Thrax and Ozzy lingered outside the cell's apartment as the shorter man fumbled around in his pocket for the key. Thrax sighed, ever impatient, and asked what the hell he was waiting for.
Ozzy looked up at him, puzzled. "What do you mean…? I'm lookin' for my key." Thrax raised an eyebrow and chuckled to himself while leaning back against the corridor wall. He had never had a use for keys; he'd always used his strength or charm to force his way through any door. Ozzy frowned at the lack of response and slotted the correct key into the door.
Thrax followed Ozzy into his flat and scowled at the dark, insalubrious room before him. Jones dares to call this hovel a 'home'? What a disgrace.
He held back a sneer as he scanned the living room, which was basically empty, save for a table, a few plastic chairs, and a mouldy old sofa in front of a small-screen TV, connected to a dingy kitchen, all lit by a dim light bulb in the ceiling without a lampshade.
It wasn't untidy, but it wasn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. It seemed almost criminal to Thrax that a cop as bold and as brave as Jones should live in such squalor. He was the only cell to ever figure him out, after all, and Thrax couldn't help but think that he deserved more than this.
Ozzy slid his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor and not bothering to hang it. He cricked his neck from side to side, trying to release all the tension his body had felt in the last 48 hours. Thrax found himself staring at the man in front of him, not having noticed the shape of his torso before.
His shoulders were surprisingly broad for a cell, and his back tapered down to a slight waist, just above his tight, black jeans. Thrax stopped there, forcing himself to stare up at the ceiling, cursing under his breath. This was the man who had ruined his life, and he shouldn't be throwing any compliments his way, even if they were all in his head.
Ozzy turned to see Thrax standing under the doorframe awkwardly, almost filling it completely. He gestured for Thrax to follow him in and pointed at the table with his thumb. "Uh… d'ya want somethin' to eat?" he asked, unsure if the virus even ate at all.
Thrax rolled his eyes and sighed, before sauntering over to the table, swaying his hips with every step. He sat on one of the small, plastic chairs, causing it to creak under his weight, and crossed one leg over the other.
Ozzy took this as a yes and grabbed a pot noodle from the almost bare cupboard in his kitchen. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the room, the only noise coming from the water boiling in the kettle beside Ozzy as he leaned against the kitchen counter, tapping his fingers on the worktop.
What the hell have I got myself into? And why hasn't he tried to kill me yet?
When the kettle finished boiling, Ozzy poured the water into the pot noodle and grabbed a fork, before bringing it over to the table. Thrax looked at the 'meal' with disdain and curled his top lip in disgust. "That's what you serve to your guests, Jones? Noodles in a cardboard cup?!" he spat, making Ozzy feel a bit offended.
The shorter man turned around in a huff, grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and poured the contents of the pot noodle into it. He stormed back over to Thrax and slung the bowl onto the table in front of him, spilling some broth over the sides. "Is that better, your Highness?"
Thrax scowled at the bowl and then slowly looked up at the man standing in front of him. "And how do you expect me to eat…", he lifted his hands, which were still encased in metal, "...like this?", he asked, a big grin now spreading across his face.
He knew that without his claws he probably wouldn't be able to inflict much damage on the cell, so he figured that he might as well enjoy toying with Jones for now, as well as seeing just how far he could push him.
Ozzy groaned and gritted his teeth, wondering why he had even bothered saving this irritating man's life in the first place. He scrunched up his nose as he realised that Thrax was right; he couldn't possibly feed himself in this state. Ozzy shifted cautiously towards him and tentatively cupped the bowl in one hand with the fork in the other.
He leaned closer and gestured for Thrax to open his mouth. As he leaned over him, he realised that he could see some of his chest through a slight tear in his thick, grey sweater that must have been made during their fight. Ozzy stood on his tiptoes to get a better view, enthralled by the way Thrax's rough skin stretched over the firm muscles on his chest.
So engrossed by the view, Ozzy had let the bowl tip a little and some of the boiling water and broth spilled over the brim and splashed over Thrax's lap. Thrax yelled and instinctively smacked Ozzy round the head with his encased hands, cracking the metal slightly on his restraints and sending Ozzy flying into the wall, causing the contents of the bowl to spill all over the carpet. Thrax stood up and started hurling insults at Ozzy, who was now lying on the floor, unmoving and possibly unconscious.
He strode across the room and towered over him, glaring down. A small bruise was forming on the side of his head, the bowl still cupped by one of his hands. Suddenly, Thrax's anger subsided and he felt a pang of guilt run through him.
He shook his head and growled. He didn't quite understand where this sudden emotion had come from, nor why he felt it for a man that he hated. Maybe deep down he felt grateful that Jones had opened his home to him, despite obviously having very little to offer. It was either this or a jail cell, and Thrax didn't exactly fancy bunking with a load of germs.
