Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Rennick knows it’s going to be a shite day before it’s even properly begun.
Truth is, he knows it the moment he opens his eyes.
Before the coffee does a damn thing.
Before the first voice crackles through the phone.

It’s in the air.
That dull pressure behind the brow.
That quiet certainty that nothing today is going to run smooth.

The numbers are off.
The schedule’s too tight.
The crew’s knackered — distracted, slow on the uptake.

And it’s Christmas.

Not the warm, bloody postcard kind.
Not lights in windows and mulled wine and smiles for the camera.

This kind of Christmas.
Grey sky.
Salt in the air.
Steel under your boots.
People who’d rather be anywhere else.

Home.
With families they’ll only hear this year through a crackling line and a dropped signal.

Cadal wants reports.
Preferably yesterday.
Preferably flawless.

And every decision feels like a wrong step on thin ice.

Rennick’s office smells of cold coffee and metal.
Of too many hours and not enough sleep.

In the corner stands a wee plastic tree. Someone’s put it there.
Blinking lights flickering out of rhythm, like they’re having a nervous breakdown of their own.

The windows look out over grey sea, grey sky, grey possibilities.
There’s no snow out here.
Just wind.
Just water.
Just that endless sameness that swallows everything whole.

Rennick leans over the desk, one hand flat against its surface.
His fingers are white with pressure, like he’s trying to hold the damn thing down — or himself.

The line crackles on the other end.

“No,” he growls into the phone.
“That’s not what I said. Read the bloody plan again.”

A pause.
Too long.

The reply comes hesitant.
Uncertain.
Someone explains. Justifies. Uses far too many words.

Rennick’s jaw tightens until it aches.

“No,” he cuts in. “Stop thinking. Start knowing.”

The line hisses. Another voice joins in.
Then a second.

Questions.
Clarifications.
Deviations.

All at once.

“If I hear one more person say they think or reckon,” Rennick snaps,
“someone’s flying out of here. This isn’t a fucking Joke. It’s a fucking procedure.”

He sets the phone down harder than necessary.
It cracks against the desk. The sound lingers far too long.

His pulse is hammering.
In his ears.
In his temples.
In his chest.

The clock ticks.
The tree blinks.

Everything ticks. Everything blinks. Everything wants something.

Cadal’s breathing down his neck.

The complaint letters are tucked away in a drawer.
He opens it, and the pages practically scrape at his eyes.

Rennick exhales sharply, drags a hand through his hair, yanks it back hard.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

Outside, someone laughs.
Just for a second.

Too bright.
Too wrong.

From the radio: a cheap, distorted Christmas tune.

Rennick’s hand curls into a fist.

Not today.
Not here.
Not now.

He reaches for his coffee mug. Empty. Of course it is.

He sets it down too fast, and a few drops of cold coffee slop across the desk.

His breathing turns shallow.

Pull yourself together, he tells himself.
You don’t get a choice.

The crew’s counting on you.
Cadal expects results.

Mistakes cost time.
Time costs money.
Money costs heads — and it’s never the ones at the top.

It’s Christmas.
And they’re all still here.

Rennick straightens up, forces his shoulders back, pulls his hard mask into place.

But it doesn’t sit right anymore.
It pinches.
It slips.

And somewhere deep down is that dangerous feeling —
that one more call, one more I thought, would be enough to tip it all over.

He stares at the blinking plastic tree.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he mutters, flat as stone.

Chapter Text

A knock at the door.
Short. Firm. Too confident for a place like this.

“What,” Rennick barks, not looking up.

The door opens.

“Wow,” says a voice that really doesn’t belong here.
Almost amused.
“You’d think you were happy to see me.”

Rennick lifts his head slowly. His expression is already sharp — now it hardens further.

Caz stands in the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm, coveralls smeared with grime, a faint frown between his brows. Not relaxed. Not easy. He looks like he fought tooth and nail for this break — and is already regretting it.

“I don’t have time,” Rennick says. Short. Cutting.

Caz nods at once. No argument. No remark.

“Aye,” he says. “Figured as much.”

He steps inside, kicks the door shut with his boot. Not quietly.

Rennick’s gaze turns dangerous.

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“True,” Caz replies, running a hand through his hair. “But I also didn’t say I was up for another shouting match today.”

Rennick grabs a stack of papers, squares them up a bit too hard.

“If you’re looking for trouble, you’re in the wrong place.”

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Caz says. His voice firms, impatience creeping in.
“It’s already standing here, and it’s got your name on it.”

Rennick looks up.

“Watch how you—”

“No,” Caz cuts in. Sharper than before.

Then he exhales, pulls his tone down.

“Christ, Davey—”

“Rennick,” Rennick snaps. “In here, I’m Rennick.”

Caz glares at him. “For fuck’s sake, Rennick,” he nearly spits,
“you’ve been completely off since this morning.”

“I’m focused.”

“You’re two seconds from blowing.”

Silence.

“You haven’t eaten in eight hours,” Caz says, suddenly calmer.

Rennick blinks. Once.

“What?”

“And you haven’t had a proper drink since last night,” Caz continues.
“Coffee doesn’t count.”

“I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”

Caz tilts his head slightly. “Good. Then I’m not one.”

He reaches into his pocket — a lot less casual than before — and sets a cereal bar down on the desk. It lands with a soft, deliberate tap.

“Then I’m your annoying partner.”

Rennick doesn’t look at it.

“Take that away.”

“No.”

“I’m not eating that.”

“You are.”

Rennick raises his eyes slowly.

“I don’t eat something someone puts in front of me like I’m a damn dog.”

Caz blinks. Then lets out a short laugh — not amused, more disbelieving.

“Oh, is that it? Pride? Seriously?”

“I don’t take orders on when I eat.”

“You take orders on when you sleep, when you work, and when you breathe,” Caz shoots back.
“But a cereal bar’s where you draw the line.”

Rennick’s jaw tightens.

“That’s control.”

