Work Text:
Jimmy idles in the stone doorway of the pyramid. The rock is cool under his touch, even with the lava following sluggishly over top, and the inside is quiet and cozy. A desert breeze brushes past him, gently ruffling his hair and feathers, threading itself amongst the small wheat field inside.
His eyes aren’t on the patchy grain, however — Tango is on the other side of the room, shuffling through chests and dumping items atop a crafting table. His tail is low, his sleeves are rolled up, and he seems normal.
Jimmy squinted. Seems.
The previous session had left him… Hesitant, at least, to greet Tango with a kiss to the cheek. There was a certain dread he didn’t want to relive when his lips had touched cold skin.
He shivered like the chill was still stuck in his bones, taking slow steps forward.
Tango was mumbling under his breath.
That’s a good sign, he reasoned, chewing on his lip. He got closer still, and this time he could hear the words, recognise the voice.
“Ohh, slime, we found slime? Good, good, great!”
Tango.
Relief flooded him, and his shoulders dropped from where they’d been hiking further and further up. He smiled, a perk in his step as he crept up behind the netherborn.
At the same time as he wrapped his arms around Tango’s waist, draping himself over his back, Jimmy announced his presence, “Hey, rancher.”
Tango yelped, jumping and turning his head as best he could. His body went hotter than normal for a few seconds, the surprise causing him to lose his grip on his internal temperature, but the heat against Jimmy’s body was addicting.
The cold in his body burned up the moment he was safely nestled in his Tango’s orbit.
When Tango processed who was behind him, he relaxed, pressing back into the hug and cooling down under his chest. Jimmy tried not to feel disappointed at that.
“Jimmy! You scared me, dude, warn a man!”
He giggled, pressing his face into the side of Tango’s neck, relishing in the little skin he could find. He wished the man wasn’t so afraid of burning others with his touch; Jimmy liked feeling him under his hands, not his clothes.
… That wording made it sound… Nevermind.
“Hey.” He said again, albeit a bit lamely.
Tango didn’t seem to mind, a smile in his voice, “You miss me?”
Jimmy laughed again, but it lacked most of its humour. Did he miss Tango? Did the sun miss the moon, did the grass miss the rain? Did he miss him — Jimmy had very nearly snapped at the false Tango he was put beside, an uncanny feeling crawling under his skin the moment he felt the chill. He would’ve died had he gone another week without the man.
But he couldn’t admit all of that, lest he sound insane, so he settled for something simple: “Of course I did.”
Tango, who either didn’t understand or didn’t know, tilted his head, immediately recognising something off in his tone, “It hasn’t been that long—”
In lieu of response, Jimmy shakes his head, it wasn’t the same, pressing harder into the crook of Tango’s neck and soaking up as much heat as he could. Tango dropped the matter, pressing a soft kiss into the gold of Jimmy’s hair, leaning back into his embrace. His wings ruffled and then readjusted on his back, pleased, happy.
“C’mon, let me see your handsome face, scoot back.”
And Jimmy did not blush at the casual compliment, thankyouverymuch.
Tango turned in his arms, and he moved back to give the netherborn space but he was simply pulled closer again, hands fiddling with the front of his superhero hoodie. A dumb smirk pulled at his lips, and Jimmy found himself staring at his mouth, his hands resting on the man’s hips.
“Oh wow. I nearly forgot about this one.” Tango tapped the messily embroidered ‘S’ on the front.
Jimmy bit his lip, embarrassed and well aware of his younger self’s shoddy taste in clothes. The light teasing from Tango was the mildest reaction, however, and he was silently thankful for that.
“Yeah, Joel made me pull this old thing back out. Scott’s changed to old clothes too, and he looks much lamer than me.”
Tango hums. The other names filtered right out of his brain, eyes only on one. Normally, he would keep track of all the people mentioned in passing, recalling his alliances and making quick decisions based on who-said-what. But that sort of thinking didn’t work when he had an armful of Jimmy.
“It’s cute.” Jimmy had a pretty blush spreading up his neck, and Tango’s smile probably looked dorky. He glanced down at the other man’s lips again, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you shaved, too.”
Jimmy ducks his head, shy, “Ah, yeah, I did. Does it look… Do I look dumb?”
Tango snickered, tilting his head, “Nah, you don’t, but I prefer it as you had it before.”
“Scratchy, though, isn’t it?”
Tango shrugged, “I’m used to it.”
There was a short pause before Jimmy hummed in quiet response. He pressed their foreheads together, bumping their noses affectionately. Tango felt his internal temperature kick up a few degrees at the proximity, and he bit his lip to hold back a stupid, sappy giggle.
