Preaching To The Choir

by C.

"Get a room, you two."

No real malice in Jack's tone, just a poorly masked uneasiness, but Midnighter tenses anyway and ends the embrace he and Apollo are sharing. Apollo doesn't let go quite so easily. He keeps an arm around Midnighter's shoulder and his other hand slips into Midnighter's, laces their fingers.

"Are you okay?" Apollo asks softly, eyes lingering on the vestiges of Midnighter's defeat at Regis' hands, the dried blood at the corner of Midnighter's mouth, the bruises forming on his jaw, swelling his cheek. Midnighter nods, almost meets Apollo's eyes and pulls away completely. Apollo lets him go without resistance. There'll be time for a proper assessment later.

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"Changing things for the better," Midnighter snarls, throwing his gloves across the room. They hit the wall with a crack of leather and metal and then fall more quietly to the floor. "Better for who?"

"You may be reading too much into it," Apollo suggests, holding Midnighter's coat as Midnighter shrugs it off.

"Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. I am not over-reacting. I am not in this," he makes an all-encompassing gesture. "To make this world a better place for breeders only," he snaps.

"I doubt Jack meant any offense," Apollo says.

"And I sure as hell won't let my sex life to be the target of his homophobia thinly-veiled as jokes," Midnighter says. "And I could give a fuck what he meant. Just because he may not have meant to offend doesn't make it any better. It makes it worse."

Apollo manages to get Midnighter's belt undone and tosses it over the arm of the couch.

"Shut up about Jack for a minute," he says. "Look at me."

Midnighter turns glowering eyes on Apollo. Apollo pushes back his mask and kisses him until Midnighter's eyes close and his hands are clutching at Apollo's back. Apollo breaks the kiss, gently touches Midnighter's swollen cheek with his fingertips.

"I love you," he sighs against Midnighter's lips.

"I know. I know," Midnighter grumbles, embarrassed that he's let Jack's comment interfere with their reunion. "I'm gonna take a shower."

He pulls away from Apollo slowly, hands stroking along Apollo sides, then his arms and finally, reluctantly releasing him.

"Hurry up," Apollo says.

When Midnighter leaves the bathroom, steam, like tentacles, following him, Apollo is already in bed, waiting for him.

"You're going to be the death of me," Midnighter says like a promise, a vow, as he crawls up Apollo's frame. He kisses Apollo before he can reply. They lay kissing for a while, Apollo's hands like hot brands, flexing against his back. He can feel the warmth Apollo is radiating increase and he pulls away.

"Don't," he whispers and Apollo frowns.

"Why not? You're freezing."

Midnighter says nothing because he knows Apollo will just roll his eyes at his reasons and do what he wants, with that selfish altruism that maddens Midnighter. Apollo leans up, kisses him lightly on the lips, traces a thin scar that disappears into his hairline with his fingertips.

"I've had plenty of time in the sun," he says. "I'm fully charged."

"I just don't want you to waste…"

Apollo deftly rolls him over, pins him to the bed with a strength that never ceases to amaze Midnighter. Apollo is laughing at him, not actual laughter, just the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the not quite straight line of his lips and Midnighter is furious and helpless until Apollo kisses him again.

"You are such a drama queen," he says against Midnighter's cheek and he's grinding against Midnighter in such a distracting way that Midnighter can't hold onto his anger and Apollo knows it, knows him so well it humbles him.

"I'm strong. You know I'm strong," Apollo murmurs against his ear. Midnighter clutches at him. It's still hard to ask.

"Show me," he says.

Midnighter can't help but know every way he could break Apollo's hold if he tried, if Apollo wasn't so strong, strong enough to roll him over onto his stomach, and hold him down, weight heavy and hot on his back – wet, open kisses on his neck, teeth scraping against his jugular vein in a way that makes his heart race and stretch his neck to expose more of it.

This would be terrifying if it were anyone else. The last time he trusted someone enough to be half this vulnerable, he was left with the scars, a child's scrawl of scalpel and flesh, that twine on his body. But Apollo never disappoints him, so when Apollo releases his wrists, he grabs onto the edges of the mattress to hold himself in place, even as Apollo's hands guide his hips, position his legs.

No protest when Apollo pushes into him, just a choked moan, not entirely pleasure because Apollo feels huge inside him and he's pushing into Midnighter with less than his usual gentleness. But that's okay. That's… oh… perfect. Because he's strong, stronger than Midnighter, stronger than anyone Midnighter has ever known, and he's showing a little of that strength, making him hurt, making him love it. Then it's all pleasure, spots forming in his vision, internal enhancements forever calculating drowned out by the roar of blood in his veins, his own strangled cry.

Afterwards, Apollo slides off him with a satisfied groan, gathers Midnighter to him, clutching him tightly, touching kisses to Midnighter's bruised cheek. Midnighter is mindlessly pleased by the painful clutch of Apollo's fingers. The last time Apollo had clutched at him, Apollo couldn't stand without Midnighter's help.

Apollo eases away slightly, one hand resting on Midnighter's flank, the other smoothing down Midnighter's hair.

Midnighter runs his fingers through Apollo's hair, loves the silk-fine feel of it, kisses him gently, lingeringly. This is nice, more intimate than sex in many ways, just this slow, loving reacquainting of their bodies that sometimes ends in more sex or with them drifting asleep.

"About Jack," Apollo says.

"Jesus," Midnighter snarls, but doesn't move away.

"If he says anything else, I'll talk to him," Apollo says. "No point in getting worked up over an off-hand comment that may never repeat itself and whose motivation we can't be sure of."

"I didn't bring it up so you would take care of it."

"No shit. Maybe he's jealous."

Midnighter snorts.

"I don't think you appreciate what leather does for you," Apollo says, big hand gently stroking Midnighter's bruised ribs.

"I thought you loved me for my diplomatic skills," Midnighter says.

"I do," Apollo says. "And your fashion sense. I'm very shallow."

"It's what first attracted me to you," Midnighter replies and he must be grinning now, because Apollo is grinning back at him, pale silver lashes dipping in a sleepy wink. Midnighter can barely breathe. His voice comes out lower, breathier. "And your eyes," he whispers. "Your fucking gorgeous eyes."

"Is it Valentine's Day all ready?" Apollo asks. Midnighter kisses him because or, perhaps, despite all the enhancements that allow him to see the outcome of every strategy, the only certainty he knows is that Apollo will always win their arguments.

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