[AN: weird(ly complete) gore. probably needs some editing.]

Rick is taller than him. He knew that, but it's strange to see it in action. Rick's head is pointed slightly down to look Vyvyan in the eye because fuck, he's shorter. He's the smaller one. Vyvyan bares his teeth in a twisted smile.

'What are you up to now, Rick.'

'How good are you?'

Rick's hand is on the wall beside Vyvyan's head. He's very close.

'I'm good,' Vyvyan says, and laughs. 'I'm the fucking best. Good at what?'

'At cutting. Neatly. I'll be damned if it's going to be you that kills me.'

Vyvyan swallows heavily. 'What do you mean,' he asks lowly.

'You're an idiot.'

Rick's voice comes out aggressive and raw. His brow is creased and his mouth is pursed. Vyvyan wonders what's got him so tightly clenched this time. He's not sure he minds.

'Have you been drinking?'

Vyvyan weighs the merits of lying. 'Yes. Not a lot.'

'Hold your hand out.'

Vyvyan has to reach one arm up above his head to escape Rick's proximity. Rick makes an annoyed noise, stepping back and tugging Vyvyan's hand out to hover flat in the air. It doesn't shake.

'Okay,' Rick says. The second syllable trails into something breathy. He licks over his bottom lip briefly. 'We're going to your room. I don't want blood in mine.'

'Blood,' Vyvyan repeats, and stumbles when Rick wrenches at his wrist. 'Rick, what are you asking me,' he says when they're at the stairs. Rick isn't looking at him. His fingers twitch on the doorhandle.

'I know,' Rick says before he's entered the room, then sits over on Vyvyan's bed, head bowed. Vyvyan sits across from him, on the desk. 'I know you've been studying it. You know what's inside there. You won't mess anything up.'

'You want to see it?'

'No.' Rick scratches a fingernail over the back of his own hand. 'I don't. You do.'

'I—' Vyvyan tries to centre his weight. Tries to sit still. To think. Time slows down around him, static caught in the air. Rick's head turns up at the slowest pace, his eyes settling over Vyvyan's face. They're impossibly wide. Impossibly blue. So very, very alive.

'Get your medical kit.'

This could end so very badly.

'Now.'

Vyvyan scrambles to the floor, dragging the box out from underneath his bed. It's a plastic toolbox, bought because it was cheap and big, split into compartments. Vyvyan's been collecting, over the years. Things lifted from drawers, uni items stashed into pockets. He's got everything he needs. He can do it. It's madness, it's absolutely ludicrous, he can't do this. But theoretically… theoretically he can because he's got everything. He could do it. Fuck, he could do it.

Rick's hand presses down on the top of his head, crushing his mohawk, the pressure keeping Vyvyan on his knees. His limbs still their rummaging in the toolbox.

'You'll do it?' Rick's voice sounds small, far away. 'Nod.'

Vyvyan nods. The weight feels odd on his head. It sends something trickling down his spine, pooling in his toes.

Rick takes a deep breath. 'I'm trusting you. It's in your hands. For the love of god, Vyvyan, don't fuck it up. And don't—' Rick's swallow is loud in the small space. 'Don't show me. I don't… I'm not good with blood.'

The hand lifts. Vyvyan sits back on his heels. He's got disinfectant swabs in one hand and an empty syringe in the other.

'I've got regional,' he says. 'If you want it. It'll numb the area. Or…'

'Or,' Rick says. It doesn't sound like a question.

Vyvyan breathes out slowly. 'I've got a topical gel.'

Rick nods. His eyes have closed. He sits for a moment, and then lifts his hands to his throat and begins to undo his buttons.

Vyvyan straightens his shoulders out. Tries to breathe. Tries to process. Systematically collects the equipment he needs. Swabs. Suturing tools, for after. Gauze, for after. For now… for now he needs… God. Vyvyan rubs a knuckle over his eyebrow. Rick wants this. Rick wants it.

'Rick,' he says. Rick has lain himself down on the bed, chest rising and falling in a heavy pattern.

'Stop thinking,' Rick tells him.

Vyvyan nods. Looks back down. More swabs. Gel. Scalpel. His best one, his sharpest one, his longest one. His previously unused one. He sets them out in a line on the box and pushes it evenly against the bed frame, climbing over it onto the bed.

'And what do you get,' Vyvyan asks softly. He positions himself over Rick's legs, sits cautiously. Rick's hands waver then settle over his knees. 'What do I owe you for this.'

'Nothing.' Rick inhales slowly and lets it out through his nose. 'You want it and I want you to have it. That's it. No ulterior motive.'

'Rick.' Vyvyan bends forward, inspecting Rick's expression while Rick's eyes are closed. 'Why. Why would you want this if you don't… don't… want this.'

'Because I do,' Rick says. 'Can I touch you?'

'You don't have to agree to this to do that.'

Rick's brows knit together. 'I'm not. Stop talking, Vyvyan. I just want something to hold onto while you're doing it. Which you will do. Very soon.'

Rick's hands move up from Vyvyan's knees, gripping at his waist instead. Two of his fingers tuck in over his belt, holding.

'Yes, Rick,' Rick grits.

'Yes, Rick,' Vyvyan echoes. He pushes the sides of Rick's shirt down, taking in the parameters of Rick's torso, noting the protrusions of bone. 'Here,' he murmurs, and touches his fingers to the point beneath Rick's ribs. 'In this space. That's all right?'

'You're the doctor.'

