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The party is loud and crowded with people Proko doesn’t know. There are some Aglionby guys he kind of recognises but the rest are townies and seeing them spread around Kavinsky’s living room really rubs him the wrong way. The house belonged to them, to Kavinsky and his pack, and these assholes acted like they owned the place. Proko didn’t understand why K tolerated them around.
His plan for the night is simple. K disappeared somewhere, probably to sell drugs and entertain his guests and Proko doesn’t bother looking for him. He’s going to resurface at some point, drunkenly asking Proko if he’s having a good time. In the meantime, Proko plans to get fucking hammered and hopes that if he does so, he’ll be able to ignore the number of unfriendly strangers around.
He's on his way from the kitchen, a bottle in one hand, elbowing his way through the crowd, when he catches sight of Skov and Swan, making out on the couch, oblivious to people around them. He smirks. At least someone is having a good time.
He hears someone behind him say: “Can’t believe Kavinsky lets those faggots come around here.”
Someone else snorts. “Right? It’s not like he can’t get rid of them.”
Proko stills. The thing is, he’s not a violent person, not like Kavinsky. He doesn’t go around picking fights and he never throws the first punch. Well, almost never.
He whips around. His fist connects with a cheekbone with devastating accuracy. He barely feels the pain. The guy’s head whips back, and he drops to the ground in a sprawl.
“Fuck you!” the other guy shouts, his hand already curled into a fist, ready to avenge his friend.
Proko doesn’t give him time for that. He smashes his bottle into the man’s ribs, smirking as he shouts in pain and surprise. The shock wears off quickly enough and before can Proko figure out his next move, he gets tackled to the ground. It takes the breath out of his lungs. He doesn’t think as he slams his forehead into the face above him. There’s a satisfying crunch of cartilage followed by blood. He sees nothing but flashes of colours around him before he gets elbowed in the jaw. His head snaps against the hardwood floor and for a second, he sees only black. He has a sudden realisation he’s not going to win this fight.
“Hey, hey, hey!” A familiar voice shouts and seconds later the weight of the body trapping him down lifts.
He blinks. A small crowd has gathered around to watch the fight. His head is fucking spinning, and he tastes blood in his mouth, but none of it matters, not when he sees Kavinsky, one hand twisted in the collar of the guy’s T-shirt, teeth bared in a snarl. He doesn’t offer a threat before punching him. One clean hit. He goes down.
Kavinsky’s attention shifts to Proko immediately. He lets go of the guy, disinterested, and crouches to Proko, helping him to sit.
“Feeling violent today?” He asks with an amused smile, but his eyes are serious, concerned. He knows Proko wouldn’t start a fight without a reason.
“He called Swan and Skov fags,” Proko breathes. Talking hurts. So does sitting. He tries getting up and is grateful for Jiang, who materializes by his side and steadies him.
Kavinsky’s posture tenses. It’s a subtle shift but Proko’s an expert on his body language. “Oh,” he says softly, like it’s not a big deal, like he might let it slip. The next moment he has a knife pressed to the stranger’s throat. The crowd around seems to collectively hold their breaths.
“Show around here ever again and I will kill you,” K says, his voice calm, but the hand gripping the knife is trembling with barely concealed anger. There’s no question he means it.
The guy and his friend don’t have to be told twice. They scramble to leave in a hurry, the crowd parting to let them flee.
K turns back to Proko, eyeing his face with disapproval.
“I’m fine,” Proko says but when he tries to take a step, his knees almost buckle.
K watches him with an unhappy twist of his mouth. “Get him to the upstairs bathroom. I’ll bring ice,” he says to Jiang.
The stairs are hell. Proko’s head keeps spinning. His jaw hurts. He feels around his mouth with his tongue to make sure none of his teeth are loose and is hit with a fresh taste of blood. He wants to assure Jiang again that he’s fine, but what comes out instead is: “I think I’m gonna puke.”
He makes it to the toilet just in time.
“You think he’s concussed?” He hears Kavinsky ask Jiang when he’s finished throwing up. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the toilet bowl.
“Probably.”
“Here,” K says, his voice close enough to make Proko open his eyes again. He’s crouched right next to him, holding a bag of ice in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
Proko gratefully presses the ice pack against the bruise and unsuccessfully tries to open the water bottle. K watches him struggle for a moment before screwing the lid off for him.
“Thanks,” Proko manages weakly.
“Does he need a hospital?” Skov asks from where he’s standing in between the door. Proko has no idea when he got here.
“Nah, he’s fine,” K assures him. “Right?”
