Jones surfaced from sleep with a sniff, raising his arm to rub his nose, his eyes still shut against the morning sun. Or at least, he tried too. His shoulder gave a sharp spasm as he lifted his arm to shoulder height and he quickly lay it back down and used the other one instead. He'd been warned that his shoulder would take at least six months to get back to normal, possibly longer considering the damage to his ribs and breast bone, and he was determined to let it heal properly. He had a folder full of exercises to do each day and his records had been sent on ahead of them to the Cottage Hospital in Hornsea where he'd be seeing a rehab physician, physiotherapist and occupational therapist, as would Dan.

As much as they were going for a holiday, they were going to be busy too, and Jones was looking forward to it. Med appointments would at least keep them both from going insane from having nothing to do. Dan'd be alright, seaside towns always had dusty, little second-hand bookshops and Dan had the ability to get so engrossed in a good book that he wouldn't surface for eight hours straight and then only when Jones shut off his music and removed his clothes. Dan seemed to have a seventh sense when it came to Jones getting undressed, and once upon a time Jones had been able to distract Dan from anything that was bothering him by simply announcing that he was going for a shower and leaving the door open as he stripped.

He wasn't sure if that particular trick was still going to work though. Dan used to be the only person Jones could stand to be naked in front of without feeling like there were cockroaches crawling all over his skin because Dan looked at him differently to the rest of the world. And not just because of his love clouded vision. Jones had caught Dan looking at him loads of times and his eyes always seemed... less shifty, than when he was looking out at the world. That was special, he knew. And Dan had been through a lot for him over the last month and hadn't just run off or told Jones he was too much trouble.

But Jones didn't know whether Dan would still find him attractive anymore, now that he was all broken. And he'd hardly be able to lure Dan out of his own head and into bed if he couldn't bloody undress himself.

He tried to shift himself in bed but his body just ached and he had to stop. It was getting irritating, the pain, and he hated talking about it, even to Dan, because he didn't want to seem like he was complaining. And he didn't want to be annoying. He didn't want to give Dan another reason to want to chuck him.

He turned his head, to reassure himself that Dan wasn't going to leave, that he was an idiot to think that Dan'd ditch him when they were about to head off to his parent's beach house. But there was no one there. The bed beside him was cold and there was no sign of Dan in the room. Jones strained his ears but couldn't hear much of anything and felt his chest tighten as his breathing began to come out in stunted gasps because Dan was gone and he couldn't even get himself out of bed properly and because last night, when Dan had tried to touch him and kiss him... he hadn't been able to... go along with it.

He tried to stop his breaths from becoming sobs but his eyes were prickling and he felt like he was being held down in an icy puddle and there was a thudding somewhere but he couldn't work out where it was coming from because he couldn't make his brain slow down enough for him to concentrate.

And then, the door opened and Dan backed awkwardly into the room.

"Oh, thank fuck!" Jones sighed, his voice high and wobbly. "I thought you'd left."

Dan turned, his face looking innocently confused, and held up his hands for Jones to see.

"I made you breakfast."

He walked carefully across the room, trying to move evenly so that the coffee didn't spill and the plate full of pancakes didn't topple. He was concentrating hard and Jones took in the sight of his batter smeared clothes, and hair, and the delicious looking food he was holding out like a peace offering.

"Did you... did you make those?"

He didn't mean it to sound so incredulous but Dan gave him a glare that wasn't really angry as he sat carefully on the bed.

"Pingu taught me," he murmured before turning and realising that Jones wasn't in a great position to take the food from him. "Hold on."

Dan put the food on the bedside table and slid his arms under Jones' chest and waist and Jones could feel the muscles and tendons in his arms as he shifted Jones up the bed and into a sitting position. He tried to help but Dan just tutted and muttered at him to stop it before he hurt himself.

When Dan was satisfied that Jones was upright enough and comfortable enough he handed over the mug of coffee and chuckled as Jones took a long gulp but Jones just gave him the finger and drained half the mug before putting it down on his side of the bed.

It was good coffee. The sort that filled your nostrils and made your mouth water before you even got it to your mouth, that was strong and creamy and barely bitter at all and tasted like a hot shower felt - so hot it was almost too much but so perfectly what you needed that it made you shiver even though you weren't cold. Jones loved coffee but he didn't discriminate, he would drink instant without complaint (because it was affordable) and he wasn't religious about milk or sugar, he took his coffee as it came, so long as it was strong. But this was really good coffee.

When he finally put the mug down Dan handed him the plate of pancakes and a knife and fork and Jones felt himself get a bit teary again, which was stupid because they were just pancakes and who got upset over pancakes? Except, they weren't just pancakes. They were perfectly round and perfectly golden and there were blueberries in them and honey on top of them and they looked more like a declaration of intentions than a meal. And Dan was looking nervous.

"Thought you might like something good for breakfast," he said, copying Jones and staring down at the plate. "Hospital food and all that."

"Aw, Dan," Jones whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. "That's absolutely sweet!" He cut into the stack slowly and put a piece in his mouth, aware that Dan was watching him intently.

Dan was fidgeting, a habit he'd picked up from him, and Jones hoped that the pancakes tasted good, so that Dan would stop looking like he was about to have a panic attack, but he also knew that Dan would know if he was lying to make him feel better. There was a lot riding on these pancakes.