A heat flares in Vyvyan's chest, threatens for a moment to almost blind him with fervour, with a craving that courses through his veins. He excuses himself, tripping into the bathroom across the landing, washing his hands again and again and again, not looking at his reflection. His nails are short and he digs the soap underneath as best he can. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing will.

In the bedroom, he sits on Rick again. Rubs his hands twice with disinfectant. Doesn't lean down, doesn't kiss. He spreads the gel out with the heel of his palm, pressing in firm. Rick's eyes don't open, not when Vyvyan digs his nails as deep as he can into Rick's skin.

'Can you feel that?'

'Almost,' Rick murmurs.

'You'll feel this.'

The scalpel cuts easily, deep and clean. Blood spills over and Vyvyan brings his knees up to clench around Rick's torso, denims soaking up the worst of it. Rick gurgles, something unexpected and pained torn from him. His fingers fit back at Vyvyan's belt, more of them, creeping in and gripping hard at the leather. His knuckles dig into Vyvyan's hipbones.

'I know it hurts,' Vyvyan says, which is stupid because he's got a knife in Rick's chest and Rick's blood smudged up to his elbows and it's not really a pressing issue, nor one that Vyvyan is likely to acknowledge, but if Rick were to take his mind away from the laceration in his chest then he'd feel Vyvyan's erection against him. Vyvyan doubts it's the highest of his priorities.

'Did you hit anything,' Rick rasps. Vyvyan doesn't know whether he sounds concerned or not.

'I know what I'm doing.' Vyvyan presses his fingers down into Rick's chest, the warmth folding in over them. 'There's a tendon here, a flat one, it'll recover quickly. This is between your muscles. No bones, no veins. You're happy with that?'

Rick leans his head to the side. His legs are shaking. Vyvyan pushes his hand deeper. His fingers hit the point of Rick's sternum, soft beneath a layer of sinew. Past that, the muscle presses easily. Rick chokes.

'Your diaphragm is under there,' Vyvyan tells him. He doesn't mean for the glee to seep so potently through his voice. 'I could get it out. I could show you. It's right there.'

Rick's eyes open. They're weeping. Large and blue and clouded, staring, staring, while his breathing labours. Vyvyan can't help the smile that spreads over his face.

'I've got my hand in your chest, Rick. Do you want to see?'

Rick shakes his head.

'Regret it, yet?'

Rick's mouth twitches. He either laughs or coughs or it could be both. His muscles surge around Vyvyan's knuckles. He shakes his head again.

'You're a sweet kid,' Vyvyan murmurs. The blood has eased up, sloshing inside the cavern of Rick's chest, drying in crusted flakes up Vyvyan's arm, drawing the skin in tight.

Rick's fingers leave his belt, clutching around where his shirt has ridden up, instead, digging in and pulling. Vyvyan's skin cells collect easily beneath Rick's fingernails. Vyvyan's breath stutters and he laughs, loudly, on the edge of hysteria. He extracts his hand and sets it high on Rick's chest, dribbling blood over the curve of his ribs. Vyvyan uses the purchase to pull himself forward and press his mouth to Rick's chin. Not kissing, just… breathing. Against his skin.

'Oh, you're clever.' Vyvyan is still laughing. He lets his teeth scrape over skin. 'I want all of it. I want to see all of them and touch all of them. Say you'll let me. You have to let me.'

'Stitch it up,' Rick says, his breath warm over the side of Vyvyan's face. Vyvyan pushes himself back up, running his hands down either side of Rick's open torso. He shifts his legs slightly so they don't dry to Rick's sides, then lifts the suturing kit.

It's almost the same level of euphoria, threading the needle through Rick's skin, the cavern only growing more tantalising as it grows smaller. They're good stitches. Tight, concise. Better than the ones Vyvyan tried last week on the orange, but he had been half-eating that at the time. This is serious. This is for real. This is the most exquisite piece of art he's ever achieved.

He uses spit and his own bundled up shirt to wipe the worst of the blood away, then disinfects dutifully around the wound, checking from different angles that it's clean, that it's closed, that it's at no risk. Rick had been watching him at first, but his eyes are closed by the time Vyvyan is finished. Vyvyan steps from the bed and strips his denims off, struggling with the weight of them, blood trickling down his shins. When they're off, he wipes over his legs with the last clean sleeve of his shirt and then hovers back over Rick.

The stitches look harsh against his skin, clinical and so very human. Vyvyan peels off the back of the gauze pad and reluctantly presses it over the sight, patting the edges down.

'Are you leaving?' he asks quietly.

Rick doesn't answer. He breathes strongly through his nose. Something trills inside Vyvyan, deep in the chemical makeup of his brain, but his senses overrule it.

'I've got a disgusting room, Rick. You can't stay here.'

The breathing continues.

'Look,' Vyvyan hunches down beside the bed, leaning in close to Rick's head. 'I don't know if you're putting this on or not, but we can't both stay. I can't risk anything bothering your stitches in the night. If they pull or grow infected, it's not going to be pleasant for either one of us. So I can't, not tonight. But in a week, Rick, if you just ask. It's all you have to do. Just ask.'

Rick still doesn't respond, but his breathing isn't even, not like it should be, not like Vyvyan is used to hearing in the lounge room late at night.

'Okay,' Vyvyan says. 'You stay here, and I'll go to your room, and I'll check on you in the morning.'

Vyvyan tugs the duvet down from beneath Rick's legs, pulling it up and over him, careful of its placement. Then he looks down at Rick, kicks himself for being so bloody sentimental, and barely stops himself in time from saying thank you. He leaves the room in silence.