He looked down at Ozzy again and sighed, relaxing his shoulders and cocking his head. He looks so... small. Is this really the same man who took me down?
He peered over his shoulder at the carpet behind him and saw that the noodles and broth were starting to stain it. He winced a little, feeling slightly bad about having possibly ruined it. Although Thrax hated to admit it, this man did technically save him, and he was the only person to ever take him into his home or offer to make him a meal, despite Thrax trying to kill him on multiple occasions.
What possessed him to save me?
He kneeled down before Ozzy and prodded him with his sheathed hands. No response. Shit.
He poked him harder, provoking a groan. Okay, at least he's not dead.
Thrax jostled him a bit, trying to make him sit up, after which he clumsily placed him over his shoulder and trudged towards the sofa, where he slung him down.
He kneeled in front of Ozzy, holding his head up with his hands. Ozzy's eyes were closed and his mouth had fallen open slightly.
Thrax was then struck by just how handsome he found him: his deep blue nucleus surrounded by his glowing membrane; his goatee framing his chin perfectly; the small, translucent curls that hung down over his forehead; his ridiculously perfect white teeth.
Thrax was so captivated in that moment that he hadn't noticed Ozzy opening his eyes. He couldn't see very well, his vision blurred, but he could tell that Thrax was hovering just in front of his face.
"What are you lookin' at? Did you hit me just now?", he managed to say, breaking Thrax out of his spell.
Ozzy gazed at Thrax through hooded lids and Thrax returned the stare with his own flaming orbs. Both men looked at each other for a few seconds, trying to figure the other one out. They took in every change of expression, seeming to understand each other perfectly in that moment.
An eternity seemed to pass them by before Thrax was the one to break the connection, straightening himself and clearing his throat.
"Where ya goin'?", asked Ozzy weakly, as he followed Thrax with his eyes.
"To the bathroom, is that allowed?", retorted Thrax in low, dulcet tones. Ozzy nodded, thinking man, he's such a freak, and raised his hand to the side of his head where the pain was radiating from. The small bruise had swollen, and Ozzy winced as he touched it, screwing his eyes shut, still not quite sure about what had happened just now.
Slowly rising to his feet, he saw the mess that Thrax had made of his carpet. Sighing, he defeatedly grabbed a wet rag and started scrubbing the floor to try and absorb the broth before the rug had the chance to. "That stupid, lanky virus…", he mumbled.
A few moments later, Ozzy heard Thrax murmuring to himself. He stood to his full height, despite his body begging him to lay down, and slowly limped to the hallway just outside the bathroom. The light was on and the door was slightly ajar. The grumbling continued from the other side of the door, and Ozzy gulped before asking, "hey, Thrax, are you alright?"
Without thinking, he pushed the door open to find Thrax with his trousers and pants pooled around his ankles, thankfully facing the other way.
Ozzy started babbling apologies and Thrax turned around, presenting himself fully to the other man. Ozzy shrunk back, covered his eyes with his hands and started yelling, "hey, man, c'mon! Not cool! Haven't you got any shame?"
Thrax didn't quite understand what he meant, never having felt any abashment over his body before. He shrugged and responded, "I somehow managed to get my trousers off, but getting them on is more difficult." He waved his encased hands before raising his gaze. "You gonna help me out here or what?"
Ozzy peeped through the gap between two of his fingers and slowly lowered his hands, trying hard not to get another look at what was in front of him. He groaned and decided to help him from behind, figuring that having a man-butt in his face was probably less offensive than the massive viral rod that was staring at him.
He slid behind the other man and reached his hands down to grab his pants and trousers. He carefully jostled them upwards and heaved them over Thrax's hips, grazing his skin as he went.
Ozzy blushed a bit and mentally slapped himself, trying to imagine he was anywhere else. He did up Thrax's zip gingerly and fastened his belt, before hurriedly stalking out of the bathroom and throwing himself on the sofa with his hands over his face.
"You can have the bed… it's down the hall to your left", Ozzy groaned, while trying to get comfy on the itchy sofa.
Still in the bathroom, Thrax turned to look at himself in the mirror. To his surprise, he had a smile plastered on his face- a genuinely happy smile, with no trace of malice or scorn. Thrax didn't even know that this was possible in him and the smile quickly dissipated. He turned the light off and walked out into the small corridor, having to duck in the doorway.
Before heading towards the bedroom, he turned to look at the man on the sofa. He was already snoring, lying face up, his mouth slightly open and his left arm under his head, while his legs were splayed haphazardly, one hanging off the edge of the sofa and the other bent and pressed up against the back pillow.