Proko nods. He doesn’t need to spend his night in the ER just to be told to rest. “I’ll sleep it off.”
Skov frowns in concern. “You shouldn’t sleep on a concussion.”
“I’ll be fine,” Proko insists and slowly gets up. He really just wants the comfort of his bed right now.
“Someone has to stay with you to make sure you don’t get worse.”
“I can –” Jiang starts, but K cuts him off with a sharp: “I’ll stay with him. Tell me what I need to do.”
While the three of them discuss the right treatment for concussion, consulting Google and their own experiences, Proko manages to brush his teeth and drink some more water. It doesn’t really help with the pain, but it makes him feel a bit more human.
He walks to K’s room with K’s hand securely around his bicep and patiently waits for K to push all the stuff on his bed onto the ground, before climbing in. The sheets are Egyptian cotton or some expensive shit like that, much nicer than anything Proko ever experienced before meeting K. He sinks into them with a relieved sigh and closes his eyes for a moment.
“Next time don’t pick fights you can’t win,” K mumbles grumpily as he sits next to him.
“I didn’t care about winning, I just wanted to break that asshole’s face,” Proko snarls.
It makes K smirk, a little proud. “Well, you managed that just fine.”
“I can’t hear the music anymore,” Proko points out. He expected to still feel the bass reverberating through the walls, but the house is suspiciously quiet.
“I told Swan to get the people out of here.”
Proko sighs. “You didn’t have to do that.”
K gives him a pointed look which Proko ignores. “It was either that or a trip to the hospital.”
Proko rolls his eyes. It doesn’t help with the dizziness, so he closes them again. “You hate hospitals.”
“Exactly.” K moves a few inches closer and slips his hand in Proko’s hair. Proko leans into the touch on instinct and K chuckles. “I’ll wake you up in a few hours, okay?”
“Uh. Fine.”
It feels like no time passed at all when someone shakes him awake. “Proko. Proko, wake up. Come on.”
“What?” he mumbles into the pillow. The light’s too fucking bright and he’s still tired and why the fuck is K still shaking his shoulder? He swears he’s gonna take that hand and beat him to death with it. Wow, he really is feeling violent today, isn’t he?
“Look at me.”
Proko groans. “Go fuck yourself.”
“Really?” K asks amusedly. “I didn’t expect you to be this fucking grumpy.”
Proko finally blinks at him, frowning at the offensive lamp that has been turned on and then at K.
“What’s your name?” K asks.
Proko might kill him for real. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
K lifts his hands as if to say it’s not his fault. “I’m just making sure you have no brain damage.”
Proko sighs but he figures the faster he answers, the faster he can go back to sleep. “Ilya Prokopenko.”
“Good. What date is it?”
“27th of March.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
“Okay. How do you feel?”
Proko gives him a flat look. “Fucking tired.”
K smirks. He, on the other hand, looks fine. It makes Proko frown. “Have you not slept at all?”
K shrugs. “Too busy making sure you were still breathing.”
“I’m not gonna stop breathing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Set an alarm or something and go to sleep.”
K is not too hard to convince. He bitches a lot, but obediently sets an alarm, turns off the light and lies next to Proko. There’s a stupid number of pillows on the bed but only one blanket, so K shuffles closer, leaning his forehead against the back of Proko’s neck. He always lets the AC run a little too high and his nose is icy.
When the alarm rings, it’s early morning and the room is lighter. Neither Proko nor K appreciates it though. K looks even more out of it than Proko, and he asks only two questions before concluding Proko’s fine and goes back to sleep.
The next time Proko wakes up, it’s on his own, which is a nice change. Based on the light, it’s late morning and he doesn’t feel like a complete shit, so that’s a win for sure. His jaw still hurts and so does his head. Also, his knuckles. But he doesn’t feel so nauseous and dizzy. Little things, he guesses.
K walks in a moment later and when he sees Proko’s awake, he smiles. “Oh, you’re up. Good.” He hands him a cup of tea and a bright pill.
“Is it a magic pill for concussion?” Proko asks after he swallows it.
K smirks. “Not exactly, but it will help. Swan’s making pancakes, says they should help too.”
Pancakes do sound nice. “Thanks.” He even makes it all the way down the stairs without falling on his ass, doing his best to ignore K looming around him the entire time. He has to admit that it’s kinda nice of him though.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Swan asks when Proko flings himself onto the barstool to be closer to the stove. The house is, as always after a party, a fucking mess. The amount of empty bottles lining the kitchen counter should be concerning, but at this point, they’re used to it. At least there are no strangers passed out on the floor.
