper between thumb and forefinger. His heart stops beating for just a moment, everything goes still and he thinks he might drop to the ground except his knees are locked in place. His face is hot, vision swims and he hears Emily speak but he can't really make out what she's saying through the deafening ringing in his ears. He's sure he knows what she's asking, though, it's the same thing any of them would ask. “Haley's filing for divorce,” he begins, regaining feeling in his legs. “I've been served.”
He doesn't await a response, just stalks away, through the glass doors.
The envelope sits on his coffee table untouched while he readies himself for bed. Suit discarded in favor of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he's brushing his teeth and pacing the hallway, counting the minutes off in his head. He's been brushing longer than he needs to, his mouth is almost painfully full of foam and he's not stopping, he's so angry. Of all the places, of all the ways she could have had him served and it's right there in front of everyone, his dirty laundry aired for everyone to see. He's fuming when there's a knock at his door and, forgetting the toothpaste dribbling down his chin, he stalks toward the door and glares through the peephole. He almost finds himself hoping it's Haley come to hash it out, demand he sign though realistically he knows it wouldn't be, more than likely there's a no contact order nestled inside of those divorce papers. If he thinks about it too long...too hard...
It's not Haley, it's Derek.
He throws open the door and shuffles toward the bathroom without a word, his mouth is full of toothpaste and he's got to wash up. Derek doesn't care, he lets himself in and shuts the door behind him, this nightly routine isn't anything new. The anger might be, but being greeted by a mouth full of toothpaste and ratty sweatpants pulled down over thick wool socks was par for the course. He brought the beers, there's a six pack of long neck ice cold bottles dangling from one long forefinger and a solemn, understanding look on his serene features.
“You're not surprised,” Aaron announces, stalking out of the bathroom with a frown. Derek shrugs. Tucked in between the beer bottles is a small bunch of black eyed susans and zinnias, flowers he recognizes from Derek's yard and he almost smiles at the gesture.
“We both knew it was coming...” was the reply, and Derek levels his gaze at Aaron and beckons him closer. “Are you really that upset about her filing for divorce, or are you just upset that everyone knows now? That she did it in front of everyone?”
“Honestly?” Aaron asked, not moving. He isn't sure. “All of it. I don't know. I failed her.”
“You didn't fail anyone,” Derek's voice is so soft as he does the approaching, as he stops close and drops the beers onto the table before slipping his arms around Aaron's waist. “You did your best. It wasn't what she needed. Was there something else you could have done?”
“I could have stayed,” he whispered, defeated. He hung there in Derek's arms, his entire body wilting beneath the weight of his failure. Derek's arms hold him firm, upright, and he shakes his head. “Done what she asked, tried it her way.” He knows better. His mother never left, even when she should have, maybe Haley was breaking the cycle for him.
“And then what? What about her other man, huh? Does she just say oh my husband decided to do what I said so we're done now? Aaron...be realistic. This is how you become your father.” It isn't exactly the right thing to say but it hits a nerve, pulls Aaron from his wallowing. “Look. You did your best, that's what I know, without a doubt. You aren't the husband she needs, and you couldn't ever be...you two grew apart a long time ago, she just recognized it first and called it. Gave me a shot."
There are tears in Aaron's eyes, and Derek presses his thumbs to Aaron's cheeks, swipes them away. His thumbs are rough, calloused, steady. He's not even a little unsure about what he's doing, why he's there. “I love you.” He says it so softly that it's little more than a whisper floating between them. “Don't look at the papers tonight. Be with me tonight.”
Aaron tries to clear the emotion from his throat. “Where did you tell the team you were going?”
“Here. I had to fight all of them off in order to come on my own. They wanted to bring beer and dinner, smother you...Aaron, you are loved by these idiots.” He smiles, tries to pull a smile from Aaron too. It almost works. “But I wanted you all...to...myself.”
It goes silent, and Aaron's neck flushes hot beneath the collar of his shirt, his chest gets tight. Derek grins and pulls him closer. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” Aaron mutters, lips barely moving, eyes on the floor. “I heard you.” He's quiet, retreated into himself momentarily, face flush. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, the way it makes his eyes burn. All his life he'd been searching for approval, praise, a desperation to hear that he was good and that he was worthy. He was ten when he understood it, the moment Sean was born. The baby with his sparkling blue eyes and wispy blonde flecks of hair, barely there but so perfect, like a Norman Rockwell painting of domestic bliss. Before Sean, his father paying attention to him was the farthest thing from his mind...if he could fade to black, become invisible, it would have been the best day of his life. Along came Sean and suddenly even his father's angry tirades, his mother's forked tongue, they were taken from him too. He was forgotten, a phantom in their home, left in the charge of nannies with a revolving door. He was trouble, they loved him until he became unlovable, despondent, a disappointment and then they left, over and over. Unloved, unwanted, and he began desperately hoping for his father's anger again, though he dreamed of hearing “good job son” when he got an A on his math test, or “I'm proud of you” when he made the starting football squad or a “that's my boy!” when he came in first in state in the 400 meter dash. Would have settled for the anger, though. Anything would have been better than the nothing he got.