“No,” Caz says, clearly irritated now. “That’s nonsense.”

He picks the bar back up, looks at it briefly, then tears the wrapper open.

“What are you doing,” Rennick growls.

“Making your life easier.”

“Put it down.”

Caz comes around the desk.
Stops. Far too close.

“Last chance,” he says evenly.
“Either you eat the bar,” — he taps it with a finger —
“or I stand right here and calmly explain just how wrecked you look. With examples.”

Rennick’s stare turns glacial.

“You’re playing with your life.”

Caz smiles thinly.

“I know.”

Two seconds pass.

Rennick mutters a curse, grabs the bar.

“You’re unbearable.”

“I know,” Caz murmurs. “Chew.”

“What?”

“Don’t glare. Chew.”

Rennick bites down. Hard. Reluctant.
Like he personally blames the bar for everything.

Caz folds his arms, leans back against the desk.

“See? Still alive.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” Rennick mutters through a full mouth.

“Generous.”

Rennick keeps eating. Slowly. Teeth grinding.

Caz watches him. The anger eases, making room for something else.
Concern.
Tiredness.

“You can’t carry everything on your own,” he says more quietly.

Rennick swallows.
Says nothing.

But he keeps eating.

Chapter Text

Caz has settled himself on the small chair in front of the desk.
The bar is gone.

Rennick doesn’t eat it properly.
Not with any pleasure.
Piece by piece, like it’s a task he has to get through.

Caz watches him.
For too long.

He notices how Rennick briefly licks his fingers — first his thumb, then the rest, quick and almost unconscious — before wiping them in a short swipe against his shirt.

A tiny reflex.
Almost nothing.
And yet it lingers.

Caz’s gaze follows every movement, taking in the fine lines around Rennick’s mouth, the faint tremor in his fingers, the tiredness sitting heavy in his eyes.

For a moment, Caz’s heart picks up.
Not from fear.
Not from worry.

From closeness.

From the small, fleeting detail that hits him in a way that’s hot, restless, and almost forbidden.
It’s just a look. Just a moment of nearness.
And still there’s that sharp tug in his chest, that brief warmth creeping through him.

Rennick turns his attention back to the papers as if nothing happened.
But the trace of it remains — the slight sheen on his lips, the small movements, the warmth of skin hidden too thinly beneath fabric.

Caz leans forward a fraction. Barely noticeable.
Just enough to shorten the space between them, only to feel the closeness that can’t quite be grasped.

His breathing quickens slightly. His hands curl unconsciously against his thighs.

Rennick doesn’t notice — or pretends not to.
And that’s what makes the spark flare for a heartbeat between them: brief, electric, gone again as Rennick focuses on the papers, on anything but the tension pulling tight through the room.

Caz smiles quietly.
Not openly. Not provocatively.
Just the faintest lift of one corner of his mouth as he watches Rennick brush the last crumbs off the desk.

For a second, the air between them is charged — warm, close — and then the prickle fades again, like smoke in the wind.
But the moment stays. Hard to pin down, yet unmistakable.
As if they’d both lost control for the briefest instant.

“What are you grinning so smugly about?” Rennick snaps, fed up with being watched.
“I’m working,” he adds flatly.

“You’re functioning,” Caz corrects him. “There’s a difference.”

Rennick’s pen stills above the paper. Just for a moment.
Then he keeps writing.

“When you’re done analysing me, you can leave.”

Caz exhales audibly, drags a hand down his face, rubs his eyes.
The irritation settles back into his shoulders.

“For fuck’s sake, Davey,” he says sharper — and catches the way Rennick’s lips twitch at the sound of his first name.
“You can’t pretend this is normal.”

“It’s a workday.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“And?”

“And you’re acting like you’re the only bastard on this rig.”

Rennick doesn’t look up.

“I’m responsible.”

“No,” Caz says hard. “You’re suffocating under it.”

The word hangs between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.

Rennick lets out a short laugh, humourless.

“Now you’re being melodramatic.”

“I’m tired,” Caz snaps back.
“Tired of watching you grind yourself down and call it duty.”

He stands and steps closer, planting both hands on the desk.
Too close.
On purpose.

“You nearly threw someone out earlier because he hesitated,” he says more quietly — and more dangerously.
“Not because he was incompetent. Because you’ve got no room left.”

Rennick’s gaze snaps up.

“I don’t tolerate uncertainty.”

“You do,” Caz fires back immediately. “You used to. Just not today.”

Silence.

Rennick’s breathing slows. Deepens.
He notices it.
Hates it.

“You should go,” he says. His voice isn’t sharp anymore. Just tired.

Caz lets out a short, bitter laugh.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

He straightens, paces the room, runs a hand through his hair again. His frustration is raw now, unfiltered.

“I didn’t come up here to be nice,” he says.
“I came because I’ve been watching you hold yourself together for days until there’s nothing left.”

Rennick leans back. Slowly.
His shoulders drop a fraction — invisible to anyone but Caz.

“I need this,” he says quietly.
“If I slow down, everything slows down.”

Caz stops.
Then turns back.

“You’ve already slowed down,” he says calmly.
“And you know what? Nothing’s blown up.”

Rennick opens his mouth to argue — then closes it again.

Caz comes back. This time without aggression.
He sits on the edge of the desk, not directly opposite, but slightly to the side.

“You’re calmer,” he says. No accusation. Just a fact.

“Only because I ate,” Rennick mutters.

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

Caz snorts quietly. “You’re an old idiot.”

A few seconds pass. The low hum of the platform. Distant voices. Christmas music faint in the background.

Caz’s tone shifts. Not abruptly.
Just tired.
Honest.

“I was worried about you,” he says at last.

Rennick looks at him. Properly.

“That’s unnecessary.”

Caz’s gaze softens, though his voice stays steady.

“Not for me.”

Rennick drops his eyes. His hand lies flat on the desk. Still.

