Notes: Written late one night on a whim. A lot of the AJ/Daniels I've seen lately is all them post Daniels going to ROH and is consequently angsty as balls. I wanted to do something with them when things were still good. In my mind, this takes place fairly early in their relationship/career. Mindless fluff ahead. Please enjoy.
You collapse beside him, panting lightly as you struggle to catch your breath. One of his arms wraps around your shoulders and pulls you in closer, maneuvering your head to rest on his chest; whether by accident or design, you're not sure. Nor do you care; he's comfortable and you're exhausted, still trembling from the force of your climax only moments before. You can hear his heart pounding away in his chest, or maybe it's only your own echoing in your ears.
His skin is soft and smooth beneath your fingertips, damp with sweat, but you couldn't stop touching him if you tried. You can't get enough of his skin, tracing each subtle ridge of bone, firm press of muscle, reading his skin like Braille. A small part of you worries that he will get annoyed with you and make you stop, but you have been together like this for long enough that you figure you're probably safe. And he doesn't seem to mind. It feels like these quiet moments don't happen as often as they used to, especially since Joe started rooming with the both of you. You like Joe, Chris likes Joe, he is more than willing to pay his share of everything and he doesn't hog the shower like Chris is known to do… but your schedule is tight enough already without having to worry about Joe. Where he is, if he's around, or when he'll be back if he's not.
So you revel in the feel of his skin beneath your hands, moving across his chest in metered strokes, down his abdomen and back up, never keeping still. You drink in his skin like a man parched, a man who has never seen water and sometimes, in moments like this, it feels like you are that man. That you have been wandering in the desert your entire life and only now have discovered cool, sweet water. And softness.
You smirk to yourself and shake your head slightly as the last thought crosses through your mind. When the hell did you get so sappy? You press your palm to his chest to steady yourself and as you open your eyes slowly, you notice your fingers are half-covering the ankh inked into his sternum. It's not the first time you've seen an ankh symbol, not even the first time you've seen an ankh tattooed on someone, but the way Chris wears his so proudly on his chest is unique. And it must've hurt like hell; not that you know anything about what it feels like to get a tattoo, but you vaguely remember hearing from some of the more inked guys you've met in the business that places where the skin runs thin over the bones are some of the most painful.
You find yourself tracing the black ink with your fingertips over and over again, and before you can stop yourself, you speak quietly, breaking the peaceful silence.
"What's it mean?"
When Chris does not respond right away, you tilt your head back at something of an awkward angle to meet his eyes. His eyes open slowly, the meticulously applied kohl now smudged almost to nonexistence, and his gaze focuses on the ceiling for a moment, and then on you. His lips curl into a slight smirk, the one that says he knows everything you don't and the one you normally want to smack him for, and you would now, if you weren't naked and extremely sated.
His gaze shifts again, down the length of his body where your fingertips are currently attempting to memorize exactly the shape and location of his tattoo. He smiles down at your ministrations and speaks quietly.
"Life. It means life… or eternal life."
"Life…" you echo. That doesn't necessarily answer your question, or maybe you should have been more specific and added the "to you" at the end of it. You had hoped he would have just inferred what you were getting at; Chris has always been eerily good at guessing the things you've never been able to say.
He laughs then, a low rumble you feel as much as hear from your position, your head still pillowed on his chest. You glance up at him again, slightly annoyed, but the smile on his face is too honest for the feeling to linger. For a moment, it seems he will elaborate and perhaps answer the question you didn't quite ask, but he's silent. You bite your lip and hold a quick internal debate, weighing the reaction from him if the question is too personal and the amount of satisfaction you would receive from said answer.
"Why did you choose to get it?"
His eyes are closed again and he's smiling up at the ceiling, the absolute picture of contentment. You almost hate to break it, but your curiosity is killing you.
"My Egyptian roots," he answers lazily, his eyes still closed. You wait, but that seems like all the answer he's going to give.
"So are you really from Egypt or something? You definitely have the look."
"I'm from Michigan."
You huff out a sigh; you should've known better then to expect a straight answer from him. He hears you and chuckles again, the laughter vibrating through your body. His hand comes up, his fingers running through your hair, and settle around the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking below the hairline. You want to be annoyed with him, you really do, but the gentle movement is enough to dissipate every negative emotion and you lie limply against him and make a little noise low in your throat. You can almost feel him smirking, but as long as he keeps going, you don't really care what he does anymore. A few quiet minutes past, and just when you had given up on him ever answering you, he begins to speak.
"Life…" he says so quietly you have to strain to hear him. "It's hard. There are terrible people doing terrible things. Sometimes it's you doing terrible things. There are times when all you feel is pain and darkness. I got it to remind me that out of pain and darkness comes the things worth living for."
The hand on the back of your neck stills, and you muster the energy to look up. You had expected him to be lying there with his eyes closed and his head back, the picture of contentment he was earlier, but he is looking straight at you. There's something in the air now, some poignancy, and you are scared, almost terrified of the question that trembles on your lips. But you can't not ask it. You can't. You raise yourself up on your arms a bit and take a deep breath.
"What kinds of things?" Your voice is barely a whisper.
He doesn't answer right away; instead he reaches for you and pulls you to him. It brings you off balance and again, you press your hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat steadily against your palm. He leans up and kisses you, at first just brushing his lips against yours, but before long he has both arms wrapped around you, kissing you so deeply and thoroughly you forget to breath.
Your arms, already over-exerted from practice earlier in the day, warn you that you can't stay like this much longer. With the last of your strength, you pull away from him and maneuver yourself down over his chest, pressing a brief, gentle kiss to the center of the ankh. You flop back down half on top of him and half beside him; he grunts out an "oof" – in something of an overdramatic fashion, in your opinion – as your weight lands on him. You readjust your position beside him, your hand still on his chest, and his arms wrap around you again. His fingertips resume the soft stroking of the back of your neck and your eyes close with pure contentment. You're nearly dozing when something occurs to you.
"How long 'til Joe comes back?"
He shifts to check the clock on the nightstand.
"About an hour. We have time."
You curl into Chris's side and sigh happily. In about fifteen minutes, or so you tell yourself, you'll get up and take a shower. Right now you are content to lay here, touching and being touched, having nowhere else you need to be and nothing else you have to be doing. Later there would be rushing and travelling, pain and exhaustion and hunger. There would be caution and worry, denial and hiding.
But right now, in this moment… there is softness and contentment and peace made all the more perfect for the darkness and the uncertainty that surrounds it.