The light from the street lit up his features in such a way that made Thrax want to stand there and gaze at him all night, but he shook his head and headed to the bedroom, shutting the door gently so as not to wake Ozzy.
The next morning, Thrax woke up in the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. He hadn't slept well at all, probably due to the fact that Ozzy's bed was way too short for him coupled with the fact that he still had the metal restraints around his hands. The tiredness meant that he had momentarily forgotten about the previous day's events.
As he looked down at his hands, it all came flooding back piece by piece: the feeling of victory as he took down Frank; the pride of having met his deadline with relative ease; the crushing disappointment that followed the second Jones had crashed into him in the air as he tried to make his escape; the confusing feelings he had started to have for the man he was effectively living with now.
Normally if Thrax had found someone lying unconscious on the floor, he'd have probably stomped on their head to finish them off, or at the very least stolen everything on their person.
For some reason, however, he had felt no desire to hurt Jones last night, despite him being the root of all of his current problems. In fact, he was almost glad when he realised that he wasn't dead. There was something about the cell that was different from all the others he had ever met, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.
As he looked around the small room he was in, he could see crumpled T-shirts strewn around the floor, posters of various music groups stuck on the walls in a seemingly random manner, and some photo frames with pictures of Ozzy.
Thrax heaved himself up from the bed and slowly walked over to get a closer look at one of the photos in particular. It seemed to be Ozzy on the day he graduated from the police force. He was beaming ear to ear and proudly holding his new, shiny badge in the air.
That's a nice photo of him… thought Thrax, before frowning over his own internal monologue. 'Nice' was not a word he tended to throw around lightly.
He looked back down at his hands again and noticed a small crack running down the side of the metal that encased them. How long has that been there?
He decided to leave the restraints on for now, content with the knowledge that he could free himself if he wanted to.
He opened the bedroom door, ducked under the door frame and walked down the corridor to the kitchen. He saw Ozzy lying in a different position to the one he was in last night: he was lying on his front now, his face shoved into the gap between the sofa and one of its cushions, his right arm bent awkwardly under his neck with his hand trailing over his left shoulder and his legs splayed out in two different directions.
This guy is way too trusting. How can he sleep there knowing that I'm in the next room? I could literally do anything to him right now.
Thrax went to the kitchen and opened the fridge with his foot. As he peered in, he grimaced at the lack of food. He hadn't eaten anything since he had arrived in Frank almost 3 days ago, and he was starving. He slammed the fridge door shut out of anger, waking Ozzy with a jump.
Ozzy groaned and lifted his head to look at Thrax over the back of the sofa. Thrax stifled a laugh when he saw how his face was squashed and his eyes were all squinted from lying against the cushion.
He pushed himself off of the sofa, muttering something that sounded like 'good morning' and trudged over to the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and removing his clothes as he went, leaving Thrax still in the kitchen.
The virus moved past the kitchen counter and slumped down onto the sofa, waiting patiently for Ozzy to emerge and maybe give him some food. He promised himself he wouldn't spill it everywhere this time as he saw the remnants of the pot noodle all over the floor. God, this sofa's uncomfortable. I can't believe he slept here.
Meanwhile in the bathroom, Ozzy turned on the water and stepped onto the shower plate, letting the freezing water run over him. He was all too used to an icy shower, and it didn't even phase him at this point.
After a few minutes he stepped out and reached up to where he normally left his towel hanging, but grabbed at nothing, not having brought one in with him. He froze on the spot and scowled at the realisation that he would have to step outside to the cupboard in the corridor to get one.
Hoping that Thrax was still around the corner in the kitchen, he gritted his teeth, grabbed his T-shirt from the floor to cover himself as best he could, and leapt out into the narrow corridor.
"Hey, baby", Thrax said half flirtatiously, half mockingly, "looks like my birthday has come early." Ozzy's eyes opened wide and pink dusted his cheeks as he scrambled to cover himself with the T-shirt while trying to open the cupboard door.
Thrax watched in amusement, looking him up and down, and cooed, "give me a twirl, baby, don't be shy. Let Big Daddy Thrax get a good look at ya…"
Ozzy snapped at that last remark, grabbed one of his shoes from the floor and flung it at Thrax's head. It hit Thrax just where Ozzy had aimed it, making him smirk with triumph.
However, his smile was quickly wiped from his face when Thrax suddenly rose to his full height, his eyes ablaze with rage.
"Shit shit shit shit…", Ozzy murmured, darting back into the bathroom, still towelless, and slamming the door shut behind him. He pressed his back against it trying to hold it shut, despite knowing full well that Thrax would break through the door whether he was holding it back or not.