Proko shrugs. “Fine.”
Swan gives him a very unconvinced look but lets it slide. “You know you didn’t have to fight anyone for us, right?”
“Like you wouldn’t do the fucking same.” But unlike Proko, Swan would be probably able to crush the skulls of both of those assholes with his bare hands.
“Fair enough. You want a pancake?”
“Yes, please.”
The pancakes are delicious. Chewing hurts, but the batter is soft enough and the pain pill hits, so it’s not so bad.
K sits on the barstool next to him, nursing a cup of coffee and stealing bits and pieces of Proko’s pancake.
“You know, I can get you your own,” Swan points out amusedly.
K grunts in response. Proko and Swan exchange pointed looks but neither of them do anything to stop him.
The rest of the day passes by quickly. They spend it lounging on the couch, Proko alternating between trying to read and napping and K doesn’t leave his side for more than a few minutes at a time.
…
After a few days, the worst symptoms go away almost completely. K keeps making fun of him for falling asleep in class which was usually K’s favourite hobby, but honestly, Proko’s glad he even made it to school the first couple of days.
The bruise on his face turns from raw red to deep dark purple and Proko doesn’t fail to notice how multiple of their classmates and a few of the teachers even make it clear they think it’s from K. After all, K was the one permanently covered in bruises with a reputation of violent temper. Proko ignores the comments because he knows that getting into a fight in school would be much worse than at the party. He just hopes K didn’t notice because he doesn’t want him to get into a school fight either.
It's Thursday evening when Proko knocks on the door to K’s room. K never bothers to answer, so Proko pokes his head in. K is sprawled on his bed, doing something on his phone. He barely lifts his eyes to look at Proko.
“Hm?”
Proko walks in and closes the door behind himself. “Can I sleep here?”
That finally gets K’s attention. He eyes Proko for a moment, before shrugging. “Sure.”
Proko climbs on the bed and rests his chin on K’s shoulder to see his phone. “Who’re you texting?”
“Lynch.”
Proko smirks at the one-sided conversation on K’s phone. “Is he ignoring you again?”
“Yep.”
“You’re not gonna go drive around to wait for him, right?”
K sighs. “No.” He flings the phone on the bedside table and looks at Proko and the bruise. It was finally turning from the purple to a nasty shade of green. “How’s your head?”
“I was told it’s pretty good,” Proko says with a crooked smile.
K rolls his eyes and flicks him on the forehead, but he’s smiling.
Proko, in a moment of boldness, leans closer and asks: “Would you like to find out?”
K’s eyes go impossibly dark. His gaze flicks momentarily to Proko’s lips. He seems to be holding his breath and maybe Proko is too. The thing is, Proko isn’t an idiot. He’s seen the way K’s been looking at him and they weren’t exactly behaving like they were just friends. But K was still too fucking deep in the closet to admit anything. He’s been chasing after Lynch, knowing too damn well nothing’s ever going to come out of that while giving Proko these looks like he wants to devour him and Proko’s tired of pretending it doesn’t mean anything.
Then K chuckles and the moment shatters. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Proko manages a smile like it was all a joke indeed. He lies down, hiding his disappointed face in K’s pillow.
K sighs but lies down as well and when Proko shuffles closer, he lets him, casually wrapping an arm around him.
“Are you worried people would call you names too?” Proko asks quietly.
“What?”
“You know, like Swan and Skov.”
“Why would they?”
Proko raises an eyebrow at him and motions at their current position. He could swear K’s cheeks flush red, but he only says: “It’s not like that.”
Proko knows he’s on thin fucking ice already, but he can’t help asking: “Isn’t it?”
K doesn’t meet his eyes this time. “Go to sleep.”
Proko considers simply getting the fuck out of there, but he knows that throwing a tantrum would help exactly nothing, so he stays put and lets it go. For now, at least.
…
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Skov asks concernedly on Friday evening before they leave for another party.
“Yeah. I won’t drink too much, and it’ll be fine,” Proko assures him.
K watches him with an unreadable expression. It’s true that he’s been insisting he’s feeling fine for days now, but K wouldn’t mind staying home and out of trouble if Proko would be with him. Jesus, it really was like that, wasn’t it? He hopes that Proko isn’t too mad at him about that conversation.
When they arrive, the party is already in full swing and the whole house is crowded. K distantly knows the guy who owns it, but he prays he won’t have to talk with him tonight. Or ever, really. The guy was a bore.
