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Chapter Text

Curly is excited to go home. He works in an office for a company that promises to achieve faster space travel between Earth and the Mars colonies, although recently there’s been some… Issues. 

Test vessels exploding in the atmosphere, code that fails to hold up to scrutiny, complex math and trial and error.

All this work takes place in a stylish billion-dollar skyscraper, although he and his colleagues are more in the middle than at the top where the big wigs get to flaunt their three-piece suits. His unit is more business casual.

He neither loves nor hates his job, he is simply good at it, even if they’ve been running into more walls than solutions lately. It’s left him feeling like maybe he’d wasted some of his life. After all, he’d done things the way he was told, and he still isn’t happy.

Or, that had been the case until just last week.

A certain inescapable excitement has been added to his routine that made it nearly impossible to focus on work. A new kind of love. Everyone in the office knew it and had even gone as far as getting him a cake to celebrate this development.

It was red velvet— the farthest thing from chintzy boxed funfetti. They’d arranged for an actual bakery to prepare it, and it was decorated with expressive cursive writing that said 

[CONGRATS ON THE ENGAGEMENT]

Curly was surprised. It was such a sweet gesture he’d smiled the whole day, and he remembered fondly how he went home to feed some of that sweet confection to his fiance.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, stunning him out of the trance he’d worked himself into. He turns around in his desk chair to come face to face with Anya, a data analyst and member of Curly’s unit.

”It’s time to go home now, Captain. Unless you’d like us to lock you in here overnight?”

Captain. A nickname given in fondness and sometimes irritation. Curly liked it.

He feels his eyes crinkle, putting on a mildly wry grin. “I think I’m good. It’s a little early on to start being out all night with no explanation, yeah?”

Anya understood without elaboration that he was referring to the rules of married life, probably because whenever they weren’t discussing space-travel they were talking about Curly’s fiance. He never thought he’d be the type of person to gush about their spouse, and it’s a little embarrassing. But then again, he could never be embarrassed for loving Jimmy.

”Well, let’s not keep him waiting then,” She smiled. He was grateful she seemed to understand, or at the very least didn’t hold it against him.

Her eyes look tired. They need to start validating their salaries again which means finding solutions, but it’s easier said than done. Ultimately, if they don’t get around the most recent roadblock, the responsibility will fall on Curly’s shoulders, but it’s been stressful for everyone.

He stands up with a smile. Would it be so bad if this didn’t work out? Curly loves space; has done since childhood. But is it really worth going the distance when suddenly everything he needs is right here on Earth?

He’s stuffing his work laptop into his bag and pocketing his phone while she waits. He always walks her to the parking garage; an unspoken agreement between them since there was a flare of sexual assaults in the area a few years ago.

Curly doesn’t mind it. He thinks that Anya should feel safe to walk to her car by herself by now, but he’s not exactly pushing her towards that conclusion. It’s routine, which is comfort.

They make their way to the elevators, and only when they enter the parking garage does Anya speak up again.

”So, have you two actually started planning the wedding?”

Their shuffling feet echo off of the concrete walls.

Curly grins, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an uncomfortable question, all told. “We’re probably not going to have one. He’s more of a ‘let’s go to the courthouse and sign some papers’ kind of guy.”

Anya pouts a bit. “And here I was hoping to be invited.”

She’s not necessarily being overfamiliar. She’s been to his house before. Never alone— Swansea and even the intern have been over to watch the superbowl. They do these mindless gestures for each other like preparing homemade dips and offering crates of non-alcoholic beer. It’s more of a cry for comfort than anything that provides actual relief.

They’re all just trying to find their way in life, shifting from moment to moment without knowing if it means anything. Or at least, that’s how it was for Curly before the engagement.

“If it were just up to me, I’d have invited you,” he reassures her, regardless of how true it is. 

”Are you ever gonna let us meet him, at least? You’ve never even mentioned him before. Daisuke’s been jabbering poor Swansea’s ear off about what Jimmy might be like. Think I heard him say he could imagine him with a pirate hook for a hand, even.”

[PROTECT JIMMY]

And again, it’s not a strange question for her to ask; CUrly just has to remind himself of that. They go out for drinks on occasion and are a relatively close-knit team. And with Curly’s happiness seeping over the edges like boiling water, he can understand why they’d be so curious.

The problem is this: Jimmy is his.

Curly laughs at the absurdity of Daisuke’s imagination, worrying his ring finger with his thumb without meeting Anya’s eyes. He doesn’t have a ring yet and it is a mild point of insecurity, but their union had been Jim’s idea and Curly could never begrudge him of his finances. The lack of an actual ring just makes him feel a bit like a fraud.

“That’s… exotic. No, I don’t think Jimmy’s ready for all that just yet. I mean, yes we’re engaged, and I trust you guys, but… Well, I guess you could say he’s not a people person.”

Anya hums, probably imagining her own version of Jimmy based on Curly’s description. Curly kind of enjoys the mere thought of her doing such a thing knowing that her version could never compare to the real deal. 

“Well, you know I don’t bite. I can’t speak for Swansea, but…”

It’s funny. It’s not a threat. Curly knows that. There is no reason to be angry, so he continues to smile. His face feels as though it’s sitting unnaturally on top of the muscle.

They make it to her car, and she departs with a wave— and then she drives off. Then it’s like he can breathe again.

It becomes a race to his own car after that; a race to get home. Curly used to love snow; now it’s just an obstacle to overcome so Jimmy would no longer have to be alone. His happiness transforms into dread as he imagines what Jim’s day must’ve been like without Curly there to keep him sated.

[PROTECT JIMMY]

[PROTECT JIMMY]

[PROTECT JIMMY]

Jimmy has some self-destructive habits that they’re working on together. It’s been a constant theme in their friendship dating back to elementary school, but this time Curly is sure that he won’t let Jimmy slip through the cracks.

So he calms his breathing which has quickly devolved into hyperventilation and reasons with himself that the least he can do for the man is survive the drive home.

Survive he does. His hands tremble a bit as he rushes to shove the key into the lock and he’s greeted by the warmth of the foyer. Curly lives in a modest two-story home that he’d inherited from his parents. 

Funny— He’d always suspected that Jimmy was jealous of Curly’s ‘fortunate’ life, but now they’re sharing it together. He feels his face start to lighten up as the distance closes.

He barges up the stairs without wiping the snow from his boots, purposefully loud so Jimmy would have time to hear him coming. He hardly likes surprises, Curly knows. And when he finally opens the door to their shared bedroom, his whole body instantly relaxes.

Jimmy’s still here. He hasn’t hurt himself.

”I’m home,” Curly smiles broadly at him. He’s blushing again. In fact, his body feels so hot at the sight of Jimmy that he would’ve thought he’d come down with a fever.

Jimmy says nothing as Curly strides over, carelessly kicking his boots off somewhere before collapsing onto their bed, nestling himself snuggly into Jimmy’s side with one big thigh thrown over his legs. His body isn’t small, per se, but Curly just feels like he engulfs him. He hopes it makes Jimmy feel safe.

Jimmy’s scent is calling to Curly then. He’s just so thankful that he can finally touch him after having to work all day that he presses his nose into the dampness of his armpit and inhales. It makes him moan with no small amount of relief, but the tension in his body only increases as his cock gets rock hard.

Rather than rutting into Jimmy’s side, Curly palms himself through his slacks. He’s never asked Jim to touch him back. He’s not ready for that yet, and Curly has all the sympathy in the world for that.

He’s working on being mindful of his own shortcomings, selfishness being one of his big weaknesses, so he only allows for a few good strokes before he puts his own bodily needs out of mind altogether.

“How was your day?” Curly sighs, looking up at Jimmy hopefully.

”I was thinking about biting off my own tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Jimmy grimly explains. “So I just laid here all day wishing I could at least jerk off, and when that got old I imagined what it would be like to watch the life drain from your eyes as I choked you.”

He’s never been the most expressive, but at least he’s finally being honest. Curly smiles.

“I could help you with that second issue?” He offers. 

Jimmy scoffs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Curly smothers his laughter a bit for Jim’s sake. “The short answer is ‘nothing.’ The long answer is ‘you.’” After a pause, ”I noticed you didn’t say ‘no,’” He says hopefully.

Jim squeezes his eyes closed, sighing heavily through his nose. Curly knows this whole thing has pained him. Jim’s not used to this type of unabashed affection from anyone. But Curly knows that this is what he wants his life to be about. The sum of their parts will boil down to just this, the time they’ve spent together.

Not space travel. Not a lack of ambition or direction. Just the two of them, together. Knowing this is freedom that reaches beyond the stars.

He trails the tips of his fingers down down Jim’s torso, his soft t-shirt obscuring the smooth warmth of his skin. It had ridden up just under his belly button and Curly felt the tickle of his happy trail, stopping his fingers right at the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants.

Jim’s cock is hard, outlined by thick, bunching fabric. Has probably been hard all day just based on the rapport they’ve been building with one another. Jim’s libido is so amazing to Curly that he can’t believe he’d never noticed his potency before.

”Say you want me to take care of it and I will,” Curly entices. His voice sounds strange even to his own ears, raspy and low and needy.

”Fuck you,” Jimmy curses instead. He’s turned his face away, but it only exposes his throat. Dotted with red and purple petechiae from kisses Curly was all too happy to give. Since there’s nothing to stop him from doing so, Curly leans up and licks those marks as if they were smattered with honey.