Caz leans in. Hesitates.
Then places his hand over Rennick’s.
Not firm. Not demanding. Just there.

Rennick tenses. Reflex.
Then — nothing.

He allows it.

“Just a moment,” Caz murmurs.
“No talking. No plans. Just… breathe once.”

Rennick exhales. Slowly. Heavily.

“If anyone sees this—”

“Then they see two men taking a break,” Caz says quietly.

His thumb brushes once over the back of Rennick’s hand.

Rennick closes his eyes. Just for a heartbeat.
But it’s enough.

“See?” Caz whispers. “Already better.”

“No,” Rennick replies. “I’m just less angry.”

Caz smiles faintly.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

He leans in, resting Rennick’s forehead briefly against his shoulder.

Rennick leans into it.
Barely noticeable.
But real.

Chapter Text

Caz doesn’t hesitate for long.
He shifts closer until his knees almost brush Rennick’s. Rennick opens his mouth, likely to say something sharp — but never gets the chance, because Caz simply decides to ignore the distance altogether.

With a smooth, unassuming movement, he settles onto Rennick’s lap.
Not abrupt.
Not heavy.
More like he’s done this a hundred times before and knows exactly how much weight he can place.

Rennick’s body tenses at once.

“What the—” he starts, then breaks off, instinctively grabbing at Caz’s hips to push him away.

Caz doesn’t move an inch.

“If you throw me off now,” he murmurs, “I’ll be offended. And then I’ll sit down again.”

Rennick presses his lips together.

“You’re being disrespectful.”

“Festively disrespectful,” Caz corrects, satisfied, shifting just a fraction closer until Rennick’s back meets the chair.
“Big difference.”

Rennick sighs. Deep. Slow.

“You really do cross every bloody line.”

Caz rests his forehead gently against Rennick’s.

“And you let me.”

Rennick wants to argue.
Instead, his hands stay at Caz’s sides.

Caz smiles softly, almost triumphant — then he stills.
His movements slow, grow deliberate. He slides an arm around Rennick’s shoulders, drawing him a little closer until Rennick can feel his chest rise against his own.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “You look like you’re about to shout at someone just for existing.”

“I could,” Rennick growls, meeting his eyes.

Caz leans in and presses a kiss to Rennick’s forehead.
Gentle.
Warm.
Longer than necessary.

Rennick freezes.
Then lets out a slow, audible breath.

“If you keep this up…” he begins.

“…what then?” Caz asks quietly.

Rennick huffs. “Then I forget why I was meant to be angry.”

Caz’s voice softens. “That’d be tragic.”

He kisses him again. Not just the forehead this time, but slightly lower, where warmth gathers. Rennick’s eyes close fully now. For a moment, he doesn’t look like a man in control of everything — just tired. And held.

“This is… unprofessional.”

“You’re sitting on a chair,” Caz says calmly, faintly amused.
“I’m sitting on you. That’s clearly personal.”

He kisses Rennick’s temple. Then the edge of his brow.
Small, steady gestures, like he’s easing him out of tension piece by piece.

Rennick snorts.

“If anyone sees this, you’re dead.”

“Then I’ll die hugged,” Caz murmurs, wrapping both arms around him.

Rennick’s hands hesitate — then slide to Caz’s back.
His fingers curl lightly into the fabric of Caz’s coveralls. A reflexive grip. Honest. Unfiltered.

“You’re enjoying this,” Caz says quietly.

“I’m tolerating it,” Rennick shoots back.

Caz laughs softly against his skin.

“Of course.”

He kisses Rennick’s forehead again. Then again. And again — each one a little slower, a little more familiar.

Rennick rolls his eyes.

“You’re unbearably clingy.”

“And you’re unbearably bad at letting someone look after you.”

Rennick doesn’t answer.

Caz draws him in a little closer. Rennick’s forehead settles against his shoulder almost automatically. His body follows without resistance — as if he’s stopped holding himself together because someone else is doing it for him.

Caz’s hand moves slowly over his back. Even. Soothing.

“See?” he whispers. “You’re calmer. I’m good at this, aren’t I?”

“Don’t say that,” Rennick murmurs. “I don’t want to have to remember it.”

Caz smiles, presses one last kiss to his forehead.
Then stays there, lips resting a moment longer — like it’s the safest place on the whole rig.

For this one quiet moment, Rennick doesn’t have to lead.
Doesn’t have to decide.
Doesn’t have to hold anything together.

He’s being held.

And Rennick lets him.

Because — damn it — it feels good.

(As a little bonus, I "quickly" wrote this as well, because I realized myself that it’s been pretty short so far.)

Time stretches, soft at the edges. Minutes pass, unbothered, almost weightless.
No conversation. No need to fill the silence. Just the low hum of the platform, deep in the bones of the rig.

Somewhere in the distance, metal strikes metal.
A sound that’s always there if you live here long enough.

Caz is still sitting on Rennick’s lap.
Not stiff. Not tense. Just there.

His weight has long since stopped being something you notice. It’s familiar now. Natural.
Like an anchor keeping you from slipping further.

Rennick’s arms rest around him. Not tight. Not loose. Just right — the way you hold someone you need without saying it out loud.

Caz’s hand moves slowly over Rennick’s back.
No rhythm. No goal. Just the same quiet path between shoulder blade and spine.
Again and again.
Grounding. Steady.
A touch that asks for nothing.

Rennick’s breathing is heavy, but even. His head rests against Caz’s shoulder, forehead tucked somewhere between neck and collarbone. He says nothing. Does nothing.

And that alone says everything.

After a while, Caz feels it again.
That pressure.

He pulls a slight face, shifts minutely.
Nothing. The hard point stays, digging stubbornly into his shoulder.

He exhales softly, half amused, half resigned.

“Rennick…”

No answer.

Caz huffs under his breath. “You’re drilling your glasses into my shoulder.”

Rennick shifts barely at all, muttering something unintelligible.

“That wasn’t a solution,” Caz murmurs.

