Story Notes: In the interests of full disclosure, though this fic is part of a story universe in which Garcia, Lucy, and Wyatt are together as a polyamorous trio, in this particular story, Lucy is mentioned but not present. In here it's pretty much Garcia and Wyatt, so if that's not your thing, or if non-canon relationships bug you, you might want to click out. Otherwise, welcome, and happy reading. :)
Slowly, and with great care, Wyatt skimmed his lips across Garcia's one final time, savoring the tingle that sparked along his nerves. He was rewarded with a soft sigh. "As nice as this is, I need a shower," said Wyatt. He opened his eyes and pulled back. The connection between their mouths broke, but the one between their bodies didn't; he kept an arm looped around Garcia's waist. Wyatt leaned his other arm against Garcia's chest, which rose and fell with each breath, and swept his fingertips along the sharp slant of Garcia's cheekbone, then down over his jaw. Wyatt's gaze followed his fingers' path across Garcia's skin. Tiny hairs scratched at his finger pads like grains of sand; sent a shiver skittering up the length of his body. Even with a daily shave, by nightfall every day Garcia's face held the faint shadow of stubble.
Jumping through time had been a rush; protecting and working shoulder-to-shoulder with his team had challenged and changed Wyatt in unexpected ways. But this—the opportunity to linger on the minute changes in a lover's face, to have the chance to sit occasionally and watch how the passage of time embossed deeper the small but visible lines that kissed the borders of Lucy's smiling mouth—this was pure pleasure. Pleasure and a privilege Wyatt tried not to take for granted.
Garcia rested his arms on Wyatt's shoulders and bore his affectionate scrutiny with the deep patience Wyatt had discovered he was capable of, and the barest suggestion of a smile; it danced around his usually stern mouth and settled in his green eyes, where it glowed, throwing off all the warmth of a small flame.
Touching a man; kissing a man; loving a man had taken some getting used to, but now Wyatt was not only used to it, he could scarcely imagine his life without itーwithout Garcia. Garcia was a man, and Lucy was a woman, and sure there were some physical and personality differences between them, but at the end of the day, they were just people, like Wyatt himself. Between the three of them, they'd experienced enough loss to know you had to seize happiness where you could if you were lucky enough to find it in the first place. Wyatt was old enough now to think that maybe no one was every totally free, but he had enough freedom to choose this life and share it with these people. Freedom of choice was something to be grateful for, and he was grateful. So grateful.
The corner of Garcia's mouth tipped up, deceptively lazy. Dangerous, too. Very dangerous. "Perhaps I should join you in the shower." His long-fingered hands roamed up and down Wyatt's arms in a graceful, unhurried circuit, warming them through the material of Wyatt's long-sleeved t-shirt. His hands look like a pianist's, Wyatt thought, not for the first time.
Wyatt traced a caress along Garcia's hairline. Smiling, he paused to tug at one of the dark locks of hair before he continued his work, sketching down around Garcia's ear, then back again. "Not that I'm complaining, but why?"
"Well"ーGarcia captured Wyatt's left hand between both of his and pressed a kiss to itー"you've inflicted such a grievous injury on yourself. And you've implied that I haven't been...properly sympathetic. Who knows what difficulty you might encounter in the shower, all by yourself?"
Wyatt blinked. "Are you offering to scrub my back for me?" he asked, deadpan, temporarily playing the straight man in their harmless game.
Garcia met his eyes with a look of fondness. He drew a leisurely circle into the top of Wyatt's hand, and the half-smile draped over his mouth turned into a full-blown smile, deepening the happy lines around his eyes and making Wyatt's breath stutter in his chest. "Maybe. Among other things," Garcia replied.
Other things. Wyatt grinned, letting it take on a wicked edge.
Garcia shrugged, cocking an eyebrow in that careless, offhand way he had that Wyatt still envied. "And if I am?" Garcia asked, his legs bumping Wyatt's as he shifted closer. His tongue slipped out and wet his lips; Wyatt's stomach did a slow-motion flip-flop.