Jim’s breath hitches, especially when Curly hums into his skin. He supposes it must tickle.

”C-Curly…”

”Yes?” He answers hopefully, maintaining their closeness.

”I have to piss.”

“Hm,” he huffs. It’s not quite what he wanted to hear, but it’s something. An admission of a need that Curly must tend to. He can fix this.

Curly sits up and finally peels off his winter coat, unbuttoning his shirt about halfway just so it would constrict around his shoulders less. Then he repositions himself between Jim’s legs, running his palms over the tops of his thighs with adoration.

They’re muscular, but Jimmy doesn’t eat well enough to have much body fat. Curly would soon fix this, too.

He pulls on the waistband of Jim’s sweats until his cock springs free. Curly would never tire of the sight of it. The skin is dark just like the skin around Jimmy’s eyes, and it’s thick. It curves slightly to the left, but Curly doesn’t mind. His foreskin is bunched up at the tip and wet with beads of precum.

Curly wastes no time wrapping his lips around the tip, the only word he could think to describe it being ‘juicy.’ He’d always been the type to save the best part of his meal for last up until a week ago. Now he gorges himself like a gluttonous pig.

Curly gently suckles until there is no precum left, then peels the foreskin back and toys with the soft sponginess of the head. He uses his lips and his tongue to massage it until Jim starts thrashing from over stimulation.

”Curly, stop!” He cries. 

“Sorry,” Curly hears himself say, and it sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, but he’s just so happy. Happy like he hasn’t been since the day he met Jim. “I know. I’m being selfish again.”

Guilt mixes with arousal mixes with deep seeded obsession. He must learn just as Jimmy is learning to put this marriage first, and right now Jimmy needs to cum so he can relieve himself.

Curly swallows him down as far as his throat will allow. It isn’t very far, but he’s been getting better and better ever since this began. It's frustrating; wanting so badly to watch Jimmy’s face, to see if he’s pleased at all, but struggling to keep his cock warm in his throat. 

Except, Jim is the reason why Curly can remember who he is deep down. When they were young there was never a ladder he couldn’t climb, and this is no different. Curly will reach the skill ceiling eventually. He closes his eyes and starts bobbing in earnest.

Jimmy groans deep from his belly. It must’ve been so hard, being all alone for hours while Curly was toiling away at his failed dream of a job. It must feel nice to finally be touched, or so Curly prays.

Jim thrusts up shallowly at first, because he’s still learning to let this feel good. Eventually though, Curly pulls off and helps him get more comfortable by tearing the sweats down the rest of his legs, shoving his thighs up so he can firmly plant his feet on the bed and fuck up into his mouth. 

They understand this without speaking, Jimmy doing exactly that as soon as Curly returns to where he’s needed.

Jim’s groaning begins to kick up in intensity and drives Curly insane. 

Curly starts to think things he thought himself incapable of. That his mouth is a pussy, and Jim can have it at any time. That it feels good to have his esophagus battered by the fat head of Jim’s cock. That he could cum from this untouched.

He’s delirious. Jim makes him delirious.

“Are you gonna puke on me, Curly?” Jim grunts from above. All Curly can do in response is try to breathe around his gagging. “You fucking keep me here like your pet goldfish and you can’t even suck cock properly?”

Curly whines. He wants to plead his case, but Jimmy is wrenching tears from his eyes the more he obstructs his airway. 

“You’re awful at this, you know that?” Jimmy continues to scathe. It stings. ”You wanna be a happy f-fucking couple so bad, but you’re just a piece of shit who can’t do anything right. Y-you’re… Ugh, fucking— Terrible…!!”

He might’ve kept going if his own moaning didn’t strangle him just then, wrenching the air from his lungs like a hole in a parachute. Curly looks up through tears to see him toss his head back against the pillows, his shirt ridden up to reveal the flexing of his abs as he finally releases into Curly’s throat.

Jim’s gasping dryly while Curly swallows pump after pump of his thick cum, firmly massaging his balls until he’s fully spent. Jim’s body relaxes against the mattress, his ragged gasps melting into a relieved groan as his cock softens in Curly’s wanting mouth.

It’s a different kind of moan when Jim starts pissing down Curly’s throat.

Curly is too eager to drink it all down, moaning as it quickly fills his cheeks. He doesn't want to waste it as much as he wants to avoid dirtying Jim’s little nest, but it’s hard to keep all in. It’s hot and gushing, fragrant despite the tight vacuum he’s created with his lips. It feels like Jim pisses for several minutes, his cock swathed in heat that only Curly could provide.

He feels so proud of himself as he gulps it all down, not a drop on him by the time Jim’s done, earning one last breathy sigh from Jim once he’s spent.

Curly pulls off, but doesn’t stray too far. He presses his nose into the crease between Jim’s balls and inhales, his belly already so full of Jim, but craving more. Jim’s body is heroin, melting Curly to his core and making him soft.

After all that, he feels timid. The room seems to have quieted all at once. There was a chaotic, droning static that is suddenly gone, and that’s probably what made Curly feel shy. 

Jimmy is laying perfectly still, almost like a doll. Curly wants some kind of response, be it good or bad. Just something to reassure him that Jim's still here with him.

He ends up easing the tip of his tongue along his soft, spent cock even though he knows it will feel too sensitive. When Jim hisses through his teeth, it’s enough to get Curly to cease his desperate, self-servicing ministrations. 

He crawls up Jim’s torso and cups his cheek, leaning in close to stare into his eyes, almost like they’re about to have their first kiss. They haven’t done that yet either. To Curly, kissing Jimmy would be more like consummating than anything they’ve done so far, but Jim turns his face away with a cruel sneer.

“You stink like piss,” he growls. 

“I’m sorry,” Curly says, only backing away as much as his heart would allow him. A centimeter, maybe two.

”Just let me go,” he seethes, quiet and yet harrowing in intonation. It’s only recently that Curly’s ever seen Jim beg for anything and he hates it. Jimmy’s an underdog. Like a prince denied his bloodright. He should never have to beg or grovel for anything.

“I won’t tell anyone. I won’t disappear on you. I just want to go.”

“I can’t let you do that,” he answers him sadly.

”Why…? Why?” Jimmy grits out, restarting his thrashing with limited movement. “Why are you doing this!? Aren’t you sick of keeping me as your little tamagotchi!? Why don’t you just fucking end this already!?”

“You’re my person. I know you feel the same way,” Curly insists, his brows drawn in a flat, serious line. “You wouldn’t have— If you knew some other way to tell me, you would have.”

Jimmy sucks his teeth at that. “You’re? Haha, you’re actually batshit insane! I tried to rape you and you’re acting like I fucking proposed to you!” His voice starts to get higher as restless laughter bubbles from his chest. “I wish we never met. Or that you were never born. I should’ve killed myself while I still had the chance- I—“

Seeing that Jim’s starting to hyperventilate, Curly shushes him with his palm shoved roughly against his mouth and he stills, eyes going wide in fear.

For the first time, Curly acknowledges the leather belt that keeps Jimmy’s hands bound to the metal bed frame, tugging on it with the other hand to prove to them both that it’s going to keep Jim bed bound until Curly decides the time is right.

“You started this,” Curly reminds him patiently, firmly, and without the intention to shame. He inhales and exhales as he’s practiced many times before, because Jim’s panic is starting to rub off on him. 

“You started this because you love me. And I promise it’s not always going to be this hard. You’re so much more than you’ve ever been given credit for, Jim. You’re so fucking smart, and beautiful. I know you’re capable of learning this.”

He already knows Jim’s not going to agree quite yet, but they have all the time in the world to figure things out. Curly still has hope for a happily ever after.

He lets minutes pass with his hand over Jim’s mouth until his breathing evens out. Then finally, he asks, “Are you calm?”

Jim nods minutely, glaring at Curly. It’s childish petulance, nothing more. Perhaps he needs time to cool off by himself.

”You must be hungry,” Curly tries to smile hopefully. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Jim says quietly.

”You have to try,” Curly presses, soothing a big palm over Jimmy’s chest. “You’re eating better with me than you did on your own, right?”

Jim stays silent and it’s a little frustrating, but Curly can’t let his feelings be hurt while their marriage is still in its infancy. He’s decided that Jimmy will always come first, and one day he’ll thank Curly for this.

“I’m going to cook for us, and you’re going to eat, and you’re going to survive,” Curly promises him. “I love you,” Curly reminds him. He pets Jimmy soothingly one last time and sets his heart on cooking some delicious, bloody steaks.

Chapter Text

[The week prior]

It’s Jimmy’s birthday. Neither of them are excited to be getting any older, but Curly can sense the fondness Jimmy feels for him. This is what they’d built over the course of many long years. Jimmy, who is so intolerant of others, for some reason keeps choosing Curly over anyone else to spend his free time with.

It has to mean something. Curly just has to be content with whatever Jim decides the meaning is, even if sometimes it feels like the routine is constricting him. Like a chain around the throat, forbidding him from saying anything other than the typical hogwash.

Locker room talk. Boys being boys. It’s not so much that Curly dislikes it as much as he just wants something more for himself.

Contentment is normally so easy for Curly, because this is still special treatment from Jim, all things considered. After all, Curly gets to know him. He’s unaware of anyone else who has the privilege. It’s better not to be ungrateful.

So they’re at their typical spot, Polar Star, drinking and smoking. Curly pays for everything. It’s nice to treat Jimmy, but he rarely ever has an excuse to do so. Curly hasn’t missed a single one of Jim’s birthdays since they met for that very reason.