Rennick moves again, like he’s trying to burrow deeper.
Bad idea.
The pressure gets worse.

Caz shakes his head, then carefully lifts a hand and places it at Rennick’s jaw. Not forcing. Just present.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me for a second.”

Rennick doesn’t react right away. After a moment, Caz gently increases the pressure, lifting his head just a fraction from his shoulder. Just enough.

And there it is.
That look.

Unimpressed. Tired. And very clearly not pleased about being moved from a comfortable position.

Caz grins. “That face is saying very clearly: this is completely unnecessary.”

“Leave it,” Rennick murmurs.

“Second.” Caz’s fingers find the crooked frame. “You’re jabbing me with the damn thing.”

“If you try to take my glasses—” Rennick’s voice is tired, rough.

“—I’m saving my shoulder and your nose,” Caz cuts in dryly.

“I can’t see without them.”

“Yeah,” Caz says flatly. “I’ve noticed.”

Carefully, he slips the glasses from Rennick’s nose. Rennick blinks at once, brow furrowing as if someone’s just switched the world out of focus.

Caz lifts the glasses, studies them briefly — then puts them on himself.
He doesn’t even need a full second.

“Oh god.”

He takes them straight back off. “Rennick. Seriously. You’re half blind.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” Caz grins. “Definitely.”

Rennick lifts his head slightly. “Give them back.”

Caz holds them just out of reach. “Wait. How do I look?”

Rennick looks at him. Without his glasses.
Eyes narrowed slightly.

“Ridiculous,” he says flatly.

Caz laughs softly. “Perfect.”

He sets the glasses carefully on the desk, even straightens them a touch, like they’re something precious. Then his hand returns at once — first to Rennick’s shoulder, then down again, resuming that slow, steady movement along his back.

Without the glasses, Rennick looks… disarmed.
More exposed. Softer.

The hardness is still there, somewhere beneath the surface.
But it’s not front and centre anymore. The fine lines around his eyes are clearer now — not harsh, just honest. Traces of years, not weakness.

Caz’s hands drift back to Rennick’s back. One stays at his side, steady and present. The other lifts, hesitates for a heartbeat — then finds Rennick’s face.

“Hey,” Caz murmurs quietly, almost casually, like he’s giving himself permission.

His fingertips touch Rennick’s cheek. Warm. Careful. Rennick tenses at once. Not much. But enough for Caz to feel it.

“Caz,” Rennick warns softly.

“I know,” Caz replies calmly. “I’m not doing anything.”

That’s not entirely true — but it feels safe enough that Rennick doesn’t push him away.

Caz’s thumb moves slowly beneath Rennick’s eye. Not pressing. Not examining. Just there. Like he’s trying to lift the weight that’s settled there. The tiredness. The years. The days piled on top of each other.

Rennick inhales sharply.

“This is unnecessary,” he mutters.

“Mhm,” Caz says. “And yet.”

He keeps the motion light, tracing the same path again and again, as if memorising the shape of it. Rennick closes his eyes without meaning to. His brow creases — not in anger, but in something he can’t quite place.

It’s uncomfortable.
Being looked at this closely.
Being touched this gently.

And yet… he doesn’t pull away.

“You’re staring,” Rennick murmurs.

Caz smiles quietly. “You’re letting me.”

Rennick presses his lips together. A soft curse. Then he feels it himself — the warmth creeping slowly into his face. Not from effort. Not from anger.

He’s blushing.

Not fiercely. But enough.

Caz’s eyes widen a fraction. His smile softens. Grows honest.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

“Don’t,” Rennick growls at once.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not—”

“You definitely are,” Caz confirms, unable to stop a quiet laugh. No mockery. Just affection.
“Bloody hell, Davey…”

His thumb stays beneath Rennick’s eye, resting there like he wants to hold him without pressure.

"That's fucking cute."

“Don’t call me cute.”

Caz leans in, forehead to forehead. “You’re the most dangerous man on this whole rig,” he murmurs, “and you blush when I touch you.”

Rennick closes his eye again. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Happily,” Caz says softly.

He traces beneath Rennick’s eye once more, then over the fine lines there, careful as if they’re something valuable. Rennick’s hand curls into Caz’s coverall. Not to push him away. To keep him there.

“Stop,” Rennick murmurs — without any real conviction.

Caz smiles, presses a gentle kiss to Rennick’s temple, then slowly withdraws his hand, giving him space.

“You’re getting old,” Caz mutters eventually.

Rennick lifts a warning brow.

“Careful.”

Caz laughs quietly, kisses his hairline. “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”

“You said it at all.”

“Because I can,” Caz replies calmly. “Anyone else wouldn’t survive it.”

Rennick snorts — a dry sound somewhere between a laugh and surrender.

“You’ve no sense of self-preservation.”

“I do,” Caz says, resting his forehead briefly against Rennick’s temple.
“You’re mine.”

Silence settles again.

Rennick’s hand finds Caz’s back, settles there. Holds him. Not clinging — more like checking. As if he needs to be sure this is real.

A moment passes.
Then another.

Caz feels it first in the posture — the way Rennick’s shoulders sink just a fraction. The way something finally gives that’s been tight all day.

Chapter Text

Caz stays still for a moment, doing nothing but holding Rennick.

Then he lowers his head slightly, breathes along Rennick’s neck, as if checking whether he’s allowed. His lips brush against skin—barely more than a promise.

Rennick tenses at once. Reflex. Control.

“Caz,” he murmurs, a warning.

Caz smiles against his neck. “You’ve got exactly two options,” he says softly. “Either you say no—or you stop pretending you don’t like this.”

A brief moment.

Rennick’s breathing betrays him before his mouth ever could.

Caz takes advantage of it.

His lips find the soft spot beneath Rennick’s jaw. Not a rushed kiss. Slow. Deliberate. Then another, a little lower. Rennick’s hands tighten at Caz’s back.

