u/electricitywasted

CW: Strong language, pain/discomfort.

Rowan pressed his hand hard against his stomach as his breath caught. “Man… my fucking stomach,” he muttered, looking over to Wade. “And I bet you’ve ordered something spicy, huh.”

Wade scoffed, idly tugging his eyebrow piercing. He didn’t look up from his phone. “You know me too well.”

He locked his phone and looked up. His eyes dropped straight to the hand clamped over Rowan’s stomach. Wade shoved himself off the couch so fast the cushions groaned. “Oh shit.” 

Wade slipped a hand under Rowan's shirt, his warm palm spanning the tight skin over his stomach. Rowan let his eyes close as he slumped against Wade, tracing the bump of his Adam’s apple.

“I’m fine, it’s just—” Beneath Wade’s palm, Rowan’s muscles seized. “Just kinda tight.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England, mate,” Wade shot back.

A faint huff of a laugh escaped Rowan, setting off another sharp spasm.

Wade wrapped his arms around Rowan’s waist, holding him steady. The pain squeezed a strangled gasp out from him. His knees buckled. Fingernails dug deep into Wade’s shoulder.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Wade stumbled backward and slammed his back into the kitchen counter, knocking the air out of his lungs.

His focus slipped. Yet his grip on Rowan instinctively retightened, harder this time.

“Oh, fuck.” Rowan wheezed, shifting against him. “That’s… worse—”

“Fuck, I’ve got you—” Wade caught his lip ring between his teeth. “Sorry, I’ve got you.” He let his weight slide down the counter and onto the floor, bringing Rowan down with him.

“It’s… Stop—fuck, Wade, ease up.”

“Shit—fuck, sorry,” Wade’s heart hammered against Rowan’s back as he set him down in his lap. “Okay, okay—floor’s better.”

Rowan leaned back, his head tilting backward. Wade reached for the hem of Rowan’s shirt and pulled it over his head. Wade watched Rowan’s chest rise and fall rapidly. Familiar twin horizontal scars ran across it, with faint dotted scarring below.

“Fu—” another spasm hit Rowan. Wade felt it. Straight on the mouth, he kissed him.

It didn’t ease. Wade shifted Rowan. “You good, mate?”

Rowan squeezed his hand.

“Yeah,” Wade said. More to himself than anything, “I’ve got you.”

Rowan rested his head against Wade’s shoulder, feeling Wade’s body shake.

Wade rolled his lip ring between his teeth. “It’s all gravy, mate.”

Rowan let out a huff against Wade’s shoulder. “All gravy, huh.”

Wade shifted, sitting up a little straighter. Looking down at the linoleum, he smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt. “Yeah,” he repeated softly, “All gravy.”

Rowan’s breathing was still uneven, but the pain was dying down. Wade placed his palm on Rowan’s back, thumb absentmindedly tracing.

“You always do that,” Rowan said, smiling.

Wade glanced at him, then away again. “Do what?” He didn’t stop.

Wade’s phone buzzed against his thigh, thumb freezing against Rowan’s back. He fished it out, staring at the screen. “Stuffed that up. Vindaloo’s here.”

Rowan buried his face into Wade’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

“Fridge’s a wasteland.” Wade tugged his eyebrow piercing. “Vindaloo or acoustic foam—reckon that’s your choice, mate.”

Wade’s hand slid slightly lower, resting there on Rowan’s back. Rowan shifted his head, letting his stubble scrape against the soft fabric of Wade’s shirt. He pressed his lips against his neckbeard.

CW: Strong language, pain/discomfort.

Rowan pressed his hand hard against his stomach as his breath caught. “Man… my fucking stomach,” he muttered, looking over to Wade. “And I bet you’ve ordered something spicy, huh.”

Wade scoffed, idly tugging his eyebrow piercing. He didn’t look up from his phone. “You know me too well.”

He locked his phone and looked up. His eyes dropped straight to the hand clamped over Rowan’s stomach. Wade shoved himself off the couch so fast the cushions groaned. “Oh shit.” 

Wade slipped a hand under Rowan's shirt, his warm palm spanning the tight skin over his stomach. Rowan let his eyes close as he slumped against Wade, tracing the bump of his Adam’s apple.

“I’m fine, it’s just—” Beneath Wade’s palm, Rowan’s muscles seized. “Just kinda tight.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England, mate,” Wade shot back.

A faint huff of a laugh escaped Rowan, setting off another sharp spasm.

Wade wrapped his arms around Rowan’s waist, holding him steady. The pain squeezed a strangled gasp out from him. His knees buckled. Fingernails dug deep into Wade’s shoulder.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Wade stumbled backward and slammed his back into the kitchen counter, knocking the air out of his lungs.

His focus slipped. Yet his grip on Rowan instinctively retightened, harder this time.

“Oh, fuck.” Rowan wheezed, shifting against him. “That’s… worse—”

“Fuck, I’ve got you—” Wade caught his lip ring between his teeth. “Sorry, I’ve got you.” He let his weight slide down the counter and onto the floor, bringing Rowan down with him.

“It’s… Stop—fuck, Wade, ease up.”

“Shit—fuck, sorry,” Wade’s heart hammered against Rowan’s back as he set him down in his lap. “Okay, okay—floor’s better.”

Rowan leaned back, his head tilting backward. Wade reached for the hem of Rowan’s shirt and pulled it over his head. Wade watched Rowan’s chest rise and fall rapidly. Familiar twin horizontal scars ran across it, with faint dotted scarring below.

“Fu—” another spasm hit Rowan. Wade felt it. Straight on the mouth, he kissed him.

It didn’t ease. Wade shifted Rowan. “You good, mate?”

Rowan squeezed his hand.

“Yeah,” Wade said. More to himself than anything, “I’ve got you.”

Rowan rested his head against Wade’s shoulder, feeling Wade’s body shake.

Wade rolled his lip ring between his teeth. “It’s all gravy, mate.”

Rowan let out a huff against Wade’s shoulder. “All gravy, huh.”

Wade shifted, sitting up a little straighter. Looking down at the linoleum, he smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt. “Yeah,” he repeated softly, “All gravy.”

Rowan’s breathing was still uneven, but the pain was dying down. Wade placed his palm on Rowan’s back, thumb absentmindedly tracing.

“You always do that,” Rowan said, smiling.

Wade glanced at him, then away again. “Do what?” He didn’t stop.

Wade’s phone buzzed against his thigh, thumb freezing against Rowan’s back. He fished it out, staring at the screen. “Stuffed that up. Vindaloo’s here.”

Rowan buried his face into Wade’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

“Fridge’s a wasteland.” Wade tugged his eyebrow piercing. “Vindaloo or acoustic foam—reckon that’s your choice, mate.”

Wade’s hand slid slightly lower, resting there on Rowan’s back. Rowan shifted his head, letting his stubble scrape against the soft fabric of Wade’s shirt. He pressed his lips against his neckbeard.

Part of a series