Jim’s got a sense of pride that not many have, always wanting to do things for himself. He’s not the sort to ask for help even if he really needs it, and that’s probably part of the reason why he’s never been that close with anyone else. Curly figures he can speak Jim’s language better than anyone else. It’s a point of pride for him, too.

Yes, he loves Jim’s birthday.

”You’re older than me again,” Curly comments, tapping his fingers on their shared table to the beat of the bar music. 

”For another 6 months,” Jim agrees mildly. “Summer baby.”

He says it like it’s an insult, and has probably called Curly that every year on this day for two decades. It’s still funny, so Curly smiles.

”Wasn’t my choice,” Curly wryly answers him. “I’ll catch up.“

Jim points his attention away from Curly, turning his head as it rests in the palm of his hand to stare up at one of the TV’s hanging over the bar. Curly takes a sip of his beer and admires Jimmy from over the glass’s edge. He got a haircut recently and the dark strands lay handsomely over the back of his neck.

He’s always liked the way he parts his hair, too. Two thin sections parted in the middle and tucked behind his ears so that the rest of his bangs mostly stayed out of his eyes. He’s never washed his hair enough, but it looks nice on him whether it's greasy or not.

”Congratulations, by the way,” Curly says, catching Jim’s eye. “You made it another year.”

”Yeah, well,” Jim tuts, “what would you do without me?”

He looks away again as he pulls from his cig, but Curly still shakes his head with fondness oozing from his pores. What indeed? There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Jim and there’d be nothing left to do without him. It pleases Curly that Jim seems to be aware of this on some level.

There’s a hump on the bridge of Jim’s nose from breaking it in highschool. Curly remembers how worried he’d been for Jim because it was gushing blood and he didn’t want to go to the hospital, but he’d asked for Curly’s help in setting it. He said his father had done that for him before and that it was easy, but that he couldn’t do it himself.

Curly recalls how his fear turned into honor, that Jim would trust him with something so intimate.

He’s just remembering the way Jim's eyes watered from that, and the sickening crack of his bones when he realizes that Jimmy’s saying something to him.

”Sorry, what was that?”

”I said hurry up and look at this commercial before it ends,” Jim’s pointing at the TV in irritation. “It’s that fucking actress whose nudes got leaked. I was just telling you about that.”

Curly’s sets down his sweating glass of beer as he looks at her pretty face on TV. Ashy blonde, blue eyes, and holding a bottle of Dragon’s Breath. She’s not a bad actress, Curly supposes. She’s selling it just fine. Probably. But he can’t help but think of what she’s like off set. And what sort of mental gymnastics it would take to feign this level of enthusiasm over mouthwash. There’s nothing genuine about it.

She's not Curly's type, but then again, he thinks no one else really has been.

Jimmy’s making some sort of commentary on it, of course. Apparently the woman was in a ‘piece of shit’ that Jim saw recently— something about a love story— but Curly hears the sound of something like sand sliding against paper over the trill of the bar.

It’s like his eyes glaze over. What was that? It’s like the sound of sugar from a packet.

He keeps his eyes on the TV for only a second more than he typically would before he looks back to Jimmy. For all intents and purposes, Jimmy looks exactly as he usually did with his flat frown and drawn eyebrows. 

His heart starts to pound in his chest as he fights with his own face to remain pleasantly jovial. Did Jimmy…? Could Jimmy spike his drink? Calm. He has to stay calm.

”What the hell did she think was gonna happen? You shouldn’t take pictures like that if you don’t want everyone to see,” Jimmy’s explaining.

”Yeah,” Curly mindlessly agrees.

He has an excuse to look at his drink as he takes a sip and notices that it seems to be fizzing more than usual, and then he watches Jimmy’s expression carefully as he sets the glass back down. Jim’s eyes narrow by only a fraction— But this is all Curly needs to see to confirm that Jimmy… Somehow…

Jim just fucking proposed to him.

Curly’s smiling eye-crinklingly wide. It was like a whole life of possibilities had opened up before him. He has to squeeze his thighs together at the thought that tonight Jimmy could be closer to him than he ever has before.

“What’s got you smiling like that all of a sudden?” Jimmy asks rather suspiciously. Always so attentive. Curly could see sweat beginning to build on Jim’s neck, trapping stray brown strands to the column of his throat.

Curly’s always loved the way Jimmy’s sweat smells. 

“You saw them, didn’t you? Before they got taken down? Were her nudes any good?” He pretends to wonder. He could obviously not care any less for the woman’s leaked nudes, but Jimmy always liked to talk about stories like this. Not necessarily celebrity drivel, but women getting what they ‘deserved.’

To Jimmy, is Curly just another girl about to get served some good old fashioned frontier justice?

”No. She’s got one of those…” he glances at Curly’s mouth, “busted open cunts, you know? With the lips all sloppy and used looking. You’d never guess with a face like that, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all.”

”Damn,” Curly swears, wryly shaking his head. He has to swipe loose hair from his eyes before he continues. “What a shame.”

Curly can’t stop smiling. Jimmy has more to say about her figure, but Curly isn’t listening. He was just proposed to. His heart is pounding in his ears.

“Okay, what the fuck. What’s with that creepy smile?” Jim calls him out, eyes narrowed. “I know you don’t really give a shit about what her nudes looked like.”

”I guess I was just feeling a little sentimental?” Curly shrugs bashfully. “We’ve been doing this for ages, you know?” And without giving Jim a chance to respond, he clarifies, “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like that sort of thing.”

”No. I don’t,” Jim wearily drags from his cigarette. “But… I guess I don’t really mind. I’ve known for a long time that you’re kind of…”

At the absence of the word, Jim let his wrist hang daintily between, wiggling his fingers between them as a substitute and Curly understood immediately. Deliriously, Curly started laughing almost against his own will.

”Oho, you’re calling me fruity now? You’re the one with miscellaneous pony knowled—“

”Alright already! I told you a story about a guy who let a horse fuck his ass to death; What I didn’t say, was that I ‘think they’re so pretty!’ Or, ‘I wanna braid their tails!’”

“Jim, one of those things is definitely gayer than the other, and it’s not the one you’re thinking,” Curly has to cover his own mouth.

”Jesus fucking Christ. What do I have to do for you to let me live that down?”

”Marry me,” Curly says.

The levity of the conversation evaporates the moment Jim realizes what Curly said. He looks at Curly like someone put ice down the back of his shirt. “...What?”

”Bury me? In the ground? You know, like true crime?”

Jim smiles kind of strangely, leaning back in his chair. It seems like he’s happy to have misheard. “I never understood why you like that shit when psychological horror is right there.”

And just like that, levity returns. It feels like going into antigravity, the way the weight of the conversation oscillates. Jim explains for what must be the 100th time about the complexity of your Patrick Bateman’s and your Annie Wilkes’. Tyler Durden is, as usual, an honorable mention. So then Curly gets to explain for the 100th time that, yes, those movies are wonderful and theatric, and of course Jim is right, but sometimes reality is stranger than fiction.

”Your fascination with it is morbid. Obviously.” Jim sighs.

“And yours isn’t?” Curly smiles. “Isn’t it just… an escape? You know, a distraction from your ordinary day to day shit?”

“Yeah,” Jim snorts. “But there’s a big difference between liking Jack Torrance and… Whoever the fuck. Ted fucking Bundy.”

“Please. Ted’s overrated,” Curly tuts quietly. Suddenly he clears his throat, tired of the games. He raises his glass expectantly. “How about a toast? To your birthday.”

That’s just about the last thing Jimmy’s expecting him to do, but he cautiously raises his glass and their edges clink. Curly’s so excited that he prays the way his hands are shaking won’t give him away and downs the drink in one go. It burns his throat but he doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left.

Jimmy looks downright alarmed over his glass as Curly slams his back down with a less than refreshed gasp and stands up. 

“Hey, I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse. Try not to miss me too much,” Curly quickly explains, knocking on the table in a friendly manner and sucking the beer from his top lip pleasantly before rushing away.

”Hold on, Curly!” Jimmy calls after him, possibly not thinking. “Are you…?”

Jimmy is so concerned for him that he can’t even keep up appearances. It’s not that Curly really needed further confirmation that Jimmy spiked his drink, but it’s so nice to have. Makes him blush a bit.

“You gonna be okay by yourself?” Jim eventually settles on, trapped into phrasing that he would normally never say. He's obviously embarrassed about what he settled on, but Curly finds it cute.

Curly’s very careful about the way that he scoffs at that. Calculated. “What, you wanna come hold it for me?”

That seems to piss Jimmy off the perfect amount and he gives up on pretending to care for Curly’s wellbeing right then and there. “Oh, fuck off. Go get raped for all I care.”

Curly can’t help but bark out his laughter as he turns away. He always thought the funniest jokes were the ironic ones. 

The restroom is not empty, but Curly doesn’t care. He’s not going to do anything that hasn’t been done 1000 & 1 times. He shoulders his way into a stall and jams his fingers into the back of his throat until all that liquid comes surging back up. He struggles to hear anything over the pathetic sounds of his own stomach being emptied.

He hates the sound of his own voice. Could be a reason why Jimmy wants him drugged. He tries to manage his self-loathing as best as he can while he continues to pump his own stomach, but it hurts. His stomach has twisted itself up into knots, and he doesn’t understand why Jim would propose like this.