“And besides,” Caz adds between kisses, “that bloody orange jacket is a crime.”

Rennick snorts quietly. “It’s work gear.”

“It’s camouflage,” Caz corrects. “And it’s in the way.”

He gives the fabric a small tug. Just enough.

Rennick hesitates—out of principle—then lets out an audible sigh.

With effort, he straightens a little, shrugs out of the jacket as best he can while sitting, with Caz on his lap.

It’s awkward. Clumsy. And precisely because of that, honest.

When the jacket finally lands over the back of the chair, Caz immediately uses the newly gained closeness.

“Much better,” he murmurs, satisfied.

His hands find Rennick’s tie. Loosens it a little. Then a little more.

Rennick inhales sharply. “Not necessary.”

Caz lifts his head and looks at him. “Don’t lie to me.”

He opens the top button. Then the second.
At the third, he hesitates—just long enough to watch Rennick’s face.

Rennick’s gaze is dark. Alert. And clearly not resistant.

Caz grins softly. “Aye. Thought so.”

The third button gives.

Caz leans in, kisses Rennick’s shoulder first, then his collarbone. His lips linger there—warm, calm. No pressure. No hurry.

Rennick tilts his head back. Just a little. Enough.

“Damn it,” he murmurs. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

Caz kisses him again, a little higher. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true.”

“And yet you let me.”

Rennick doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides into Caz’s neck, holding him there. Not tight. But firm.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he murmurs.

Caz laughs softly against his skin. “Too late.”

He keeps kissing—slow, deliberate—right where Rennick is sensitive. Rennick’s breathing grows uneven. His resistance doesn’t vanish… but it stops actively fighting.

After a while, Rennick says quietly, almost reluctantly, “…Don’t stop.”

Caz stills. Lifts his head. His eyes light up.

“Oh,” he says, pleased. “That was new.”

Rennick closes his eyes briefly. “Don’t get used to it.”

Caz kisses the spot where his pulse beats.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’m just enjoying it.”

Rennick tries to pull himself together.
Truly.

But it gets harder the longer Caz stays exactly where he knows he has an effect. The kisses aren’t demanding, not greedy. They’re calm. Certain. As if Caz has all the time in the world.

Caz’s lips move slowly over the exposed collarbone, lingering where the skin is warmer. Rennick’s breathing changes subtly. Deeper. Less steady. Caz notices immediately.

He pauses, lifts his head just enough to study Rennick’s face with undisguised satisfaction.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You’re melting.”

Rennick opens one eye. “I’m doing what?”

“Melting,” Caz repeats, content. “Slowly. Inevitably.”

“You’re imagining things.”

Caz grins and kisses him again, right in the same place, this time a little longer. Rennick’s head tips back another fraction.

“If that’s imagination,” Caz murmurs against his skin, “you’re doing a hell of a convincing job.”

Rennick’s hand slides from Caz’s neck to his shoulder, gripping. Not to push him away. To hold him closer. It happens before he can stop himself.

Caz’s grin widens.

“There it is,” he whispers. “Knew I’d get you.”

Rennick snorts, half annoyed, half resigned. “You talk too much.”

Caz keeps kissing his way up Rennick’s neck, slow, deliberate. Rennick’s pulse is clearly felt beneath his lips. He can feel Rennick giving in, bit by bit. The sharp edges softening.

Rennick exhales heavily. “You’re unbearable.”

“I know,” Caz says warmly, proudly. “And yet you’re sitting perfectly still, letting me do this.”

“I’m not letting you—”

Another kiss. A little firmer. Rennick’s protest dies somewhere between inhale and exhale.

His head now rests fully against the back of the chair, eyes closed. The tie hangs loose, the shirt open enough that Caz has free rein. Rennick does nothing to stop him.

Nothing at all.

Caz pauses, looking at him.
This man who moves entire crews outside, who tolerates no weakness—and who is now slowly melting beneath him.

“You’ve no idea how good this feels,” Caz murmurs. “Seeing you like this.”

Rennick opens his eyes a sliver. “Tell no one.”

Caz chuckles softly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He kisses him again, gentler this time. Calmer. Rennick lifts a hand, places it at Caz’s neck, drawing him closer without a word.

“Damn it,” he murmurs. “I really should throw you out more often.”

Caz smiles against his skin. “Don’t. You’d miss me.”

Rennick doesn’t answer.

But he keeps melting.

Rennick doesn’t let his head fall back again.

Instead, he lifts it slowly, as if surprising himself. His hand slides over Caz’s back, comes to rest between his shoulder blades. Not demanding. Not clinging out of fear. Just calm. Tender.

Caz notices at once.

That change.
Not surrender—but something else. Something deeper.

“Hey,” Caz murmurs softly, a trace of teasing still in his voice. “You’re suddenly looking very serious. Not enjoying it anymore?”

Rennick doesn’t answer right away.

He draws Caz closer, not hastily, but deliberately. Rests his forehead against Caz’s shoulder. Takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself.

“I am,” he says at last. Quiet. Rough. “I do enjoy it.”

Caz blinks. That was… easier than expected.

Rennick’s thumb moves slowly over Caz’s back, almost hesitant, as if he has to remind himself that he’s allowed to do this.

“You know,” Rennick murmurs after a pause, “you’re far too young to be burdening yourself with an old bastard like me.”

Caz snorts. “If that’s your idea of romance—”

Rennick lifts his head slightly. His forehead rests against Caz’s now, their noses almost aligned.

“I’m serious.”

His voice is quieter than before. Less sharp. Less controlled.

“I don’t have the same patience anymore. Not the same energy. And sometimes…” He hesitates. Swallows. “Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me at all.”

Caz starts to reply—something flippant—but Rennick’s hand lifts slightly, holding him back.

“Let me,” he murmurs.

A brief moment. Then he says it. So softly it almost lingers in the air, unsure whether it wants to be heard.

“I’m damned lucky to have you.”

Caz freezes.