Eyes meet his lips once more, and the swirling fire that rests in his chest practically purrs in anticipation. Tango takes a deep breath, quietening the flame. Jimmy always seemed to know exactly how to make his temperature act up, intentionally or not.
His voice was a bit softer this time, spoken quiet just for them, “You’re clingier than normal. Did something happen last session?”
A few emotions ran through his face in response, and Tango frowned at it. Last session… He can’t quite recall it, like the memories were there but they slipped through his fingers last minute.
Jimmy seemed to decide on an expression; fond, and Tango didn’t have enough time to brace himself.
“Can’t I be sweet to my soulmate?”
Soulmate.
Tango melts. The word still gives him goosebumps, his tail curling around his ankle tightly, keeping him grounded. Fingers twitched against Jimmy’s hoodie, and the sudden rise in temperature made his hair glow brighter.
“Of course you can,” he said at last, a bit breathless and nothing but lovesick, “But can’t I worry over you?”
There’s a hand at his jaw, then, holding him like he was delicate and distractedly thumbing over his bottom lip. Tango swallowed.
“I’m just happy to see you.” Jimmy’s voice was as low as Tango’s had been, and he dared describe it as intimate, especially with his breath ghosting over his lips, “Promise.”
That same anticipation rolled deeper inside Tango’s stomach, and he found himself staring at the pretty pink lips barely an inch from his own. He preferred how they looked when they were kissed red, bitten raw and wet, how Jimmy’s pupils grew big and gave him the most tempting puppy dog eyes, how his breath sounded when Tango took his fair share of oxygen from the man.
Who can blame him? Jimmy’s best look was when he was a mess.
He laid the bait, feeling a bit bold and a lot touch starved, “Okay. Prove it then.”
Snap. Hook, line, sinker.
Jimmy didn't tug him forward, didn't pull him up into his embrace, no, he leaned down, crowding him against the crafting table, stepping right into his personal space. Tango’s breath left him in a shudder, curling fingers hard into the fabric of his sweater. Jimmy kissed him with purpose, with need, want, like he was the last dessert on the cake stand, or his last meal on death row.
It was strange, being savoured so carefully, the skin of his neck cradled like he couldn’t easily burn away fingerprints like a grill set to hell. Jimmy was one of the only people who wasn’t afraid to be burned, who stepped into Tango’s bubble and didn’t hesitate to test the limits, who trusted Tango more than Tango trusted Tango.
It made him anxious, but he loved it, and he’d missed it.
Jimmy pulled a breath away after an admittedly very long kiss, and he stayed connected to the man in every way bar lips for a few moments. His eyes were lidded, and Tango would’ve thought they were still closed if he couldn’t feel the gaze heavy on his mouth. He barely got time to wet his lips before Jimmy seemed to change his mind and dip back in.
Tango grinned. In another life, when they were still fresh to each other and the addiction that comes with new relationships, Jimmy had shyly admitted that once he started kissing Tango, he found it very hard to stop. Especially after long periods apart. He assumed this was one of those moments, what with Jimmy pressing in deeper and deeper like there was a prize waiting for him in the back of Tango’s mouth.
A careful hand wrapped in a fingerless, flame resistant glove slid up the pale nape of Jimmy’s neck, threading through the longer hair at the back of his head. Apparently, going along with his theme of dressing as his younger self, he was growing his hair out to the shaggy cut he used to sport. Initially Tango had mixed feelings about the style. Now, however, as he gave it a firm tug and received a surprised, broken groan against his mouth in response, he realised it was hot.
It wasn’t the only thing.
Tango was becoming increasingly aware of his skin beginning to burn hot, and he was struggling to focus on keeping that internal flame at bay when he had Jimmy all over him like he was a returning soldier from the war. He tried to pull back a little, allow space between their bodies for air to flow through and cool them down.
Jimmy had other plans.
Tango’s clothes were thick, insulating, keeping his inhumanly high body heat in and allowing any normal person to touch his clothes without fear of being burned.
It was safe, and it was familiar, and Jimmy hated it. He’d hated it before, quietly, when Tango had mumbled confessions and fears to him (and only him, mind you, the secret still clogged his throat in grouped affectionate moments, when Tango mournfully watched or pulled away) under his breath on that dingy, broken ranch under the stars. And he hated it now, when all he could think of was how much heat he was missing out on.
When Tango pulled back the smallest amount, Jimmy remembered the cold cheek he kissed the previous session, the chill surrounding his soulmate, the uncomfortable, twisting feeling in his chest when he looked into those false eyes and saw brown instead of red. He remembered, and he didn’t want to, and he pressed closer yet to smother the ice.