Curly’s been saying that he isn’t happy with his career lately; does Jim think he won’t always be able to provide? Or is it his body? Too big for Jim’s preference? Maybe it’s something as simple as power. Wanting to show Curly how he likes things done.

It's too early to determine, Curly decides.

When he’s finally done he stands up like nothing happened and leans against the stall door, pulling his phone from his pocket and wiping the grit from his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. Does a cursory internet search about how roofies work to solidify the act he’s about to put on. 

If Jim’s done this before— and it’s hard not to feel jealous over the mere thought of it— then he might see through Curly, and he really cannot have that quite yet. Hopefully, someone who would do something as detestable as this would be willing to overlook certain little oddities if it meant they were going to get what they wanted.

He washes his hands and rinses his mouth out as best as he can in the bathroom sink before heading back out on wobblier feet. Several minutes have passed, and according to the internet, these types of drugs work fast.

He sits back in his chair harder than he needs to and goofily smiles at Jimmy.

”Good grief, Jim. You were right,” Curly slurs in a clear mockery of genuine dismay. “There was totally a molester in there. He engaged me in a bout of non-consensual horseplay.”

Jimmy kind of smiles at that. He likes a good dirty joke, but he’s eyeing Curly like a hawk as he ashes his cigarette. “Oh, happy day. Best birthday ever. You were in there so long I actually considered looking for you.”

He’s trying to play it cool. Curly finds it to be adorable.

”Yeah yeah,” Curly huffs. He pretends like his head is too heavy to hold up. Lets his eyelids droop. “I’m a big boy; don’t need your help to pull up my own pants.”

Jimmy huffs, which is as good as an outright chuckle for him, and lightly taps his boot against Curly’s shin under the table.

“Maybe. You certainly don’t seem too sure.”

So funny how accusatory his tone is, given his involvement. It’s so hard not to laugh; to stick to the bit.

“Mm,” Curly hums. He’d like to change the topic for now. “You know, you never let me get you a gift. Years n’ years of coming to this exact spot, like clockwork, but I learned to stop gettin’ you anything when you turned 25. Why is that?”

”I don’t even know what I want, so how could you?” Jim bitterly reasons.

Curly lets his head lull back as he gives a dazed chuckle, his eyes wrinkled with mirth and literal jollyness. It’s so desperately ironic that it almost seems cosmic.

“I think I might have some guesses,” Curly simpers, looking at Jim through his lashes. “A lifetime supply of plan B, a concubine, and a royale with cheese.”

“Alright, you only bring up Tarantino when you’re fucked up. What’s wrong with you? You look all… fucked up,” he finishes on a flat note. So obvious. “We haven’t been here that long.”

“I guess I must’a drank too fast.” It’s the only explanation Curly could possibly think of if he hadn’t known that he was ‘drugged.’ “I didn’t really eat today now that I think about it.”

”Yeah?”

”Yeah, I’m not— I’m fucked,” Curly drowsily grins. “What time is it?”

“You’ve always been a lightweight,” Jimmy incorrectly supposes. “Wanna call it early?”

It’s clear he’s buying Curly’s little act, because on any other day he would be offended at the mere idea. Jimmy has always been demanding of his time, wanting to keep him out till early morning. 

Doesn’t that mean something? Has Jim felt this way for a long time?

“That sounds brilliant if I’m bein’ honest. I feel like I’m fallin’ asleep.” Curly’s playing his role perfectly, making it easy for Jim to avoid getting caught in public with an obviously roofied man.

Jimmy is quick to his side, dutifully helping him to remain steady on his feet as he slings one of Curly’s thick arms over his shoulders. Jim smells incredible from this distance.

”Off we go,” Jimmy grunts. “Don't worry, Curly. I’ll make sure you don’t wake up face-down in a gutter.”

Chapter Text

Curly drags his feet up the stairs, mumbling this or that. He feigns confusion while he pretends to struggle to speak as Jim lets him flop face first into his— their bed, pulling off his shoes for him. He acts as if he’s completely dead when Jim turns him over onto his back.

Jim’s not being even remotely cautious by the time they make it there. Once he’s pulled Curly up the bed so his legs aren’t dangling off the side, he sits himself on Curly's thighs and tries to catch his breath from the herculean task. 

It’s not like Curly isn’t happy. He couldn’t be happier, but he’s still a little mystified over Jim’s methods. Why propose like this? Curly hadn’t exactly expected anything at all, but when he allowed himself to daydream, yes, it was always unconventional, but never to this degree.

“You asleep, then?” Jim gasps mostly to himself. He slaps Curly’s face harder than he did in the cab for good measure and, after a few heartbeats, lets out the most lighthearted laughter Curly’s ever heard from the man. It’s the laugh of a man about to finally get his way, and it’s absolutely enchanting. 

“Good.”

Jim slides his hands up Curly’s flank, clumsily trying to shove his sweaty hands under the t-shirt that Curly inadvertently pinned tightly to his skin with his own body weight. Jim’s fingers make it up to Curly’s chest with some prying, pinching and squeezing, scratching through wiry chest hair. Jim groans like he’s satisfied and Curly’s heart just soars.

He never imagined Jim could be pleased with a body like his.

Jim takes his hands back out after an eternity of teasing and presses his face between Curly’s pecs through his shirt, cupping the fat of them to his cheeks. He inhales deeply, leaving a cold spot on Curly’s chest that breaks him out into goosebumps. Jim’s body feels light on top of his, the complete opposite of a burden. He fits perfectly in the cradle of Curly’s hips.

Jim soon tires of the cloth in his way and struggles with Curly’s limp body to remove it, sitting him up and tugging everything from the waist up off. It’s hard work and Curly wishes he could help.

The hardest thing about this for Curly is staying as still as a corpse. He isn’t actually sure if he can react much while on this drug so he doesn’t want to chance it, but his face feels warm and he’s as hard as a man could possibly get.

Then Jim’s thumbs are tweaking his nipples again the moment Curly’s back flops back against the bed, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. Gentle at first, then pinching and tugging as if to punish Curly. It’s a huge mercy when Jim buries his face back in between and tastes Curly’s skin. His smooth, wet tongue flattering the hairs there to his sternum.

It doesn’t last. Jim adds his tongue to the torture of Curly’s nipples and it’s amazing how something can feel so good and so bad at the same time. Curly almost starts to think he shouldn’t have thrown up back at Polar star. It’d be easier to endure this with a bit of the drug in his system, but then again…

Curly wants to remember this night for the rest of his life.

He wants to grind up against Jim’s ass and make him feel the weight of his desire. He wants to take Jim’s mouth with his own— but he can only be taken from, like this. Curly knows he could teach Jim the give and take of this a real relationship, though. Curly is a leader whether he likes it or not. He knows for their marriage to thrive he will have to facilitate it a bit.

“I thought you were going to pass out in a puddle of your own piss, you know,” Jim mumbles. He leans in to kiss along Curly’s neck and he lets his head fall to the side like a lifeless doll. “Aren’t you lucky you gotta guy like me who cares so much for your wellbeing?”

[Yes.]

He drags a palm back down Curly’s flank and feels his hardness through his jeans, gasping a little in surprise. Just a hitch of the breath that makes Curly’s hair stand on end. His lips feel so incredible.

Suddenly Jim’s pressing his face hard into the shell of Curly’s ear. “Wasn’t sure if you’d actually get hard, Curly. Your mind is off in lala land but your body is right here. With me.” He whispers viciously.

[Yes.]

Jim tears himself away and Curly just wants to beg him to stay close. It’s just so he can roughly unthread Curly’s belt and rip off his pants and underwear, briefly stepping off the bed so he can achieve it. Curly wills his body to relax, though the excitement of Jim seeing him completely naked for the first time like this is overwhelming. 

He is a voyeur in his own body.

Curly’s mind nearly tears itself apart wondering if Jim approves of the sight of him. Normally he feels so… ugly. It’s the first time tonight that Curly’s felt genuinely afraid. 

Jim’s breathing hard through his nose, maybe disappointed that he's so misshapen. If only he could just open his eyes, see his face. It’s a game of ‘he loves me, he loves me not,’ dialed up to a billion. 

Curly’s set on enduring the discomfort of his judgement, either way. He understands Jim. Someone like Jim, who’s probably never gotten the chance to say the words, ‘I love you’ in his life, would be more comfortable with his actions speaking for him. Or so Curly hopes.

It feels like the relentless staring drags on for hours when in reality it must’ve only been a minute or two. Then he finally speaks.

”You just gotta be perfect at everything, don’t you?”

[CONGRATS!]

Curly felt tears of relief welling up behind his eyelids. A tear seeps out and falls into his hairline, another collected in the shallow dip between the bridge of his nose and the inner corner of his eye.

Jim's own clothes seem to ruffle to the floor in the blink of an eye and he remounts the bed, thighs thrown over either side of Curly. He presses their cocks together, and it’s far too tight but it feels so good. A small gasp leaks from Curly then, like a sigh from mid-sleep. He really can't help it.

The sound scares Jim, which Curly is extremely guilty for. Jim releases him altogether and stops moving, stops breathing even. Curly panics a bit; decides to play his character.

”Mmgh, Jimmm…? Wha’s wrong…?” Curly slurs heavily, acting like he’s barely able to crack open his eyes. Since he’s momentarily ‘awake,’ he thrusts up shallowly so their cocks can brush together more.