Rennick lowers his gaze, as if only now realising what he’s said. His voice drops even further, almost just breath.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

A beat.

Then, barely audible:
“I love you.”

It isn’t a grand confession. No dramatic moment.
It’s almost… casual. And that’s exactly why it lands so hard.

Caz needs a moment.
Then another.

His face grows warm. His ears. His neck. All at once. He laughs softly, almost shy, and buries his face briefly against Rennick’s shoulder.

“Hell,” he murmurs. “You can’t just say that like it’s nothing.”

Rennick lifts an eyebrow. “Why not.”

“Because…” Caz lifts his head again, still faintly flushed. “Because you’ve just completely thrown me off balance.”

A small, rare smile touches Rennick’s mouth.

“Then we’re even.”

Caz shakes his head, still grinning, and pulls him into a tight embrace. “You do realise I’m never forgetting that.”

“That wasn’t the intention.”

“Tough,” Caz says softly. “I love you too.”

Rennick closes his eyes.

It’s Caz who moves first.

Not hastily. Not demanding.

He only lifts his head a fraction, enough to have Rennick’s face close—so close he can feel his breath, warm and steady—and there’s that tiny pause, as if he wants to be sure.

Rennick is the one who closes the final distance.

His hand slides from Caz’s back up to his neck, drawing him in slowly. No force. Just a clear decision.

The kiss doesn’t start with lips.

It starts with breath.

Caz feels Rennick’s exhale falter, barely noticeable, as their mouths approach. Close enough that the warmth is already there, that it almost hurts not to touch yet. Rennick holds him, one hand at his neck, thumb beneath his ear, as if making sure Caz doesn’t disappear.

Then their lips meet.

Slowly.
Softly.

Not closed—hovering, open enough to feel.

Rennick kisses him first only fleetingly, a quiet pressure that promises more than it gives. Caz responds at once, lifting his chin just slightly, opening to him—and that’s where everything changes.

The kiss deepens.

Rennick’s lips glide over Caz’s, lingering a heartbeat too long, as if savouring the moment. His breath is warm, carrying the faint scent of coffee and something unmistakably his. Caz makes a soft sound, barely audible, and that small sign is enough.

Rennick parts his lips.

Their tongues meet carefully, exploratory at first, not demanding. It isn’t conquest—more a slow interweaving, a quiet agreement. Caz follows the movement, soft, curious, and Rennick answers, steadier, deeper, as if choosing every step deliberately.

The kiss grows wetter, warmer, more intimate—not rushed, but held. Breath mingles, their lips part only for fractions of a second before finding each other again. Caz’s fingers curl lightly into Rennick’s shirt, as if he needs something to hold onto.

Rennick lets out a low, rough sound straight into the kiss. No words. Just feeling.

When they finally part, the distance remains minimal. Forehead to forehead. Mouths still open, breathing unevenly, as if the world has briefly lost its rhythm.

Rennick’s thumb brushes slowly over Caz’s lower lip.

“That,” he murmurs hoarsely, “is unfair.”

Caz smiles, dazed.
And kisses him again.

Their breaths mix, irregular. Caz melts audibly into it, a soft, honest sound that makes Rennick not pull away but draw him closer instead.

“I—” Caz starts, then immediately loses the word when Rennick kisses him again.

This kiss is calm. Certain. Full of affection.
No doubt left in it. No restraint.

When they finally part to breathe, their foreheads remain together, noses still touching. Rennick’s thumb strokes slowly over Caz’s cheek.

“You soften me,” Rennick murmurs quietly.

Caz smiles, still faintly flushed. “Good.”

And then he kisses him again.

Chapter Text

For a moment, nothing else exists.

The office is warm from the late afternoon sun. Golden stripes of light stretch across the desk, over binders, across the dark wood surface, over Rennick’s shoulders. The air conditioning hums softly, almost soothing.

Caz sits on his lap, heavy enough that this isn’t accidental closeness. His knees rest on either side of Rennick’s hips, his hands loose at the back of his neck.

His mouth is warm against Rennick’s throat.

Slow.
Not demanding. Not hurried.
More like a promise that’s taking its time.

Rennick reacts almost imperceptibly. A quiet exhale. The tension in his back eases just slightly. His hands rest firmly at Caz’s sides, holding him there as if any inch of distance would be a mistake.

His grip on Caz’s hips is steady now. No hesitation left. Just that controlled yielding that is rare for him. His back is still half-tense—habit—but his mouth betrays him.

Caz leans closer, nudging him gently against the backrest of the chair. The kiss deepens just a fraction, their calm breathing mingling.

A soft sound breaks the air.

Not loud.

Just the gentle click of a handle.

It goes unnoticed at first.

The door shifts open.
A narrow gap.

Trots knocks from outside—at the same time, too late—with his knuckles against the wood.

“Rennick—”

He’s already stepping inside as he speaks.

And only then does he see it.

Rennick behind the desk.
Not alone.
Very clearly not alone.

Caz’s hands in his hair.
Rennick’s hands at Caz’s waist.
Their faces far too close for any plausible explanation.

Trots freezes.

Completely.

Like a badly timed freeze-frame in a film. His helmet slips slightly under his arm. The clipboard tilts dangerously.

One second.
Two.

Rennick notices first. His eyes open, still hazy from the moment—then they focus.

He looks over Caz’s shoulder.

Confusion.
Recognition.
Then raw, unfiltered shock.

Caz feels the change in the body beneath him. The sudden tension. The abrupt stillness.

“What—”

He turns his head.

And sees Trots.

Trots says nothing.

His face cycles through several stages in real time:
Irritation.
Recognition.
Overwhelm.
A very obvious desire to reverse straight through the wall.

“I—” he starts.

No one answers.

Caz doesn’t move an inch. As if his brain hasn’t caught up yet.

Trots raises a hand halfway, like he might rub his eyes. Check whether he’s hallucinating.