Teeth scraped against Tango’s wet lips, coaxing out shaky, whiny noises, and Jimmy happily swallowed down each gasp like it was the air he needed to survive. The hand resting protectively at Tango’s hip found the hem of his shirt, immediately crawling up under the fabric.
And God, that heat.
His touch was light at first, testing the waters politely before digging his fingers in, the muscle dipping under his grip, the skin threatening to burn his hand. It was like reaching into a fire, the flames licking at exposed skin, looking for dry cloth to catch and spread to. The adrenaline was making his heart race.
Tango was steaming.
His touch draws a shuddering gasp out of Tango’s mouth, and the bare skin on his own proves to be all too much at once. His hands find Jimmy’s and rush to tug him off his skin, and the grip makes him realise the other was physically shaking. Tango tilts his head down, parting their lips (with a little string of saliva that, unfortunately, breaks at the distance) and squeezing his eyes shut, breathing hard.
He’s worried for a moment that he’s hurt the other, or pushed too hard at his limits, but when he tries to pull further away and give him space, Tango holds him steady. The message was clear then, and it was one he’d seen and heard before.
He didn’t want Jimmy to leave, but he was afraid to burn him. Even with the minuscule skin to skin contact, Tango was unsure, scared.
It made his chest feel weird.
While he stayed quiet to allow Tango his breath back, the way he could still feel the heat radiating off his body from an inch away doesn’t escape his notice. Jimmy licks his lips. He might just be addicted to it.
Maybe more than addicted, if that were possible, because it didn’t take long before he had the urge to press back in and accept the fire damage as karma. To push the limits again, to show his soulmate he wasn’t afraid of a little burn.
Instead, with his voice rough and dry like he’d inhaled smoke, he begs; “Tango.”
What was slowly cooling boils back up in an instant, and when Tango opens his eyes Jimmy feels his heart go funny. The man was pleading without saying a word, fingers tightening on Jimmy’s wrists as he took what was supposed to be a controlled breath — it shook on its end, a testament to what Jimmy does to him.
His voice was equally a mess, quiet and nervous and kissed raw, “I’ll burn you if you keep kissing me like that.”
The response was easy.
“Then I’ll burn.”
And Jimmy kisses him again, like that.
Tango whimpers, but the pretty sound is muffled by tongue and lips and need. The hands cuffing his own loosen, and he pulls away from the weak grip to take his prize. A strong arm curving around Tango’s side, hand up his shirt, splaying across the burning stretch of skin at his back, and the other cradling his face once more, holding him perfectly like he was carved to fit in Jimmy’s hands. He felt the front of Tango’s vest digging into his stomach, and he committed the feeling to memory.
Tango was something written into the very fiber of his being, carved into a dedicated section of his mind, the expanse of his body against his own one of his go-to daydreams. Tango was his.
And the man didn’t hesitate to unconsciously prove the feeling mutual. Tango was breathless, sucking in gulps of air between kisses in a rush, pressing back in as if too much time spent apart would kill him. Idly, Jimmy wondered if Tango felt the same addiction as he, like he couldn’t stop once he started. His grip on Jimmy’s collar was certainly evidence towards it, dragging him closer whenever he pulled back to take breaths of his own.
But Jimmy wanted to taste more of Tango, wanted to re-find his place at his neck and mouth at the sweat on the burning skin, and the netherborn’s refusal to let him pull aware for a mere second certainly put a hitch in that plan.
So, he chose the next best solution, and bit Tango’s bottom lip, hard.
The reaction was immediate. Instinctively, Tango pulled back much more than just a breath, cursing through a low groan before pressing his tongue to his sore lip. His pupils were huge, and he was glaring up at Jimmy through his lashes. Then, he grinned. Masochist.
Jimmy took the opportunity, pulling his hand from his jaw to curl a finger in his collar, tugging it away and putting his neck on display. Tango stiffened, and the heat at his hands seemed to increase tenfold.
He leaned in, bumping his forehead against Tango’s hair line affectionately, and spoke low in his ear, “Relax. Breathe.”
And, to his credit, Tango would do anything Jimmy told him to in a heartbeat.
Gloved fingers slid up the back of Jimmy’s head as he ducked to the newly exposed skin, and they tightened in long strands of gold when lips pressed to the surface. The kisses laid there were gentler than the ones to Tango’s mouth, soft and slow but no less wet. Tango realised he was holding his breath when Jimmy’s hand tightened at his shoulder in a silent reminder of his command, and he shuddered out the air all at once.
The collar of his shirt usually sat snug around his throat, further up from where Jimmy was, but Tango knew if he felt the brush of teeth to his skin, the resulting marks would trail high enough for everyone to see. And they’d know how he got them, no matter what lame excuses he provided.