Jim ever so slowly droops his body over Curly’s. It feels like he’s staring very intensely at Curly’s face, like a hot lightbulb shining down on him. It takes a while, but Jim starts to sink lower until his lips graze Curly’s collar bone. So different feeling from the first touch he laid there. The way Jim’s body trembles at this could be described as violent. Or maybe that’s Curly himself. He can’t tell.

“You don’t have to cry, Curly. It’s just a bad dream,” Jim swears angrily through his teeth. His breath is shivering and excited, but he sounds absolutely anguished. Unusually emotional. 

Curly understands then how hard this must be for Jim. Jim’s gone through life as solitarily as he could, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t crave love.

Love is so human, so universally needed, that it breaks Curly’s own heart to think a lack of it has reduced Jim to this. Because after all, Curly understands that he’s being raped; he just also understands that this is about privacy, or perhaps more accurately, a fear of rejection. 

Jim puts his mouth over Curly’s and it’s all dry tongue and sharp teeth, like CPR, but Curly could cum just from knowing it’s Jim who’s kissing him. Even if it’s not a real kiss. Jim’s movements are jerky and nervous, and Curly still hasn’t closed his eyes. He can’t bring himself to.

When Jim pulls away, he breathes in slowly, a return to stoicism. He stands up on his knees, rearranging their bodies so that Curly’s bent in half with his knees to his chest. He’s never been so exposed, nor so trapped. He can feel Jim’s hot breath fanning over his hole, making it twitch. It’s almost impossible to bear.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time, you know,” Jim quietly admits. “Dumb fuck like you will probably wake up tomorrow with the worst hangover of your life, no memory of this night, and never question it.”

After wondering about it this whole time, Curly reasons that Jim would never do things like this if he just knew he was safe with Curly. And ultimately, it’s Curly’s responsibility to make sure he feels safe.

“And I’ll be there for you tomorrow. I’ll tell you I had a nice fucking birthday so you can feel like a hero… But I don’t think it’s fair if you get to remember this, Curls,” Jim continues. “You don’t deserve this. I do.”

Curly thinks Jim’s right. He should’ve been able to tell that Jim loved him this deeply. He shouldn’t have kept his own feelings a secret from him. It was a lack of communication that caused this abuse.

This is Curly’s fault. He closes his eyes even as his chin wobbles, tears threatening to fall in earnest.

Then Jim breaches him with his tongue. It becomes an entirely different sort of struggle, then. One of swallowing his pleasure without gagging, without pleading, without begging for more. His head thrashes a bit reflexively as Jim lathers his tongue up and down his crack.

His hips twitch despite the awkward angle, and Curly prays that Jim’s eyes are closed too. Curly’s own cock has started to drool worse than Jim, dribbling lazily all over his chest.

Curly realizes his mistake too late; staying still won’t be possible. He can try, but he’s always known that this would’ve been intense to the point of agony, because he’s been dreaming of this moment for years and years and years.

“O-oh my god,” Jim grouses, his tone heated in a way that Curly just has to savor. Grunted out through his teeth like he’s pissed, but he can’t be. He's so gratified that he must be wondering why he never did this sooner. Curly can hear him jerking himself off.

He pulls back with an angry sounding sigh, spitting on Curly’s hole and quickly pressing two fingers in. It hurts. Jim’s not being mindful of his nails or aiming for anything that will give Curly pleasure, he’s just trying to pry him open. At least, like this, it’s easier to stay quiet.

It doesn’t feel as good, but it’s still intensely erotic for Curly. To hear Jim coming undone from using his body. 

Except, the reality of the situation starts to dawn on Curly the more he listens to the emptiness of the room. He understands all at once that this will be one of his happiest memories, and that this is wrong.

Love is supposed to be a team effort. And Jim was right; Curly didn’t earn this. Just laying there taking it is challenging and he starts to think the sound of Jim participating in this all by himself is a little depressing. Curly wants to move. He wants to tell him how much he loves him. This is so wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong.

Jim doesn’t spend very long on working Curly open, and soon the fat head of his cock is breaching him. It hurts, of course, but it almost hurts worse not to see Jim. He stopped speaking to Curly. Why? Curly’s own cock started to grow soft as he focused on the repetitive creaking of the bed frame.

Why isn’t this as good as he thought it’d be? 

The only logical thing is this: it’s because Jim likes fiction and Curly likes non-fiction. This is not real or genuine— it’s a fucking mirage, an illusion. That’s when Curly starts to think that while this is certainly a big milestone in their relationship, it’s going to take a lot more work than this.

Because after all, what could be more literal than this? This is a textbook example of a one-sided relationship. It’s not fulfilling. 

Curly lets Jim rut into him quietly for so long that he loses track of time. Feels like forever. But when Jim cums…

The groan he gives is so deep and guttural that it does make Curly’s soft cock twitch in renewed interest. Curly can’t wait to hear that sound again and again, even if this experience hasn’t exactly been the best. They have the rest of their lives to get it right and it just fills Curly’s heart full of hope.

When Jim pulls out, he admires the mess he made with gentle fingers swiping through it, warm breath grazing Curly’s inner thighs. He uses a cloth from somewhere to wipe away his sticky seed, and finally lets Curly rest for a moment. It seems he’s trying to catch his own breath, petting Curly’s skin gently for a few lovely minutes before he painstakingly redresses Curly as minimally as possible. Just his shirt and underwear.

Shuffling off the bed for the final time, Jim pulls his own clothes back on. All the while, Curly’s just laying there like a cadaver.

Once Jim’s belt clicks, he says, “Thanks for the birthday present, Curls.” It’s nothing smug— Jim actually sounds a little depressed. Curly figures that self loathing is actually pretty common in abusers, typically speaking, and wishes he could just hug Jim. He wants to reassure him that next time will be better.

Curly actually appreciates that Jim feels that way too. It means he wants them to be more than just this, too. It means his proposal is genuine.

Unfortunately, as nice as it would be, Curly can’t simply kiss Jim’s forehead and make it all better. It’s not going to happen like that tonight.

Jim’s walking away. Curly waits to hear his boots on the stairs before he springs up off the mattress. Frantically, he whips his head around the bedroom searching for anything he can actually use when he spots it— the old bat from his time in high school baseball. 

It’s covered in stickers that Jim helped him collect over the years and dust, leaning up against the dresser. It doesn’t match the adult vibe of the room, but Curly could never bring himself to throw it out.

It becomes the maddest dash of Curly’s life to grab it and run as fast as he possibly can down the stairs. He can’t mind the noise— If he doesn’t catch Jim before he makes it outside, it’s all over. Jim’s standing there at the front door, and he’s so stunned to see Curly that he just freezes in place, his horror stark and naked. It makes Curly feel absolutely terrible, but he’s so excited that the only thing he can think is

[CONGRATULATIONS!!!]

There’s confetti glittering down from the cieling as he cracks the bat across Jim’s face, smiling from ear to ear, and Jim falls. His back slams into the front door and he slides down it onto his ass until he finally falls over onto his side. Home run.

Curly stares at him for a moment, his hands shaking violently until he decides to toss the bat aside and kneel in front of Jim. He can’t seem to catch his breath. He tugs at Jim until his back is balanced up against the door with his head drooped forward. Curly notes with great relief that Jim’s still breathing, but—

”I went and broke your nose again,” Curly sighs in fond exasperation. He obviously isn’t trying to kill him, he just needed to incapacitate him. His nose is gushing like a snotty faucet, forcing him to breathe through his mouth.

He should hurry up and set it… Jim would probably be fine, but he could still aspirate on his own blood…

But first, Curly runs his tongue along the mess of blood gushing out over Jim’s upper lip and moans. He can’t seem to stop himself from stroking himself over Jim’s limp body with a free hand in Jim’s hair to keep his head tilted just right 

It feels amazing, it tastes amazing. Curly's going to cum. He's so fucking close.

Until he realizes how selfish he’s being.

Isn’t this what Jim just did to him? This isn’t fair, and it certainly isn’t how love ought to be. Curly lets out one last pained whine as he pathetically squeezes himself for the final time, staring at Jim’s bloodied face. He has to remind himself that there will be time and struggles to swallow all his guilt and shame at once.

Setting Jim’s nose is as exhilarating as it was the first time, his bones crunching uncomfortably back into place. He's the perfect puzzle, one Curly will happily spend the rest of his life putting back together.

He thinks Jim will be pleased by his effort, cynical as he typically is, because he’s the sort to expect nothing at all. It’s how he manages his disappointment.

“Thanks for setting it again,” he'll say.

And Curly will of course assure him that he's here for anything Jim needs.

Curly will have to be careful when he takes Jim back upstairs, but that’s fine. He's got to let Jim bleed this out for a bit. Curly has never felt so damn happy in his entire life, and he lets himself cry for a moment before worrying too much about it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Curly goes to Jim’s place after breakfast. It’s a Sunday, so he has the whole day to sort Jim’s affairs and grab some things for him. He’s sure that Jim can’t escape, but it’s still nerve wracking to leave him at home. Curly thought about taping his mouth shut so that he wouldn’t be able to scream, but ultimately he decides to trust him.

Curly’s hands are locked around the steering wheel throughout the whole drive over, clammy and tense from the stress of their parting.

This whole thing was completely spontaneous; there are no safety nets in place. Curly doesn’t really know what he’ll do if Jim does manage to escape, but he knows that he has a responsibility to protect Jimmy now. Anyone looking in from the outside wouldn’t be able to understand what the hell is going on with them.