“I knocked,” he says helplessly. Genuinely helpless. Not cheeky. Not defiant. Just trying to sort reality.

Rennick finds his voice.

“OUT.”

Not shouted.

But sharp. Cutting.

Trots visibly flinches.

“I— I mean—” He gestures awkwardly with the clipboard. “That wasn’t— I just needed the—”

His gaze flickers back to the two of them.

He has no idea where to look.

The ceiling?
The floor?
Nowhere at all?

“…I’ll come back later.”

He takes a step backward.

But lingers in the doorway like his body has forgotten how walking works.

Caz finally pulls back slightly from Rennick and turns halfway toward the door, still far too close.

“Ever heard of waiting for ‘come in’?” he says dryly.

Trots stares at him. Blinks. “I knocked.”

“And walked straight in.”

“I thought—”

He cuts himself off.

What had he thought?
That his boss was alone?
That he wasn’t clearly in the middle of something extremely obvious?

His face turns red.

“Oh God,” he mutters quietly. “I really— I just needed the signature.”

Rennick stands abruptly.

Caz nearly falls off his lap but manages to catch himself. The chair rolls back slightly.

“Later,” Rennick says curtly. Every muscle forced back under control. “Come back later.”

Trots nods far too fast. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. Right. Room. I mean— not room. I—”

He runs a hand over his face.

“Maybe get a room,” he blurts suddenly. Not mocking. Just overwhelmed. Like his brain needed to say something.

Silence.

A very long, very uncomfortable second.

Rennick’s gaze turns ice-cold.

“Out.”

Trots finally takes the last step backward. The door nearly bumps his helmet before he awkwardly tucks it back under his arm.

“I was never here,” he says quickly.

“Good idea.”

The door shuts.

Not loud.

But final.

Silence.

Dense. Heavy. Electric.

Caz slowly turns back toward Rennick.

Rennick stands there, both hands braced on the desk, staring at the door.

His neck is flushed red.

“You traumatized him,” Caz mutters.

Rennick exhales sharply. “He traumatized me.”

Caz can’t suppress a slight grin. “He looked like he was about to resign.”

“He will.”

“He’s definitely telling that story tonight.”

Rennick closes his eyes briefly. “No one is telling anything.”

“You really think that stays quiet?”

Rennick’s gaze snaps to him. “Caz.”

A warning.

But not angry.

More… embarrassed.

Caz steps closer again, slowly. He lifts a hand and smooths over Rennick’s collar as if brushing off dust.

“You were very professional.”

“I said ‘out.’”

“Very decisively.”

A muscle twitches in Rennick’s cheek.

“The door,” he says finally.

Caz glances over. “Yeah.”

“Lock it.”

This time Rennick goes himself. Turns the key. The click is clear.

Intentional.

He stands there a moment.

Then turns back.

Caz is still there, half amused, half soft.

The air in the office feels different now.

Not warm and heavy like before—cooler. Awake. Reality has stepped back in and shifted everything slightly.

Rennick returns to the desk, hands flat against the surface. His breathing isn’t unsteady anymore, but not fully calm either. His shoulders carry that familiar tension again.

Caz stands across from him.

And for the first time in minutes, neither of them quite knows what to do.

“Well,” Caz says quietly.

Rennick gives him a brief look. Not sharp. Not soft. Just… composed.

“That was unnecessary.”

“The interruption?”

“Both.”

Caz’s mouth twitches, but the grin doesn’t last. The mood has shifted. Not ruined—just gone.

He steps closer. Not to continue. Just to set things in order.

“You look like a mess.”

Rennick lifts an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

Caz ignores the tone and grabs the hem of Rennick’s shirt. Three buttons are open, one half crooked.

“Stand still.”

“I am standing.”

“Don’t talk.”

Rennick snorts quietly—but he actually goes silent.

Caz starts fastening the buttons again. Calm. Focused. His fingers move precisely, almost tenderly—but without charge. It’s practical. Almost intimate in routine.

The fabric rustles softly.

“You really shouted at him,” Caz murmurs.

“He should have waited.”

“He looked like he reconsidered his entire career.”

“Good.”

Caz glances up at him. “You’re impossible.”

“We were caught.”

“We were interrupted.”

Rennick’s eyes narrow.

Caz just smiles faintly and pushes the final button through. Then smooths a flat hand over Rennick’s chest to straighten the fabric.

“There. Less compromising.”

Rennick’s tie hangs crooked. Half loosened.

Caz reaches for it.

“Don’t pull,” Rennick warns automatically.

“I’m not pulling.”

He loosens the knot slightly, aligns it neatly, then tightens it again. Carefully. His fingers brush Rennick’s throat.

No tension this time.

Just closeness.

“You really need better door discipline,” Caz mutters.

Rennick watches him a moment longer than necessary.

Then turns slightly away, rearranging perfectly orderly papers. Habit, not need.

Caz watches him.

“We’re out of the mood, aren’t we?”

Rennick doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches for his glasses and puts them back on. The movement feels like a switch.

“Yes.”

Simple. Clear.

Caz nods. “Shame.”

“Caz.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

Rennick exhales slowly. His shoulders lower slightly.

“This is my workplace.”

“I know.”

“And I will not have to listen to—”

“—‘get a room’?”

A flicker of suppressed humor flashes in Rennick’s eyes.

“Exactly that.”

Caz steps closer once more but keeps a respectful distance.

“You were still very… impressive.”

“In shouting?”

“In everything.”

Rennick studies him for a long moment.

Then shakes his head, faintly amused. “You’re impossible.”

Caz smooths the perfectly set tie one last time, as if removing an invisible speck.

“Now you look like someone who hasn’t just been kissed.”

“Good.”

“But I know.”

Rennick’s gaze softens. Less defensive. “That’s enough.”

A moment.

No kiss. No further move.

Just quiet knowledge between them.

Outside, footsteps. Voices. Work.

Rennick sits back down. Picks up a pen.