Skov and Swan immediately disappear somewhere together, and they lose Jiang a few minutes after that, leaving only him and Proko.
“I’ll go get you a beer or something?” He offers.
“I can get it myself, thanks,” Proko says coolly. So much for not being too mad at him. Before K can figure out some way to apologise, Proko is gone too. Fuck.
K drifts through the crowd without much intent. He gets himself something to drink, talks to some people who are more interested in his drugs than him, tries to find Proko, unsuccessfully, and thinks he sees Lynch’s bald head in between all the people, but it’s probably not him.
When he finally manages to find Proko, he’s talking to some townie guy. K frowns at the two of them from across the room. It’s not hard to guess the guy is flirting with Proko. It makes K’s blood boil and he’s about to march there and put the guy in his place, when Proko laughs and puts his hand on the guy’s arm and shit, he’s flirting back.
K stays frozen in place, watching them with gritted teeth. He wants to kill the guy. He wants to murder him and make Proko watch. He wants to sink his teeth in Proko’s neck, mark him, claim him, preferably in front of that guy, making it clear Proko was his and he couldn’t have him.
Instead, he watches as Proko takes the guy’s hand and leads him towards the stairs. Jesus fucking Christ. He doesn’t think, he simply moves to block their path.
Proko halts to a surprised stop but offers K an innocent smile. “K. Hi.”
“Hey. Who is that?” He nods to the guy.
“This is Mike.”
“Mark,” the guy corrects Proko.
“Right. Mark.”
“You don’t even know his name and you’re gonna fuck him?”
K asks, switching to Bulgarian.
Proko glares at him. “I do know his name and even if I didn’t, what’s it to you? It’s not like we’re dating or anything, right? It’s not like that, yeah?” He spits back in Ukrainian.
K doesn’t like having his own words thrown back at him and he especially doesn’t like being left speechless.
“C’mon,” Proko tells Mike or Mark or whatever. K can hear him asking: “Was that your ex or something?”
Proko scoffs. “No, we’ve never even fucked.”
That’s when he decides he needs to get the fuck out of here.
In his hurried exit, he practically collides with Jiang. “Hey, where’re you going?” Jiang asks confusedly.
“Out,” K grits out.
“Out where?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Jiang frowns and looks around. “Where is Proko?”
K grimaces. “With some townie guy.” He hates the understanding flashing across Jiang’s face.
“Oh. Well, I’m going with you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No offence, but you totally do.”
Fair enough. K stalks outside to the Evo, and he definitely drunk too much to be driving, but he doesn’t exactly care right now. He drives mindlessly and only when he concludes he’s far away from the party, he pulls over and produces a packet of white powder. He makes three clean lines across the dash, snorts two in quick succession and offers the third to Jiang.
“That’s not coke, is it?”
K smirks sharply. “Something new I’ve been working on.”
“No, thanks. Last time you were working on something new, I was sick for days.”
K rolls his eyes and snorts the last line himself. “Pussy.”
“You know you wouldn’t have to get so fucked up if you just admitted your feelings to Proko,” Jiang says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right. For what it’s worth, we all know, and we don’t care.”
K gives him an unamused look. “This isn’t about you.”
“Who is it about, then?”
K shrugs. “My father. He’d kill me if he found out.” It was mostly an excuse, but Jiang didn’t have to know that.
“He’s not even in the same city,” Jiang points out because he’s no idiot.
“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hear about it.” K shakes his head. “He’d kill Proko too. Jesus.”
“You’re turning eighteen in a few months. You can’t let him dictate your life like that.”
K doesn’t say anything to that. They both know Jiang is right.
“Proko is the best thing that will ever happen to you, but he’s not gonna wait around for you to get your head out of your ass forever. Unless you do something, you’re gonna lose him and you’re going to regret that for the rest of your life.”
If Jiang expects some sort of epiphany from K, he’s going to be sorely disappointed, because K only kicks the car door open, leans out and throws up.
He thinks he hears Jiang curse softly. In the next moment, Jiang’s outside, helping K out of the car. “You’re not driving like this,” he hisses when K tries to protest. He gets deposited in the passenger seat, while Jiang sits behind the wheel.
“Are you done puking?” He asks before starting the engine.
K shrugs. He must’ve gotten the dosage wrong. Or maybe he fucked up somewhere along the dreaming process. Either way, he didn’t expect the effects to be this goddamn strong.
Jiang curses again but drives off. K doesn’t pay attention to where they’re going but it’s unsurprising when they pull up to K’s house. He manages to get the door open, but that’s about it and Jiang has to help him walk inside.