That’s how it must feel for Jim, right now. It makes sense that Jim, who isn’t exactly in touch with his feelings, would have a completely different interpretation of the situation than Curly, and whatever he thinks about it has been hard for him to process. 

Their love is just about as unconventional as it gets, Curly figures. All he can do is try to show Jim how good it can be. He reminds himself that patience is the name of the game, even though it stings to be misunderstood by the most important person in his life.

Curly finally arrives at Jim’s place after just a few minutes. It’s a little apartment complex out in Tres Leches— a college community that’s geographically close to Curly’s place in Tunis Hills, but quite far away financially. He thinks Jim will be glad to finally be rid of this place as he puts the car in park.

Jim’s little matchbox of an apartment is filthy. The coffee table is completely covered in beer cans, dirty plates, and cigarette ash. The floor around it is no better. If he were to examine the tiny kitchenette he’d see the same stack of dishes from last month and a lot of empty liquor bottles. Empty microwave dinner boxes and empty canned meat containers.

Everything is empty, empty.

It’s rare that Curly ever gets to come here anymore. They usually spend time together at Curly’s place or Polar Star, but this was Curly’s home too, once. Just during college. He realizes in an instant that when he’d been so excited to come in the past, it was just because Jim was here. 

He walks in quietly, shutting the screechy door behind him. He decides at a glance that he won’t grab anything from the living room.

Further in is Jim’s room, the master bedroom. Curly always let him have it, so Jim didn’t even have to move his things around when Curly finally moved out.

Little light gets in this room. Jim’s clothes have been tossed all over the floor, his bedsheet half pulled off and the blanket is visibly unwashed. Curly never really had the opportunity to look around before, and easily finds cum filled socks stuffed in shameful corners. 

He can’t help but imagine for a moment what Jim must be like when no one’s watching, and feels his neglected cock twitch.

There had been so many guilty close calls Curly had where he knew Jim was touching himself, but refused to spy. Like the night they’d rented American Beauty for the first time. It felt like such a big deal because it had been unavailable for the longest time and they watched it right here in the living room.

Jim excused himself to the bathroom when Angela Hayes, a ‘barely legal’ caricature of an attention hungry teenager, laid naked on the ceiling in a bed of roses, and he didn’t come back for ten minutes.

God, how could Curly have been so blind?

”Have you always had a thing for blondes?” Curly asks no one. He crawls into Jim’s bed and presses his face into the pillows. He thinks of how obvious it’s been that Jim loves him, and how different things might’ve been if he’d only followed Jim into the bathroom that day.

Maybe he ought to see if Jim has the DVD lying around somewhere— they’re due for a rewatch.

It all fades into the background as Curly scents the sheets like a flea-bitten animal. He’s disgusting, he knows, but he’s behaved as normal for long enough now, hasn’t he? Wasn’t the core message of that film to live authentically while there’s still time?

As long as it isn’t hurting anyone.

He grinds his hips lazily into the mattress below wishing that it was Jim underneath him instead. He thinks about how incredible it will be when Jim finally parts his legs willingly. He just wants to make Jim feel good. 

Curly’s just starting to think of shoving his own hand down his pants when he spots it on the nightstand— The old Pony Express ashtray Curly had gotten Jim for his 25th. He had to bid for it online and waited a full month for it to come in the mail. It has the old logo from when Pony Express was just an online shopping company. It’s from a time when employees could still smoke at their desks.

Curly thought it was such a cool gift… Something practical that Jim could actually use, and it would remind him of Curly whenever he looked at it. Except, that was the year Jim asked him to stop getting him presents for his birthday. All this time Curly thought he’d hated it, but there it is, right next to the alarm clock and filled to the brim with stale cigarette butts.

Suddenly the space feels too intimate. Curly’s warm sentimental feelings far exceed his need to cum, which has been stamped down over and over since last night. He decides he’ll have to grab the ashtray for Jim on the way out. After cleaning it out, of course.

Curiosity tugs Curly towards the nightstand itself. He rips it open and inside there’s a lot of…

”Underwear?” Curly frowns. Women’s underwear to be specific, and of all different shapes and sizes. Curly realizes the sight of the drawer is making him angry before it even clicks what it is exactly that he’s looking at.

It’s a fucking trophy case.

Curly quickly slams the drawer shut before it can drive him insane. It's obvious that Jim loves him, but this feels like betrayal.

And then he has a thought. He rips the drawer back open and looks for any larges. Luckily there are quite a few, which he’s sure Jim would rather be kept a secret, but seeing as he no longer had a need for these anymore, surely he wouldn’t mind Curly borrowing them. 

As he examines the pairs he’s picked for himself, he notices they aren’t exactly fresh. He’d been planning on doing Jim’s laundry anyways, but he really hopes whatever they’re soiled with is more Jim than anyone else. His instinct is purely territorial as he imagines recontextualizing these items for Jim. Rewriting the items’ memories.

Curly just happens to find Jim’s weed while he’s panty raiding, too, so it’s not all bad. He stuffs it into his inner jacket pocket and grunts as he lifts himself off the bed, completely turned off. He doesn’t want to stay here for too long.

He walks over to the dresser and starts pulling out crumpled piles of clothes for Jim. None of it’s sorted so he just grabs what he can and tosses the ‘keeps’ onto the bed, the ‘tosses’ joining the others on the floor. He should be all set to leave in just a minute or two, but the door to the bathroom is cracked open and keeps drawing his eye.

That’s where Jim was gonna do it.

Curly wrings his hands in one of Jim’s old t-shirts, letting out a shaky breath as he wonders if he should go in there. See what it’s like. See if Jim left any evidence of his plan in there.

If Curly couldn’t find anything, would that mean Jim was lying? Not necessarily, Curly reasons, but it would be odd if that was the one thing in the whole house he cleaned up.

His feet are moving before he can think to stop them. Cautiously, he pats the bathroom door open and sees the tub, still full of last night’s water. The light from the little window sends haloes all across the water's surface, and onto the lip of the tub where a simple razor and a sheet of notebook paper are resting. 

Curly had been holding his breath. He finally exhales as he comes to sit gingerly on the cold porcelain, inspecting the paper.

Curly,

I’m sorry. This wasn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to blame yourself. After all, what could you have done?

-Jim

Curly has to cover his own mouth, unsure if he’s gonna laugh or cry. Jim’s apologized to him more in the last 24 hours than he had throughout the whole of knowing him. It’s horrifying. The same feeling as narrowly avoiding a speeding car, except Curly can’t just laugh this off and be grateful that he’s alive.

It bothers him, deeply, that he had no idea Jim was feeling this way. And the note is comically bereft, like Jim couldn’t think of anything to say at all.

How the hell is he supposed to take this? Does Jim think that if he gets the last word, Curly would magically be capable of letting him go?

It’s making him furious. But then… doesn’t it mean something that Jim even chose to write him a note? Wouldn’t it have been easier for someone like Jim to make an Irish exit? It’s not like Jim is particularly gifted when it comes to communicating.

“Big feelings,” Curly quietly says, a personal mantra of his. It’s a reminder to himself that it’s okay to take a second to think. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. “Big feelings.”

Eventually he tucks the note into his breastpocket and gets ready to leave.

Chapter Text

[MONDAY]

[TUESDAY]

[WEDNESDAY]

[THURSDAY]

[PRESENT DAY - FRIDAY]

Chapter Text

“Curly wait!”

Curly pauses in the doorframe a little apprehensively. Jim doesn’t ask for much besides the right to go home. He still can’t see that this is home, so Curly is initially a little nervous to hear him out, afraid that he might never have the words to explain it to him.

“Yes?” He says anyways. Hope is a good thing to have, and he hopes Jim might actually ask for something within both of their grasps.

“Can we… Is there some way that I can get clean?”

He turns towards Jim more fully, pondering this. He has procured some gear to make it possible, yes, but he isn’t sure if Jim’s quite ready for that yet. He walks back over to the bed thoughtfully, carefully perching on the side with a small sigh.

“I like you like this,” Curly says somewhat playfully trying to mask his nerves.

“Does what I like not matter?” Jim asks.

“No, that’s not what I…” Curly hesitates further still. If he tells Jim it’s possible, it would be cruel to deny him of it. He decides to take a leap of faith. “If you were hoping for something more than a sponge bath, I need to know I can trust you.”

Jim chews on this for a moment. Curly knew he’d be skittish, but he’s just so excited to get past this stage. Maybe he’s rushing things, but they still haven’t had their first time. 

He also knows that he fucked up before. Making Jim wait for food and water was something cruel and he hasn’t even properly apologized to him yet because he’s been afraid. So damn afraid that he’s ruined this. What if Jim never forgives him? What if Jim can never trust him?

He can’t expect to get something back from Jim that he isn’t willing to put in himself.

“But,” Curly eventually continues, “This is probably just what we need right now, Jim. Don’t you think?”

Jim shows no sign of comprehending what Curly’s saying just yet and that’s okay. Curly reaches under the bed for a shoebox that he’s prepared for the day that he’d cut Jim loose and pulls out a pair of bolt cutters and a thick, red rope. He won’t be left unbound, but giving him some of his mobility back to see what he’ll do with it will be revelatory.

Curly mounts Jim’s hips with the bolt cutters in hand, and Jim panics.

“Wait, wait, what are you doing with those!?”

“I’m gonna decide to trust you, Jim,” Curly patiently explains. He does rest the blades gently on his chest, just to remind him who holds them, but Curly makes sure Jim understands his true intentions by cupping his cheek even more gently. “I’m going to cut the belt. But if I do, I need to know: are you going to try and leave?”