And this time, they both stay on the correct side of the desk.

Rennick sits behind his desk again as if he’s grown there.

The tie that had been half loosened sits far too tight again. The buttons are neatly closed, every crease smoothed—Caz’s work. And yet everything about him is tense once more. His shoulders are high, his gaze hard on some file as if the fate of the world rests on those numbers.

“Rennick,” Caz says calmly.

No answer.

Just paper rustling. A pen pressing too hard.

“You’re not breathing properly again.”

“I’m breathing.” Short. Clipped. “I’m working.”

“You’re locking up.”

Rennick exhales in annoyance. “I’m fine.”

That’s it.

Caz’s jaw tightens. He walks around the desk and stops directly in front of him. Close enough to feel the tension physically.

“I just spent half an hour getting you to calm down,” Caz says quietly. “You were relaxed. You even smiled.”

Rennick finally looks up. A trace of that softness is still there. Almost guilty.

Then the familiar stress flickers back. “That was unprofessional.”

Caz stares at him. “Unprofessional?”

“We’re at work.”

“You were on the verge of a breakdown before I came in.”

“I have everything under control.”

“You had nothing under control.”

Rennick’s eyes cool. Not angry. But distant. “Caz.”

A warning.

Usually enough to make Caz step back.

Not today.

“No,” Caz says calmly but firmly. “You’re slipping back in. Like always. You shut everything off—including yourself.”

“I can’t afford not to.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No.”

Caz’s patience snaps.

It’s not dramatic. Not cinematic.

It’s simply… enough.

He lifts his hand and gives Rennick a sharp—but not brutal—slap across the cheek.

More shock than pain.

The sound is dry. Brief. Final.

Rennick blinks.

The room goes completely still.

“What the—”

“No,” Caz says, voice trembling—not with rage, but frustration. “Listen to me.”

Rennick stares at him. Not angry. More… stunned. And somewhere beneath that, hurt.

Caz swallows.

“I’m scared for you,” he says, softer now. Honest. “You’re running yourself into the ground. And I see it. Every day. And I don’t care how unprofessional this is—I’m not going to let you push yourself back into that stress spiral.”

Rennick’s breathing grows shallower.

Not from anger.

Because the words hit.

“You were calm just now,” Caz continues. “You were soft. You were here. With me. And now you look like you’re alone against the world again.”

Rennick’s gaze flickers.

Caz’s voice cracks slightly. “I worked to pull you out of that. And you just throw yourself right back in.”

Silence.

Just their breathing.

Then Rennick slowly lowers his gaze.

Not defiant.

Not cold.

Thoughtful.

His hand comes up to the spot where Caz hit him. More habit than pain.

“That was unnecessary,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Caz says immediately. “It was. And I’m sorry.”

That visibly surprises Rennick.

Caz exhales shakily. “I should’ve said it differently. But I mean it.”

A few seconds pass.

Then Rennick does something Caz doesn’t expect.

He steps out from behind the desk.

Slowly.

Not like a superior. Not like a man under pressure.

Just… Davey.

He stops directly in front of Caz. Close enough that their shoes almost touch.

“You really think I’d run myself into the ground.”

“Yes.”

“And that scares you.”

“Yes.”

No irony. No sarcasm.

Just truth.

Rennick’s shoulders drop slightly. Not dramatic. But visible.

He lifts his gaze. No defense left. Just fatigue. And something like gratitude.

“You hit me.”

“Lightly.”

“It was disrespectful.”

“Probably.”

The faintest twitch at the corner of Rennick’s mouth.

“So? Are you firing me?”

“I’m considering it.”

A hint of humor. Finally.

Caz steps half a pace closer. “I don’t want to change you. I just don’t want you to lose yourself.”

Rennick’s hand lifts—hesitates—then settles at Caz’s hip.

Tentative.

Almost unsure.

“I’m not losing myself,” he says quietly. “I just forget sometimes that I’m not alone.”

Caz’s throat tightens. “You’re not.”

Rennick takes a deep breath.

This time truly deep.

Slow.

Caz notices immediately.

He lifts his hand and loosens Rennick’s tie just slightly—just enough. “That’s better.”

Rennick lets him.

No resistance.

No comment.

“You’re staying,” Rennick says finally.

Not a question.

But not an order either.

“Yes,” Caz replies.

Rennick hesitates a moment—then leans forward and rests his forehead lightly against Caz’s shoulder.

Barely any weight.

For Caz, it’s everything.

He wraps his arms around Rennick’s waist. Holds him. Not tightly. Just there.

“I won’t do this perfectly,” Rennick murmurs against the fabric of Caz’s shirt.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll fall back into stress again.”

“Then I’ll remind you again.”

“Without violence.”

“Deal.”

A quiet, genuine laugh escapes Rennick. Rare. Warm. Unpracticed.

After a moment he pulls back slightly and looks at Caz.

His gaze is softer than at the beginning. Not fully relaxed—he probably never will be. But grounded.

Present.

“Thank you,” he says.

Caz smiles crookedly. “You’re welcome. Even if my methods are questionable.”

Rennick raises a brow. “Extremely questionable.”

Then he pulls Caz close once more. Not a passionate kiss like before. No urgency.

Just a calm, slow kiss.

Brief.

Gentle.

Grounding.

When they part, Rennick no longer looks like the man drowning in numbers.

He looks… human.

And Caz smiles, because that was the point.

“Come on,” Rennick says finally, sitting back down—but not stiff this time. “Stay. I’ll work. But I promise I’ll breathe.”

Caz drags a chair closer. “I’ll monitor that.”

“Of course you will.”

And as Rennick opens the next file, his free hand rests loosely on Caz’s knee.

Not holding.

Just connecting.

The office is still the same.

The work is still there.

But something has shifted.

Rennick isn’t alone in the storm anymore.

And Caz is watching.

This time without a slap.

Even if, for a split second, he catches himself thinking that maybe it had been effective.