K flops down onto the couch and prays for the sweet release of death. He has no idea how much time passed before Jiang’s back at his side.
“Drink this.”
K eyes the cup in Jiang’s hand with obvious distrust. “Is it gonna kill me?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t want it.”
“Shut up and drink.”
K reluctantly takes the cup. The tea is something out of Proko’s collection and it tastes stupidly good.
Jiang’s phone rings and K can just make out Proko’s voice from the other side of the line. He can’t really focus enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again, Proko is somehow impossibly here, looming over him, looking concerned. He manages to catch bits and pieces of what he’s saying but it takes him stupidly long to realise he’s talking to Jiang and not him.
“– happened?”
“He got high, puked, passed out –”
He drifts off for a few seconds and comes back to just in time to hear Jiang ask: “How was the sex?”
Proko shrugs and Jiang cackles gleefully. “That bad?”
K smirks victoriously and passes out again.
Someone slaps him awake. He blinks at Proko’s face. His eyes are impossibly blue. “What?” he manages. His head is stupidly heavy, and his eyelids keep dropping.
Proko takes hold of his chin to steady him. “Are you okay?”
K blinks some more. Everything keeps spinning. Where is he again? He’s with Proko so the exact location doesn’t really matter. “Sure, sure.”
Proko sighs, unconvinced. “Can I get you anything?”
“I forced some tea into him,” Jiang offers from a distance.
“Stay with me?” K asks, uncaring of how whiny he sounds. He registers Proko sitting next to him and then he’s out of it again, this time for good.
…
Proko carefully arranges K’s body on the couch with his head resting in Proko’s lap. At least he’s still breathing. Proko’s not sure what cardiac arrest looks like, but he assumes K wouldn’t look so peaceful during it.
“What did he take again?” He asks Jiang.
“I don’t know. He said it’s something new. It looked like coke, but you never know with K.”
Proko sighs. “You didn’t try it?”
Jiang scoffs. “I’m not suicidal.”
“Fair enough. How much did he take?”
“Three lines, so like a gram? A little more? I seriously don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
Jiang gives him a pointed look like Proko’s stupid to ask that. “The day I try to get between K and his drugs is the day I die.”
That’s also fair. Proko pushes K’s hair out of his face. “You think he’ll just sleep it off?”
“No one’s ever overdosed on anything he dreamt up. And it’s not like the hospital would know what to do with him either.”
“True.” He sighs again. “Why did he leave the party anyway?”
“Why do you think?” Jiang asks sneeringly.
Proko frowns at him. “So, this is my fault?”
“No, obviously. It’s K’s fault. It’s always K’s fault. But you fucking some stranger just to piss him off didn’t exactly help.”
“I didn’t do it to piss him off. Not entirely.”
“Next time you should just ask Skov and Swan for a threesome. I bet it’d be good. Better than whatever you experienced tonight.”
Proko smirks. “The bar is literally on the ground.”
“How was the guy that bad?”
“Uh, I don’t know. He said it wasn’t his first time, but it definitely looked like it.”
“Do you think K would be bad? It’d be his first time with a guy too after all.”
Proko looks down at K’s sleeping figure. “It’s not like I’m ever gonna find out,” he says bitterly.
“I wouldn’t say that. Fifty bucks that he’s horrible.”
“Deal.”
Jiang offers him a conspicuous smile. “Do you need anything else?”
He needs a big bottle of vodka. He needs K to stop acting like an idiot. He needs a much better sex life. “No, I’m fine. You can go.”
“Call me if anything.”
“Sure, thanks.”
He expected his night to go a little different from this, but surely babysitting passed out Kavinsky is almost as good as being at a party. Fuck his entire life.
…
K wakes up with a groan. What the hell was he thinking when he dreamt up that thing? He doesn’t remember the last time his dreamt-up drugs fucked him up this bad.
He’s still lying on the couch, but his head is in Proko’s lap. Proko blinks at him sleepily. “How are you feeling?”
“Fucking hungover.” He manages to sit up and wonders if he’s going to throw up again.
“What the hell were you thinking getting so fucked up?”
He’s too nauseous to argue with Proko. “For your information, there wasn’t much thinking involved.”
Proko snorts. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I mean, come on, you were completely out of it.”
K rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t completely out of it.”
“Oh, yeah? Do you remember anything from last night?”
“I remember you said that the sex sucked,” he says gleefully.