"Shit indeed", Thrax muttered under his breath, finding Ozzy's actions childish, yet charming. The shoe hadn't hurt him in the slightest, but he figured he couldn't let Ozzy get away with this.
This seemed like the perfect moment to free his claws and he smashed the metal against the kitchen counter a few times, breaking it until he could wiggle his wrists out. He stalked over to the bathroom door and chucked the metal casing at it threateningly.
"I'd move out the way if I were you, boy", Thrax warned, seeing the shadow of Ozzy's feet from under the door.
He didn't budge, only responding with, "fuck off, you lanky creep!" Thrax laughed and started slamming his shoulder against the door.
It burst open after only 3 attempts, sending Ozzy crashing to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and spun around to face the man standing under the doorway, before edging backwards to hide behind the shower curtain.
"Get OUT! What the hell do you think you're doing?", he yelled, "we don't all get off on exhibitionism like you, y'know! Stop lookin' at me and fuck OFF!"
Thrax loved the fact that Ozzy was so bold when he spoke and never held his tongue, even now when he was so vulnerable. No one ever dared to speak back to him, let alone insult him outright. It felt refreshing.
Nevertheless, this disrespect couldn't go unpunished, even if the punishment would be to simply give Ozzy a scare. Thrax lunged towards him and lifted him up in the air by his wrists, pinning them to the bathroom wall above his head with only one hand.
Ozzy looked scared for the first time during this exchange when he noticed that Thrax no longer had his restraints. Thrax grinned down at him and lit up his claw, illuminating both their faces. His other claws dug into the soft membrane over Ozzy's wrists, making him bite his lip and scrunch up his face.
Ozzy jerked his head forward, trying to headbutt the virus, sadly missing. He then kicked his legs out and managed to hit Thrax's shin a few times, making him growl.
Thrax leant down and pressed one of his thighs against both of Ozzy's legs, pushing them against the bathroom wall. Their height difference was more apparent than ever to both of them, as Thrax still managed to hold Ozzy in the air by his wrists while stooping considerably.
Ozzy was utterly helpless at this point and wondered how he had even got here. Was he really going to die like this? Completely naked, subdued by this ugly virus, the last thing he would ever see would be Thrax snarling down at him?
He wiggled around under the weight pressing against him, not wanting Thrax to see him relent or submit. He spat up at Thrax, hitting his cheek, and then bared his teeth, daring him to make another move.
Thrax accepted the dare and leaned forward, before biting down on the cell's collarbone. Ozzy yelped, not expecting this at all, which encouraged Thrax to bite down harder.
"S-stop! What do you think-". Ozzy was interrupted by Thrax trailing his tongue along his collarbone towards his neck and pressing his body against his. What kind of sick psychological power play is this? Ozzy thought, as Thrax started to make small circles on his neck with his tongue.
Thrax loosened his grip around Ozzy's wrists slightly, and Ozzy noticed that his claw was no longer lit. He shut his eyes and tilted his head to the side, forgetting, just for a moment, that he was naked and pinned against the shower wall by none other than his arch-enemy.
Their breathing slowed as Thrax continued to slowly run his tongue over his neck.
He must have passed over a particularly sensitive spot then, as Ozzy let a quiet moan escape from his mouth, without meaning to.
Both men blushed and Thrax stopped what he was doing, moving his head back slightly to be able to get a look at Ozzy's expression. Did he just...?
He shifted a bit until they were face to face and stared at him. He couldn't work out whether the look in his eyes was urging him to continue or not, but before he had the chance to come to any conclusions, Ozzy took the opportunity to headbutt him square in the centre of his face.
Thrax yelled and clutched his face, before releasing his grip on Ozzy's wrists and dropping him to the floor. Without saying another word, he stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.
Ozzy chucked a shampoo bottle at the door after him and brought his hands to his face, trying to understand what had just happened.
He had to get rid of this crazy virus; he was totally mental.
"This is the thanks I get for savin' your spiky ass?!", Ozzy yelled, before leaning back against the wall to catch his breath.
A few minutes passed, and Ozzy decided he needed to get dry and dressed before he would call for backup and get Thrax thrown into the bladder to be expelled from Frank.
He was about to open the door when Thrax knocked on it. Ozzy tentatively opened it and peered out into the dark hall.
Thrax was stood about a foot from the door, looking the other way into the living room. He thrust a pile of nicely folded clothes out for the other man to take and grumbled something under his breath.
Ozzy hesitated and then took the clothes from him, feeling a towel at the bottom of the pile. He nodded and grunted a sort of 'thanks', before shutting the door again.
As he dried himself off, he noted that Thrax had chosen the softest towel that Ozzy owned, and he wondered if this had been a coincidence or not. "What am I to you…?", he whispered.