“No,” Jim whispers harshly. There’s a tear threatening to fall, but it looks like he’s determined to hold it together. For Curly. “No, we’re… Fucking married, aren’t we?”

That they are, and Curly suspects that it took a lot for Jim to bring himself to say that. He can’t possibly be saying that from the heart so soon, but Curly has to figure that effort like that deserves a reward. He wastes no time cutting the belt, but it doesn’t immediately fall away from his wrists, so Curly keeps one hand wrapped firmly around the cutters while he tugs his restraints free with the other.

Jim lowers his arms slowly with a pained groan.

“I know, I know,” Curly mutters empathetically, pressing his fingers gently into Jim’s left shoulder. “It must’ve been so hard laying around like that for so long.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Jim pouts.

He seems noticeably weaker as he wraps his own hand around the bolt cutters, sending Curly’s heart up into his throat until he simply shoves the blades back away from his collar bone with a mean glare. It doesn’t matter what Jim looks like, though. He’s gorgeous.

“Not making fun of you,” Curly shakily breathes. “I’m actually really excited.” 

He notices how true that statement is at the trembling of his own hands, and the quickness of his breath. Jim’s loose, and he’s keeping his cool. This might be the best thing they’ve ever done together if they can maintain this state of calm.

“Turn onto your stomach,” Curly demands.

So excited!!

Jim complies with an attitude, but his compliance means a lot. Curly is sure to be careful with him as he wraps the rope around his arms, tying complex knots from his shoulders to his wrists. When he’s done he gives it a good tug and finds himself more than satisfied with his work.

Jim’s back looks really wonderful like this, his lithe muscles bunched up over his shoulderblades, and the way his greasy hair has fanned out over the back of his neck… Curly’s gotten terribly hard, and sitting on Jim’s thighs has landed him in the one place he could stay forever.

“G-good?” Curly asks thickly.

“Sure,” Jim just sighs.

And so, with Jim’s blessing, Curly gets off of him and rather unceremoniously lifts him off of the bed by the knots binding his arms. He’s certainly lighter than he was before, but he’s still a big man. Even still, Curly has no problem getting Jim back onto his feet.

Jim groans on the way up, likely sore all over from being bedbound the way he had. He asks for a moment and Curly grants it easily, watching him stretch shallowly. His range of movement should come back with more activity, however, and Curly isn’t too concerned.

Curly would’ve pet long stripes down Jim’s spine if the rope wasn’t obscuring it, so he massages the base of his skull instead and earns a different kind of moan from Jim.

“Shit,” Jim curses.

Must feel really good. Curly stops himself from giggling like some cute schoolgirl, but only just barely. He can’t believe how much just this little bit has lifted his spirits, and he hadn’t even realized how low he’d gotten until just now. 

“This isn’t so bad, right?” Curly murmurs only inches from Jim’s ear. He gets to feel how it sends a shiver throughout Jim’s whole body.

“Beats the fuck out of dying in that bed,” Jim sneers, turning his head away. Curly, who is fluent in Jim’s language, takes that for the compliment it is. He’s glowing from it.

He whispers that they’d better get the water started and guides Jim’s steps by the rope, closing the toilet seat and lid so he can sit him down on it and wait for the tub to fill. Being in this room with Jim and a tub-full of water brings back the memory of his suicide note, however. They never did talk about it.

“I can’t believe that you never saw this coming,” Curly says from his seat on the lip of the tub. He stares into the beryl water, unable to face Jim whose head snaps to his at the admission.

“You’re not serious,” he huffs. His disbelief is palpable.

“Why’d you write me that note if you couldn't see it?” Curly asks as simply as he can, because they both know the note Curly’s talking about. The truth is, thinking about it makes him feel numb. He still hasn’t really processed that Jim was actually going to… Take himself away from Curly. Shouldn’t that sort of thing require permission?

“Tch,” Jim sucks his teeth. When he looks away, only then does Curly face him. And he waits for a response for so long that he no longer expects one, turning off the water rushing from the faucet. But Jim does eventually answer him.

“You’re my brother. My next of kin, I guess,” He explains with a faraway look in his eyes. “Doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? I knew you’d care, and I… I did what I could for you.”

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Curly says, his tone completely flat. 

“I knew that, too,” Jim manages to say. 

Curly sucks in a breath… and then lets it go. That’s probably about as far as they should take it for tonight, he figures, but then he notices something else. Something that’ll give them back some levity.

“I really should’ve taken off that shirt before I tied you up,” Curly points out, smiling just a bit. Just to let Jim know that everything’s okay.

“Maybe if you were a better planner you would’ve actually gotten married before it came to this,” Jim huffs snidely. Except, he’s sporting a minute grin of his own, and that feels really good. Makes Curly smile in earnest.

“Are you kidding? Everything’s been leading up to this moment,” Curly turns on the charm. It seems to have some effect on Jim, too. “Hang tight, I’ll cut that shirt off of you with a pair of scissors so I don’t have to retie everything.”

Curly gets up, roots around the medicine cabinet for a bit, but he doesn’t find them in there. Nor does he find them under the sink, which he wasn’t expecting to anyways. Jim just watches him, evaluating.

“Well, at least you know I don’t have them,” He says when Curly stands back up, his hands on his hips in a way that says ‘boy howdy, I am such a quirky scatterbrain!’ Curly can tell he is unimpressed, and right now the feeling is very much mutual.

“Hang on,” Curly shakes his head. Where the hell did he put them? It doesn’t matter, because he’s headed back into the bedroom for the bolt cutters and decides they’ll be good enough for the job.

Jim looks mildly alarmed.

“Do you trust me?” Curly asks it like they’re tying his baby tooth to the doorknob or something.

“As far as I can throw you.”

That’ll have to do. Curly kneels in front of Jim and instructs him to spread his knees. He pulls the shirt taut over both of them and then carefully makes the first cut at the bottom of the fabric, which luckily isn’t too tough. Once he’s created a tear he simply rips the rest of the shirt open with his bare hands. It’s a little more difficult to do the same thing with the sleeves, but Curly eventually gets Jim bare chested, revealing rows of ribs.

Curly traces them guiltily and flinches when Jim flinches. When they meet eyes, Curly sees that it’s not his touch that repulsed Jim; he’s just ticklish and won’t say it aloud.

Funny. Cute. 

His knees crack and he stands in front of Jim, and he once again uses the knots at his back to pull him to his feet. He helps Jim kick off his borrowed sweats and vows to keep those intact for the future. Curly rather liked that shirt, after all. Tries not to be distracted by the sight of Jim’s flaccid cock, because he swears he’s only seen it hard and he’s just as fascinated by the sight as he is concerned.

He helps Jim ease his way into the warm water by the knot, marveling at the way he sighs when it ends up soothing his skin. His ass hits the bottom and then Curly rolls up his pants, straddling the lip of the tub with one foot in the water.

There’s a green pail by the door that he used to wash the dog when he was younger, and he grabs it now to pour water over Jim’s head. He’s surprised by Jim’s silence, but chooses not to read into it too much as he works on getting his hair nice and saturated with water. Jim looks like he’s at peace with this.

Maybe barring his mobility was the thing holding them back all this time. Or, maybe that should have been obvious from the start. Curly hopes all this tribulation was as necessary to conditioning him as he initially assumed, because using abuse as a method of training a person is way harder in execution. 

He has all these doubts that he didn’t have on the first night. He wants to return to that previous confidence. He needs to be strong.

For Jimmy.

Once he’s satisfied with the amount of water in Jim’s hair, he pours some shampoo into his palm and begins scrubbing his scalp lovingly. Jim groans at that, his cock bobbing out of the water in interest. Curly flushes, but considers the task at hand more important than anything else. 

“Feels good?” Curly asks.

“Yeah, fuck, I--,” Jim hesitates. “I really needed this,” he ends up sighing. 

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me, yet,” Curly ends up saying. “But I really am sorry. That wasn’t the way to handle things. I want to be better for you.”

“Act like you know me, Curly,” Jim mutters. “I don’t care.” 

It’s not like Curly expected to earn his forgiveness this easily. 

He rinses the suds from Jim’s hair and nearly gasps at how pretty the water makes it look. It’s almost like smooth pressed vinyl, the way the light is catching it, and he wants to run his fingers through it more than he already is, somehow. Luckily, conditioner is next on the list.

Curly’s threading his fingers through happily when Jim speaks up next, in sensory heaven. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” he admits quietly.

Curly shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Let’s say I relax into this… This still isn’t what I wanted,” Jim explains. 

“You think I’m crazy,” Curly points out bluntly. “I get that. Maybe I am. But if that’s true, it’s worked out in your favor, hasn’t it? Because you raped me, and all I could think of while it was happening was how to make you happy. For once.”

Jim says nothing. 

“What exactly did you want?” Curly wonders aloud, pouring some bodywash onto a fresh washcloth and smoothing it between the ropes and down Jim’s back. 

“I didn’t want you to know,” Is all Jim can muster. But that’s not enough and Curly makes that clear. 

“Know what?”

“That I’m sick. That I’d rather hurt you than hurt myself. That I’m scared of pain. Even now, I know you’re not going to kill me, but I think that’s the problem. Beyond all this freudian horseshit you’re putting me through, I can tell you think you’re doing the right thing, and that you want me to feel good, but to me it just feels like…”

“Pain,” Curly correctly presumes, and the sound of their voices dryly bouncing off the bathroom tiles momentarily ceases. But Curly eventually has a thought, and maybe it’s even a clever one at that.