Proko looks like he’s seconds from strangling him. Jokes on him though, because K would be into that. “It certainly didn’t suck as much as spending the night with you on the fucking couch, making sure you don’t choke on your own vomit.”
Wow, he’s really mad. Shit. K should probably apologise. “I didn’t ask you to stay with me,” he snaps back instead, like an idiot.
“Actually, that’s precisely what you did.”
Fuck, he’s right. He does remember practically begging Proko to stay. “Well, you didn’t have to listen to me,” he mumbles bitterly.
Proko sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I wouldn’t leave you.”
K knows that. Of course, Proko wouldn’t leave him, not when he looked two seconds from death. He keeps his eyes on the floor but says: “Sorry. I was being a jerk.”
“It’s fine. I’ll go make some breakfast. You should eat.”
K nods. He drags himself to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth and by the time he gets back, there’s already a plate of scrambled eggs and some bacon waiting for him. The smell alone makes K’s mouth water.
He takes a bite of the bacon and almost groans in pleasure. “Shit, I love you.”
“Are you talking to the bacon?” Proko asks amusedly from where he’s making them tea.
K didn’t quite realise he said that out loud. “Um. It’s a really good bacon.”
It makes Proko laugh. “Right.” He sets a cup of tea in front of K and sits opposite him with his own breakfast.
K genuinely wonders if this is the right moment to admit that he loves Proko too. Then he stays silent like the coward he is.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” he says when he finishes eating.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
K notes the dark circles under Proko’s eyes. “Have you slept at all?”
“A little, here and there.”
“You could go with me,” he offers casually.
Proko smiles a little. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”
K is sure his heart skips a beat. Jesus fucking Christ. “You gotta stop doing that,” he mumbles.
Proko just laughs. “Why? I like seeing the panicked look on your face. Not that you have any reason to panic. If you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask.”
K gives him a pained look.
“Sorry. Just tell me that you’re not interested in me at all, and I’ll stop.”
“What?”
Proko shrugs, all nonchalance, his eyes fixed on the table between them, but K sees how tense has his posture gotten. “You heard me.”
It feels like a test. He hears Jiang yesterday’s words echo in his head. He’s not gonna wait around for you to get your head out of your ass forever. Is this it? His last chance? And the thing is, that he’s tired and his head hurts and he really wants to just curl up in his bed with Proko and he’s fucking exhausted of pretending the two of them are just friends.
“And if I said I was interested in you?”
Proko looks up sharply, doing his best not to look surprised and failing spectacularly. “You should probably do something about that.”
“Yeah,” K agrees. “But I need a few more hours of sleep, otherwise the sex is gonna be as disappointing as it was with the Mike guy.”
“Mark.”
K raises an eyebrow. “Is that really the part you got hung up on?”
Proko laughs and shit, K is so in love with him it hurts.
They make it all the way upstairs and into K’s bed, and then Proko’s climbing over him and finally, finally, kissing him and K distantly wonders if he actually died yesterday and went to heaven. It’s unlikely, considering the fact that he would end up in hell for sure, but the thought that this is real makes him dizzy.
He slips his hands underneath Proko’s T-shirt and Proko gets the hint and takes it off. This might be K’s death for sure. K’s T-shirt is next and then Proko’s mouth is on his bare skin and K silently curses his past self for being such a coward. He could be doing this for weeks, for months even.
“Were you serious about the sex part?” Proko asks, a little breathless as he pulls away from him. He sits back on K’s thighs and observes K with a satisfied smile.
K has never hated his metabolism more. Why can’t his liver just filter that shit out and make him feel better already? “Quite. Unless you think throwing up in the middle of it is really hot.”
Proko snorts. “Okay. Nap first, sex second.”
“Or I could just take some Zofran,” K suggests. He has no idea how he’s supposed to fall asleep right now.
“I don’t think you should treat nausea from your dream drugs with more drugs,” Proko says gently. He kisses the corner of K’s mouth before lying down next to him, snuggling close.
“I don’t see why not,” K mumbles but wraps his arm around him and obediently closes his eyes.
…
“By the way, you owe me fifty bucks,” Proko casually mentions to Jiang when they’re all getting dinner that evening.
Jiang chokes on his drink, his eyes flicking between Proko and K. “What?”
K has no idea what is going on and why is Jiang making such a big deal out of fifty bucks.
When Jiang stops coughing, he obediently hands Proko the fifty. “I want all the details.”
Proko smiles smugly and casually puts his hand on K’s thigh – an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Skov and Swan exchange knowing smiles. “I’ll tell you later,” he promises.
K decides he probably doesn’t want to know.