The beers are open by the time they fall into the couch, side by side, Derek's fingers tangling in Aaron's hair, playing in the baby fine fuzz at the nape of his neck. He'd been to the barber recently, it felt sharp and fresh at the edges but Derek could still find the soft places. “You're going to get through this,” he says softly, sipping his beer. The amber liquid is so cold, he feels it trickle down his throat and smiles. There's nothing like that first sip. “Everything will be okay.”
The traffic is loud, there are ambulances screaming down the street and people chattering beneath his window. He wants to tell Derek he should go, he's not worth his time, he could be out having beers and laughs with friends instead of consoling a sad old man about to be divorced. He feels pathetic. “What are you doing here?” He blurts it out and feels Derek laugh against him, a sound that rumbles through his chest, shakes both of them.
“No idea," Derek starts, shaking his head. "Guess I thought you might need someone in your corner tonight, and I wanted it to be me...” he replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It should be. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” It takes him by surprise, just like that first I love you. It had come out of nowhere, unprovoked, just a fresh cup of coffee set on his desk before Derek left for the day. No one else around, not another soul in the building, but he knew Aaron needed to stay, had deadlines to meet. A cup of coffee and a whispered I love you, baby before he walked out of the office, never even waited for a reply and Aaron didn't know what to do with himself the rest of the night. Driven completely to distraction by the way his lungs constricted at being called baby, the ghost of a smile that settled on his face. He missed two deadlines, had to ask for extensions, couldn't focus on anything outside of the way his heart thundered in his chest, pulse jumping wildly. He's still not sure how to accept it when these words enter his stratosphere and he closes his eyes, tries to relax into the touch, focus himself there. He's a mess of confusing emotions. “You've gotta start believing me...”
“Why?” Is Aaron's honest response, a little sarcastic but he means it and Derek chuckles, shaking his head.
“You callin' me a liar, man?”
He stops arguing after that, gives up and smiles when he feels Derek's arms circle him tight. “No,” he says finally.
“Good.” Derek pauses, leaning close, whispering in his ear. “Because all I'm thinkin' about is how good you looked running through those woods today in your suit...”
“Derek...” Aaron pleads, flush spreading like wildfire up his neck, tendrils of heat licking up his jaw. Derek nips at his ear, nuzzles into the warming skin there.
“Yeah, I was lookin'...you make it hard to concentrate sometimes...”
Silence. Aaron doesn't know how to respond, but his body is doing what his mind can't. His fingers tingle, pulse quickens beneath Derek's expectant hand – he knows exactly what he's doing. “Out there lookin' all Men in Black in the woods...” His hands are moving now, no longer content just to sit idly by. Aaron tries to find his voice but he can't seem to make his throat work. Derek's fingers trace light patterns over his skin, up and down his forearms leaving a trail of goosebumps, lacing their hands together palm to palm. “You really can't see it?” It's stupid, he thinks, how someone so brilliant can be so unaware of the power he has over people. “Let me show you...”
He starts slow, pulling his own sweater over his head and shifting until he's straddling Aaron's lap, taking his waiting mouth with his own. There's no hesitation, no question...it's obvious Derek wants this, is turned on by something as simple as Aaron's presence. He's intense, questioning every single moment, every motive. He wants to believe it all, he's almost desperate to believe he has worth to someone as more than just a worker bee, but that envelope on his coffee table has him convinced otherwise and it's hard for him to focus. Derek's hands move slow, smoothing their way beneath Aaron's shirt, sliding it up over his head. It musses his hair, makes it stand up in jagged gel soaked points, iridescent and jet black beneath the overhead light. He is hawk eyes and raven wings, he is mystery and deceit, the beautiful stranger, the solemn man with the silver tongue and all Derek wants is a moment to bask in the enigma. He knows every curve by heart and still, as his hands roam spreading warmth in their wake, he's as enamored as he was the first time. He wonders when that feeling will end, when it'll become mundane, just another night...he's not there yet, he'd wanted this for so long, the anticipation still shivered through him. He presses his thumb into a slick round scar, traces the outline, a cigar burn that sits silvery and glowing where his collar bone meets shoulder, the story of which has settled deep into Aaron's bones, buried in the marrow with the rest of the memories of his father. Derek kisses it, follows the trail it leads to his neck, stops at the hollow of his throat and nips at the skin. He pulls Aaron's hand to his mouth, kisses his palm, his fingers, tongue teasing at his pulse and Aaron feels something uncoil deep within him that feels like letting go, it feels like falling too fast and it scares him, he panics.
“You don't have to do this...” Aaron says, breath hot against Derek's shoulder while he loses himself in the way Derek worships his body, slowly moving from one beloved soft place to another. "It's not your job to fix me."