As tempting as it was, he wasn’t eager for extra eyes on him during a death game, especially approaching the third session.
When he opened his mouth to speak, those daring teeth announced their presence, scraping canines along the flesh of his trapezius, and his sentence choked to a dead end before it could really begin.
“Jim—my.”
He felt the heat flood his body, and with it, he felt his soulmate curl even closer with the temperature increase. Tango couldn’t swallow his whine fast enough. Jesus.
Beautiful golden wings, ones that usually stayed politely tucked against Jimmy’s back, instinctively spread open at the noise and feel of Tango’s legs threatening to fail on him, and he recognised the display for what it was: a show reserved for partners.
When the avian stopped his ministrations to roughly shove his wings back into their quiet fold, Tango snickered. Pretty, always so pretty. If he were an avian himself, such a spread would have him finding excuses to push back the session starting time. Even as he was now, it was tempting.
But Tango chose to be responsible, nudging him away. Jimmy let him, red faced (from his instinctual actions, or from the heat, Tango’d never know) and breathing hard. Tango grinned up at him.
“Easy, cowboy.”
Jimmy licked his lips. Obviously, he wasn’t even close to being done with Tango, and he spoke rapid fire, breathless, a question within his question, “How long ‘til the session starts?”
Tango laughed then, pulling his hands away and holding onto the table behind him, ignoring the resulting smell of smouldering wood, “Not long enough.”
The sigh he got in return was annoyed and dramatic, and Jimmy dropped his head to the crook of Tango’s neck. This time, however, he simply pressed his forehead to the skin, staring down at his chest and fiddling with his collar.
Tango focused on cooling himself down, having gotten way too close to burning the other nearly the entire time. When Jimmy finally spoke up, it was mumbled, a quiet admission, “I wish we shared a server.”
The raw vulnerability made Tango frown, equally as saddened by fact. Deciding his temperature had dropped enough to hold Jimmy, his arms curled around his waist, and he pressed his own face into the avian's neck, “Yeah. Me too.”
Softer still, “I really missed you.”
As if that weren’t obvious enough.
“I missed you more.”
Jimmy shook his head, accidentally bumping Tango’s jaw with the movement, “Nah. Impossible.”
“You wanna bet, pretty boy?”
There was no time to relish in the cute squeak of a reaction he got as their communicators pinged at the same time. They both knew what it meant, but Jimmy just slumped further into Tango’s arms.
“I don’t wanna go,” he whined.
Tango giggled, “C’mon, I’ll walk you home.”
When Jimmy pulls back, he employs the use of his finest weapon; his huge brown puppy dog eyes.
Not fair. There’s not even shields in this version. Tango, of course, melts, lifting a hand to caress his cheek and nearly cooing when Jim presses into it.
“You’ll see me during the session, you big baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jimmy doesn’t budge, “Promise?”
Tango doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s tempting, “I promise. Now quick, before it gets dark.”
The eyebrow wiggle that follows is so stupid that he nearly laughs in Jimmy’s face, but the words do end up pulling a lame snort from him, “Ohh, but then I get to sleep over.”
And he winked, the cheesy bastard.
“Not to burst your bubble, love, but I share the basement with Impulse and Ren.”
Jimmy bit his lip, smile never faltering, “Well... I don’t see them.”
“Jimmy,” He says, fond but exasperated.
Finally, finally, he huffs and pulls back, catching Tango’s hand and pouting, “Party pooper.”
He snickers, and swings their arms as they walk the short distance to the door. Tango remembers something from earlier, and nudges Jimmy’s arm to catch his attention.
“I prefer with the beard, by the way.”
Jimmy raises an eyebrow, rubbing his jaw at the mention, “Oh? You like the scratchiness?”
And Tango gives him a heated look, glancing to his mouth for good measure, “You know I like it rough.”
Jimmy all but stumbles, flustered in mere moments with a cute red face, stuttering out various words before cutting himself off with an affronted, “Tango!”
He holds his ground, “Oh, what, you can be suggestive but I can’t?”
The spluttering doesn’t end, but he manages to spit out a sentence amongst it, “There’s a difference between suggestive and—and— obscene!”
Tango laughs, loud and happy and he takes a step closer just so he can turn and hide his face in Jimmy’s shoulder.
“Oh, I love you.”
Jimmy still couldn’t find his words, opting for a pathetic and whingey, “Tango.”
“Say it back.”
Jimmy bumps his head on Tango’s own where it was still pressed to his body, “I love you too, dork.”
“Eh, I’ll take it.”