Though Garcia might be the picture of cool indifference, Wyatt had long since figured out how to see past the masks he'd learned to wear. Garcia hurt. He ached; he dreamed; he wanted. Just like Wyatt. Just like Lucy. Just like other people. In some ways, it was easier, or at least simpler, when Wyatt looked at his fileーlooked at the tall, dark-haired man with vengeance in his eyesーand saw nothing but a monster, a mission, a terrorist to catch or kill. It turned out some monsters were only people who would do anything to save their families. Wyatt had killed a man so he could try and get Jessica back.
(What happened when he peered in the mirror and realized he was a monster, too? He learned to live with it like he lived with every other terrible thing he did or had done to him. Sometimes he thought that was what adulthood was all about.)
Wyatt freed his hand from Garcia's and hooked a finger in his belt loop and used it to gather him closer still. Eyes never leaving Garcia's, Wyatt curled his hand around the back of Garcia's neck, rubbed over the tiny hairs there until a shiver worked through Garcia, and urged him down down down until they were sharing air. "You should definitely join me," Wyatt murmured against the corner of Garcia's mouth.
There was a wash of heat as Garcia exhaled against Wyatt's cheek. "That was surprisingly easy," Garcia said, wry and teasing.
Wyatt released a breath of a laugh. "What can I say? I'm easy." A light drag of tongue and teeth over the sensitive skin at his neck, and Wyatt's lips parted on a moan, fingers anchoring themselves in the other man's silky hair and clutching. "Kiss my boo-boos, and I'm yours," said Wyatt. He flushed hot at how shaky and strained the words came out. Pleasure coiled in his bones, sweet warmth diffusing from the inside out.
Garcia's answering chuckle vibrated through them both, while his hand slid under the hem of Wyatt's shirt and stroked low over his back. Not too hard. Not soft enough to tickle. Just torturous and perfect enough to coax a muffled "Fuck, Garcia," from Wyatt. His heart thumped hard, echoed by the drumbeat of rain against their house. Wyatt's hips rolled forward when big, warm hands settled on his ass and squeezed. He felt Garcia shape a smile against his neck.
"Say it again, Texas," Garcia said in a voice like whiskey and gravel.
"What? Your name?"
Rough palms curved around the sides of Wyatt's face. "Yes." Garcia dipped to catch and hold Wyatt's gaze, eyes smokey and intent. "Call me by my name."
"Garcia," Wyatt said, and felt the man in question shudder against him.
"I don't...I don't know if I'll ever get used to hearing you and Lucy say it. After Lorena was— After Rittenhouse murdered Lorena, it's like there was no one left to call me that. I was just Flynn." Garcia shrugged, his face slipping into thoughtful lines. "You used to look at me—and I don't know what it is you saw—but you would say 'Flynn' like it was something dirty. Something poisonous. You hated me."
It would be so easy to just toss back something snappy. But he didn't. Wyatt frowned, and considered Garcia's words before he responded. "I didn't hate you. Not really. I just— Come on, man"—Wyatt shook his head and shot Garcia a dark look that he intercepted with a slightly sheepish expression—"you didn't exactly make it easy."
Garcia's eyes closed and opened in a sleepy blink. A sardonic smile flickered around his mouth as he inclined his head, conceding Wyatt's point. "Hm. True enough."
"I didn't know you," Wyatt continued. "From where I was standing, we seemed to be on opposite sides. You were the enemy. It was easier not to look too close. But you were always there, telling me to think. Telling me to look a little closer. When I finally looked—"
"—you saw that we weren't so different," Garcia said, completing Wyatt's thought and sentence.
"Yeah. Just grunts in somebody else's war," he said with a touch of bitterness. Wyatt rubbed his thumb over the softness of Garcia's lips. "Not so different after all."
For long moments, neither of them spoke, content to watch each other and allow the rhythm of the rain to seep into the kitchen's stillness. "Shower?" Wyatt finally asked.
Garcia swallowed, and Wyatt tracked the movement of his throat with his eyes. Expression serious, he raised his hand and set it against Wyatt's chest, right over his heart.
"Lead the way, Logan," Garcia said.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome; flames will be dipped in barbecue sauce and eaten. :)
You can find me on Tumbler and Twitter; my name at both places is onlymorelove.