“I know,” Derek gasps between kisses, breathless, pressing his hips against Aaron's thigh. “I'm not here out of obligation, I'm here because I want to be with you. Do you want me to stop?” The look in Aaron's eye is indiscernible, one minute he's all there and engaged, relishing in the attention and the next he's retreating, throwing up his cold front, afraid to admit he wants something for himself. Terrified to leave himself vulnerable again, to try and fail again.
“No...” he breathes, because he can't fathom actually asking for this moment to end. Before he can say anything else, overthink it, Derek's mouth moves to meet Aaron's, he can taste the lingering sour of the beer, the hint of sweet mint toothpaste. Derek isn't going to push him too far, he can see the dangerous way he teeters on the edge of total collapse. He's trying to distract him, to remind him that he's got something good, that he isn't a failure for not being able to save a marriage that had been doomed for a long time. "Please don't stop."
Derek had a way with words. Always had. The first time had been much like this. “New suit?” he'd asked, and Aaron felt his skin prickle beneath his tight collar. The feeling was as unexpected as the statement. “Yes,” he replied without looking up from the file in his lap. They were on the jet, Derek had taken the seat beside him and was leaning uncharacteristically close while everyone prepared themselves for their assignments. Aaron could smell his cologne, heady sandalwood and smoke, he focused a little too hard on his pen. “It's nice, good fit...” The way he said it was so easy, so quiet and nonchalant and Aaron cleared his throat, was finding it increasingly difficult to focus, the words swam and rearranged on the page. It went like that all day, over and over Derek found quiet little moments to pay him compliments until they were ready to head back to the hotel and he asked if Aaron wanted to ride with him, grab a bite before hitting the sack. Aaron never did make it to his own room, at least not until morning when he couldn't very well wear the same suit again.
Aaron gasps when Derek scrapes his teeth over his pulse and asks him if he wants to take this to the bedroom. “I like the pjs,” he says with a grin, “but I'd prefer to see them on the floor.”
The way Derek talks to him fills his chest with something warm and golden, makes him crave more. Wordless he stands, extends his hand to pull Aaron up from the couch and they make their way to the bedroom. From there, Derek has to say very little, Aaron is his entirely, and for the time being he's forgotten the envelope.
He shivers and writhes beneath Derek, waiting on bated breath, every word drives him crazy. He wonders if Derek knows what he's doing, what power he wields with only his words.
“You taste so good,” Derek gushes, taking his mouth again, tongue slipping up against his teeth, teasing and playing. Aaron moans, pressing his hips against Derek's, barely containing himself but Derek just shushes him, smiling, he's not ready yet. He's teasing, he's moving too slow, he knows exactly what he's doing but he likes it so much he can't rush it and when Aaron lets out a low, involuntary whimper he closes his eyes and his grin is wide and wolfish. He's lapping it up. “Louder,” Derek hisses into his neck, “I want to hear every pretty sound you make...” Aaron's movements begin shy, unsure, Derek knows it's been awhile and he's careful not to push too hard or too fast, he pays close attention to every moment of hesitation and only pushes forward when he's certain, when the small whines give way to guttural growls.
The sweat that shimmers on Derek's skin affords him such divine sensuality that Aaron wonders momentarily if he might be dreaming, he's unreal and out of his league. They shift and slither, snakelike hips thrusting and parting, awkward at first but finding a rhythm and motion they both feel, understand. Slow at first, desperately sped up and then slow again, teasing Aaron's resolve. It had been so long. He was a wounded animal and Derek saw it for what it was, knew he needed encouragement, urging, to come out of his shell and be fully present. He hadn't anticipated the intensity of the reaction his urging would be met with, though.
“Aaron...” Derek growls, his voice strained as he grips the other man's hips hard, presses fingertips into flesh and grits his teeth. They have no need to keep quiet, they're alone and he wouldn't mind if the neighbors were listening. He rakes Aaron's back with his nails, scours years of battle scars hard earned with his own grit and begs him to be louder, to give him everything. He absorbs every ounce of Aaron's anger, his fear, his sadness, pulls it deep inside of himself with every thrust, pushing back only good, safety, warmth. When he finishes, when they finish, they collapse in a heap of sweat soaked, tangled sheets and Derek twists his limbs around Aaron's pressing their foreheads together. “You are incredible.”
He can't speak, can't respond, but the flush in his skin is a dead giveaway and the sleepy, tired smile that lights up his pinched features tells Derek he broke through. He's calm, relaxed, serene. He doesn't have the capacity for real words, and he'd only mess it up if he tried, so he presses a soft kiss to Derek's slick lips and buries his face in the warmth of his neck.
“Did you really mean all of that?” he asks finally, barely awake. His eyes are closed, he's drifting off, mumbling through barely parted lips. His breaths come so slow, so deep, Derek isn't even sure he'll hear the answer.
“Every word...” Derek whispers, fingers trailing up and down the ridge of Aaron's spine, palm coming to rest at the small of his back. “Her loss is my gain.”