Page 39 of Speak in Fever
The hotel room is suffused with the particular quality of light that comes just after sunrise, golden and soft and filtered through the heavy curtains they've forgotten to fully close the night before. The room still holds the quiet of early morning, before the world fully wakes up and demands attention, beforeroom service carts start rolling down hallways and elevator bells begin their constant chiming.
The first thing Rath registers is that he is curled in a bed that is not his own, a blanket heaped over him that smells faintly of hotel laundry detergent and something else—something warmer and more familiar that makes his chest tighten with recognition even through his sleep-fogged brain. His hands are tucked between his thighs, knees pulled up in the defensive position he's unconsciously adopted sometime during the night when the temperature has dropped and his body has instinctively sought warmth.
The mattress is firmer than his bed at home, the pillows softer and more numerous than he is used to. The sheets are that particular hotel cotton that feels expensive and impersonal, but somehow, despite the unfamiliar environment, he feels safe and comfortable in a way that surprises him. Usually hotel rooms leave him feeling slightly displaced, too aware of being in a space that belongs to no one and everyone at the same time.
But this morning, wrapped in warmth and the lingering traces of dreams he can't quite remember, Rath feels like he is exactly where he belongs.
Which is when he notices Percy.
Percy, who is now curled around Rath like he's been designed to fit there, face tucked into the back of Rath's neck, breathing slow and even in the rhythm of deep, unguarded sleep. Long, measured breaths displace the baby hairs at Rath's nape, sending goose bumps along his arms and down his spine with each warm exhale. The sensation is intimate and soothing simultaneously, like being claimed and comforted at the same time.
Rath can feel Percy's heartbeat against his back, steady and strong, can feel the rise and fall of Percy's chest with each breath. There is something deeply peaceful about being this closeto someone who is completely relaxed, completely vulnerable in sleep. Percy's usual carefully controlled captain facade is gone, replaced by the soft vulnerability that only comes with unconsciousness.
The second thing Rath registers is that they are connected all the way down to their knees, Percy fitting perfectly against him like they are designed to sleep this way. Percy is a human heater, radiating warmth that has clearly drawn Rath closer during the night, his body unconsciously seeking the comfort and heat that Percy provides without reservation.
Percy's arm is draped over Rath's side, heavy and solid and possessive in a way that makes Rath's breath catch. The weight of it feels protective, like Percy is shielding him from the world even in sleep. When Rath carefully tracks the path of that arm, trying not to move enough to wake Percy, he finds that he has Percy's hand between his own, their fingers tangled together in a grip that looks deliberate even in sleep.
Somewhere during the night, Rath has apparently pulled Percy's hand to rest against his inner thigh, has laced their fingers together and held on like Percy might disappear if he doesn't maintain that contact. The position is undeniably intimate, beyond anything that can be explained away as accidental contact between teammates sharing a bed out of necessity.
Percy's hand. Between his thighs.
Rath feels his face flush, heat spreading down to stain his cheeks and neck and probably his chest too. The position is compromising in a way that will be impossible to dismiss or rationalize if Percy wakes up and finds them like this.
Percy's fingers are long and slightly calloused from years of gripping hockey sticks, warm against Rath's skin where they rest against his inner thigh. Rath can feel the steady pulse in Percy's wrist, can feel the subtle flex of tendons when Percy'shand occasionally tightens in sleep. His palm is broad and warm, fingers relaxed but somehow still possessive where they curve against Rath's leg.
It is such a simple point of contact, but it feels electric, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure. Every small movement sends sensation racing through Rath's body—the brush of Percy's thumb against his thigh, the way Percy's fingers shift slightly when he breathes, the warm pressure that seems to burn through the thin fabric of Rath's sleep shorts.
Rath tries to remember how they've ended up like this. The last clear memory he has is lying carefully on his side of the bed, maintaining what felt like a respectful distance while Percy read beside him with the bedside lamp casting warm light across his face and the pages of his book. Percy had been wearing his reading glasses, completely absorbed in whatever literary novel he'd brought for the road trip, occasionally making small sounds of interest or amusement at something in the text.
They'd maintained careful distance then, a buffer of space and blankets between them that felt safe and professional. Rath had been very aware of Percy's presence but determined to prove he could handle sharing accommodations without making things weird or complicated.
Sometime during the night, that distance had evaporated completely.
Had Percy reached for him first, or had Rath been the one to seek out contact? The question feels important, but the answer is lost in the fog of sleep and unconscious movement. What matters is that they've both allowed it to happen, have both found comfort in the closeness even if they haven't consciously chosen it.
The hotel room is still dim, but Rath can make out details he's missed in the darkness—Percy's clothes folded neatly on the chair by the window, his reading glasses on the nightstand,the water glass he's brought to bed and left half-empty. Percy's side of the bed is rumpled from sleep, pillows pushed into the configuration he prefers, covers twisted in a way that suggests he's moved around before finding this position.
This position wrapped around Rath like he belongs there.
Rath is aware of every point where their bodies touch—Percy's chest against his back, Percy's thighs aligned with his own, Percy's feet tangled with his under the blankets. Percy is wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt, and Rath can feel the soft cotton of his shirt where it has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of warm skin that presses against Rath's lower back.
The skin-to-skin contact is minimal but feels significant, like crossing a line they can't uncross. Rath can feel the heat radiating from Percy's body, can smell the lingering traces of his soap and toothpaste and something that is just uniquely him. It is intoxicating in a way that makes Rath want to press closer, to turn in Percy's arms and see what his face looks like soft with sleep.
Percy stirs slightly, and his arm tightens around Rath, pulling him closer in a movement that feels automatic, unconscious. Percy's hand shifts between Rath's thighs, fingers spreading slightly, and Rath has to bite back a gasp at the sudden spike of sensation that shoots through his body.
This is dangerous territory. This is the kind of intimacy that leads to questions Rath isn't sure he's ready to answer, conversations that could change everything between them in ways that might not be reversible. But Percy feels so solid and warm against him, so safe and right in a way that Rath has never experienced with anyone else.
The steady rhythm of Percy's breathing is hypnotic, soothing in a way that makes Rath want to close his eyes and sink back into this peaceful cocoon they've created. For the first time inweeks, his mind is quiet, free from the constant buzz of anxiety and self-doubt that usually accompanies thoughts of Percy.
Percy's face is pressed into the curve of Rath's neck, and Rath can feel the occasional brush of his lips against sensitive skin when he breathes. It isn't deliberate—Percy is clearly still mostly asleep—but each accidental contact sends shivers through Rath that have nothing to do with temperature. He wonders what it would feel like if Percy kissed him there deliberately, if those soft touches became intentional rather than unconscious.
The thought makes Rath's body respond in ways that are definitely not appropriate for their current situation, and he tries to think about hockey stats or travel schedules or anything that will keep his physical reaction under control.
Rath tries to convince himself this is just what happens when two people share a bed—unconscious gravitation toward warmth and comfort, bodies seeking contact without the brain's permission. People cuddle in their sleep all the time without it meaning anything significant. It is basic biology, the human need for warmth and security.
But even as he tells himself this, Rath knows it feels like more than unconscious biology. The way Percy holds him feels protective, possessive, like Percy is claiming him even in sleep. The careful way Percy's hand rests between his thighs suggests some level of awareness, some recognition of boundaries that are being crossed.
And the truth is, Rath doesn't want Percy to let go. Doesn't want to return to the careful professional distance they've been maintaining, doesn't want to pretend that this level of intimacy is just an accident of shared accommodations.