He says, “If kindness is pain, then I’m sorry. I’m going to be kind to you, but I can punish you, too. If that’s what you need.”

Jim’s breath stutters, and Curly moves from his back to his chest, forcing him to lay against the back of the tub by the rope for better access. Like this, it’s harder to avoid eye contact, but Jim manages it by simply closing his eyes. Curly isn’t going to let it slide.

He smooths his palm over Jim’s jaw, scrubbing over his facial hair with careful nails, and Jim tries to tilt his head away, but Curly simply won’t let him. He firms up his grip to keep him where he wants him. Jim’s beard is simply too long to reasonably call ‘stubble,’ but it still makes him look handsome. Even still, Curly knows Jim doesn’t favor it much. 

“You want a clean shave?” Curly asks, his voice going inexplicably husky. Why? Why does this arouse him when it never has before-- never even occurred to him to be aroused? And the answer is, of course, obvious. It’s just because it’s Jim, and the thought of manipulating his body is Curly’s deepest kink. Changing him, whether that be for Curly’s own selfish motivations or Jim’s wellbeing.

“Are you gonna let me use my fucking hands?” Jim asks with deep resentment.

“Let me do it for you,” Curly implores. “Trust me.”

Trust has certainly been the theme tonight, Curly reasons. And as far as trust goes, Curly has already paid it forward. Now it’s Jim’s turn. 

Jim cracks his eyes open revealing olive colored irises. It’s frustrating when you know someone is beautiful, and yet they can’t see it for themselves, but Curly is happy to do that for Jim as well. 

“If you cut me, I’ll headbutt you,” He says with an exhausted twinge to his voice. 

Curly can’t help what he does next. He kisses Jim, who goes as stiff as a board beneath his fingers. He keeps it chaste, but… It’s their first kiss. It really has all been leading to this. 

Curly almost laughs out of his damn mind with giddyness. They really did take the long way around, didn’t they?

“I won’t cut you unless you ask me to,” Curly happily breathes. 

He can tell Jim really doesn’t know what to think about any of this, but that’s okay. He fishes his razor from the medicine cabinet and swaps the blades for fresh ones, fetching the shaving cream to go with it. When he returns to the lip of the tub, he sees Jim has scooted closer to the side, resting his arms on it. 

His hair is slicked from his face and he’s just looking at Curly with wet eyelashes, daring him to do something. Their faces seem awfully close like this.

Curly swallows nervously before producing a dollop of shaving cream. He spreads it over Jim’s cheeks in soothing little circles, rubbing in between all the little hairs.  All the while Jim’s staring up with those brown eyes of his, catlike in their coloring. The angle Curly has just makes them look bigger.

He can feel the muscles in Jim’s jaw jump when he presses in a little too hard, and feels his adam’s apple bob as he covers the overgrowth on his neck. Jim tucks his lips in so Curly can cover the skin around his lips, and still he stares up at him with that curious look in his eyes. 

Curly’s breath is coming in strongly as he fights to simply maintain some kind of equilibrium, like deep, meditative drags. His face feels hot. It’s so fucking quiet in the bathroom that the sound of him swishing the razor through the water sounds like thunder.

It’s now or never. 

He gently cranes Jim’s neck to the side, and watches as his eyes clench tightly in apprehension. Surely Jim is not used to being touched this way, and Curly is feeling his nerves fray, too. Still, he carefully presses the razor into Jim’s skin, just under his sideburn,  and scrapes his way down along the jut of his jawline.

With the first pull done, Jim exhales harshly. It doesn’t really seem like he’s enjoying this much, but Curly is over-excited at the sight of the smooth skin underneath. It looks surprisingly soft, and even with remnants of shaving cream on it he wants to drag his tongue there just to feel the texture.

He lets a shudder shake its way down his spine, suffers from shortness of breath, rinses the blade, and goes for another on down Jim’s cheek. 

When that’s done, Jim says, “You’re such a fucking freak.”

Curly bites his lip and flushes harder, gripping the lip of the tub for a moment so as not to rut against it. Jim’s right, after all. How can something like shaving be sexy? But he’s starting to think he could cum to Jim sorting his laundry at this point, so there isn’t really anything he can say. 

He turns Jim to the other side and takes great pleasure in making sure the sideburns are symmetrical. Maybe even more simple than that is the pleasure he gets from turning Jim’s head in his hands like a doll. Jim seems to relax more with each and every drag of the razor, and that pleases Curly too.

His skin is so pretty, and the bones in his throat feel so delicate compared to the jut of his jawbone. Fuck, Curly’s cock won’t stop throbbing.

Curly cleans up his cheeks before rounding the blade along each side of his jaw, leaving a foamy goatee and his neck. Jim sucks in his lips without having to be told, causing Curly to squeeze his thighs around the lip of the tub desperately. Jim has dimples that rarely ever make an appearance, but like this they’re there, and he’s confronted with how handsome he is. 

“You’re doing so well,” He can’t help but share.

Then he scrapes at Jim’s upper lip very carefully. It’s not like he thought he’d ever cut him, but things are going even better than he had imagined. The more hair he removes, the more obvious it becomes how shapely Jim’s lips really are. Not that Curly didn’t already know. They’re perpetually curved into a frown, but not from any effort on Jim’s part. That’s just how he's sculpted.

The bottom lip is next, and Jim tilts his head back obediently, allowing Curly to finally drag the blade over his blunt chin and down his throat. This is the sort of pawing gesture that he’d like to do with his tongue, smoothing these blades over every bump and curve along Jimmy’s neck.

When was the last time he saw Jim bare-faced? Since before he could grow facial hair? Did Jimmy even know there was a beauty mark under his chin? Curly feels like he’s shaving years off of Jim’s face.

He almost wants to dig the razor in just to watch the blood stream down into the jut of his collarbone, but it feels even better to resist the urge.

This isn’t the sort of thing that makes him more attractive, it’s just different. And so fucking good.

Jim swallows tensely as the blade continuously is rinsed and dragged down his throat, and finally, after what feels like ages, his face is fully bare. He allows Curly to tilt his head this way and that as he carefully scans for missed spots and opens his eyes, looking at him with more of the same scrutiny from before.

“You really liked that,” He comments passively. 

Curly only nods, feeling quite shy about it. 

Jim shifts a little uncomfortably in the water and looks away. “Wanna get my lower belly?”

Curly undresses while Jim watches, and he feels sick to his stomach. What happened, when he’d been feeling so high just a moment ago? And he knows Jim felt it, too. He knows what he saw.

Once he’s naked he bashfully pulls the curtain shut and unplugs the drain. He tries not to think while his body mechanically obeys Jim, but he can’t hack it. 

“You’re mad at me,” Curly points out as he removes the shower head and cranks up the hot water. He holds it away from Jim so the spray doesn’t burn him, testing it with his palm until it’s just right.

“You’re a fucking psycho,” Jim spits. “You just-- controlled that whole fucking thing. Made me feel like- like--”

Jim can’t find the word, but he doesn’t need to. Curly already has a pretty good idea of what this is about. Jim doesn’t want to feel like a woman.

Curly furrows his brows in frustration and turns on Jim. “Why do you have to think of it like that? You have more control than you think…”

Because I would’ve done anything you asked me to, Curly leaves unsaid.

“Curly, I already know how meaningless trying to explain this to you is,” Jim viciously sneers, “but you have kept me here against my will for a week. You engineered this entire thing to constantly be in your favor, and you think if you just make me cum I’ll fucking forgive you!” He’s really trying to make it hurt.

And Curly really could’ve rolled his eyes at that, because honestly, he thought they had gotten past this by now. Tonight has been a major breakthrough and he’s determined to make Jim see that, but in order to pull that off he needs to come at this with a positive attitude.

He crowds up against Jim after putting the shower head up and pulls him into its warm spray by the hips. He finally slips his hands back into Jim’s hair to rinse out the conditioner and levels him with a serene look.

“Best week of my life,” He whispers happily. “Look at the big picture, Jim. You trusted me just now and I took care of you, didn’t I? Are you always gonna hold it against me that I want you to be here with me? That I want you to live?”

“I’m supposed to be happy with being your barbie doll?”

Hearing Jim put it like that confirms Curly’s suspicions about this being a thing Jim has against women. His ego simply can’t reconcile with the thought that there’s anything feminine about himself, and Curly resents that so much because it’s such a basic line of thinking. Surface level.

There’s so much more to them than just that. Curly thinks that there's probably only been a handful of people throughout human history who have felt this depth of connection before. Jim just doesn't realize how lucky they both are to have found each other in this lifetime.

“You know the shaving thing wasn’t about that,” Curly struggles to explain. “None of this has been about that. Maybe I really am crazy, but I'm doing things like this because I like that it's you. I want to touch you everywhere, any way that I can, because it's you. That you even let me touch you like that just now was so incredible. This isn't something that can be explained with fucking... gender roles, of all things.”

Jim laughs a little cruelly, but Curly is pleased to see him actually sitting on that thought. Behind the veneer of sarcasm, Jim is actually trying to process this.

That’s it, Jim. I know you can learn this little dance.

"Curly... Make this make sense. Please. Are you ever going to let me go, or are you saying that this house will be my entire world for the rest of my life?"

"It's not about the house," Curly smiles. "You and I can settle down anywhere. Your entire world now, is me."