BioSynth | ONC 2021 WINNER | MM Romance | Sci-Fi | Complete

Fourteen: Wednesday

The first half of this chapter suffers from the same ill of the previous one: it's similar in both novellas. If you'd like to read only the content that isn't repeated, look for the break and read from there.

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Quentin woke up long before Ian on Wednesday, content to appreciate having his husband next to him again when he'd been so sure he never would. Ian always looked beautiful when he slept like this, curled against Quentin, no stress lines on his forehead, no weight pushing his shoulders down.

And Quentin was the one who got to watch it.

If he'd had his camera... No, if he'd had his camera, he still wouldn't have captured the moment, not today. He wouldn't have risked disturbing Ian when he knew this was likely to be the first night he'd slept properly since the crash.

There were things he should be doing — searching the web for Jax, for example — and so much to tell Ian, but everything could wait a few more hours. The rest of the world would catch up to them soon enough.

When Ian woke up Quentin did nothing but kiss him for the longest of times, and then he did everything including kissing him, because he was here; they were both here, alive and together, and this was allowed.

A remark on Quentin's newfound control over his recovery time had Ian laughing, blue eyes clear and beautiful, as he'd begged for mercy.

He'd begged again in the shower, but mercy wasn't exactly what he'd been begging for.

It always made Quentin feel on top of the world, seeing Ian unable to resist his advances, reduced to a writhing mass of sensation, and knowing he'd caused it.

They had breakfast together, and even Quentin's love of protein bars only took him so far, but eating breakfast with Ian? He could have eaten the wrapper and called it a feast.

His mood was dampened by the knowledge he couldn't go out with Ian, hand in hand as they used to; that his husband had to be the one to go and get clothes for him, ones that better hid his damaged cheek. Even that damper was only the tiniest thing, easily dismissed. They'd find a way, somehow.

To get back the missing bit of his good mood, he retrieved his wedding ring from the pocket of the uniform he wasn't wearing. "Hey," He called as Ian was getting ready. "What you said last night — did you mean it?" He knew Ian had meant it, both deep down and on the surface, but he found himself needing to hear the words, regardless.

"I said too many things last night to know which one you're talking about, but yes. I meant all of it."

Quentin made his way over to Ian, ring held in his fist. "You said, 'I'd marry you again right now,' I think were your exact words."

"Of course I meant it," Ian said, and they were kissing again. How had he been this lucky, that all it had taken was for Ian to know he was AI to see him and not find him wanting? "Did you have any doubts?"

He showed him the wedding ring, relishing the expression of utter amazement on Ian's handsome features. "I saved it from the acid. I didn't think I'd get to do this, but I didn't want to leave it there. It was in my pocket when you found me." When he'd thought he was about to die, incoherent from the pain flooding his system. He was glad to have it now. "It doesn't count as getting married again, but I'd still like it if you were the one to put in on my finger." Because the more you reassure me, the more I seem to want it, he left unsaid.

"I love you," Ian replied, callused fingers curling over Quentin's. "I wish I'd been with you every step of the way."

"You are now." And nothing else mattered.