He bit into the piece of soft, buttery pancake and closed his eyes. He'd had pancakes before but he couldn't actually remember when and couldn't recall what they'd tasted like then. But the pancake he was eating now was soft and fluffy, a bit like bread but lighter and a bit like a cake but not so crumbly and sweet enough that it made him think of lazy sunrises after all-night raves, without being so sweet it made his teeth ache. Then he bit into a blueberry and the pop, and the taste, like a tiny purple explosion, made him want to giggle.

"Dan," he whispered, letting his lips curve upwards but keeping his eyes closed to fully enjoy the flavour. "This is genius."

He heard Dan let out a relieved breath and opened his eyes. There was a tightness around the other man's eyes that was troubling but Dan was smiling. It was a wavering sort of smile, obscured a bit by his messy hair and three day old stubble, but it was there and Jones widened his own grin encouragingly.

"I wanted them to be perfect. For you," Dan told him and Jones nodded. He understood that.

"I ain't going nowhere, Dan," he told him. "Not without you."

More of the tightness eased from Dan's shoulders and Jones shoved another large piece into his mouth and groaned at how good it tasted.

"You'll have to beat me off with a stick before I'll leave," Dan muttered and Jones tried to laugh in a way that didn't aggravate his newly healed scars.

"Same with me," Jones told him. "Especially if you've decided to cook like this!" He took another bite of his pancakes and made a face at Dan that told the other man just how delicious they were before gulping down the rest of his coffee. "Hospital food wasn't that bad though. I mean, porridge is porridge, isn't it. The milk was always fresh. They did pumpkin soup and mash potatoes with plenty of salt... I've been eating a lot of mushy foods, haven't I?"

It was Dan's turn to chuckle at that and he scooted closer on the bed to press a kiss to the corner of Jones' mouth.

"You had a bit of honey," he said huskily by way of explanation and Jones grinned as he leaned forward for a second kiss.

Their lips moved slowly, lazily, against one another's, slightly sticky from the honey and warm from coffee and tea. Jones could feel the thrum of Dan's body, still tense with anxiety even while his lips surrendered softly to Jones' and opened to permit the tongue that Jones licked against them. Jones let his tongue stroke Dan's deliberately, feeling Dan sigh against him, giving in to the sensation, and brought his good hand up to hold Dan's cheek. Ever since he'd discovered, years ago, the way Dan could just melt, completely surrender himself when Jones gave the subtle sign that he was taking the lead, it had become like a drug.

Now that their relationship was public knowledge he was sure that people would look at them and assume that Jones was the one... well, submitting. And they had tried it the other way, and it was alright, but usually Jones was the one on top when they were having sex, slowly unravelling Dan's layers and layers of worry and frustration and fear. Not that they'd actually had sex in quite a while.

He pushed deeper, curling his tongue around Dan's and forcing a moan from the other man that vibrated through his mouth like bass through a dance floor. Dan would argue that of course. He always argued Jones' 'narrow view of sex' and counted handjobs and blowies as equal to full-on intercourse, which was reassuring in a way. Dan was easy to get off and moaned and panted and swore even if it was just a sloppy grope and neither of them had even managed to get their pants down properly. But he always moaned louder - and came harder - when he was on his knees with Jones behind him, and Jones wanted to feel him, and be surrounded by him, like that again. It was almost enough to get him hard. He wanted to - he wanted to fuck Dan until he was a quivering mess on the mattress - but he was scared too, because he wasn't sure if he actually could. He still felt... broken.

He pulled back from the kiss as kindly as he could, running his thumb across Dan's lips, enjoying the sharp prickle against his skin that sounded and felt so much like trailing fingers along a brush fence. Dan tried to lean in again but Jones turned his head and stuffed more pancake in his mouth as fast as he could.

"Sorry," he said around the mouthful. " 'm just really hungry, and..."

He swallowed too quickly, feeling the food which had seemed so light before, pushing heavily against his throat and sticking halfway down, making him want to cough and gag which he couldn't do without hurting Dan's feelings even more.

"There's no rush, Jones," Dan's voice rumbled out, like thunder so distant the lightening wasn't visible yet. "Last night... Last night I misjudged what you were ready for, but..."

Dan was staring at his hands, twisted in his lap as he struggled to be sincere and Jones wanted to help him but he didn't know how. Talking about sex was more embarrassing than doing it! Was worse, for Dan, than talking about love. And Dan was trying to do both and it was beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dan pleaded but Jones still felt the shame growing inside him, like a bath left to run until the water started to spill over and flood the whole room, neither hot nor cold just tepid and strangely uncomfortable against the skin.

"But I-"

"Don't have anything to be sorry for," Dan told him through clenched teeth. "We don't need to do anything. I like kissing you. I like touching you and holding you but it doesn't need to lead to sex. We had months after we first kissed where we did nothing but kiss and it was wonderful."

Jones let out a hiccup at that - as the memory flooded his mind, the colours slightly faded like an old photograph - him and Dan, slow dancing in the kitchen, their lips pressing together so innocently Jones could barely believe it'd been real. He tried to apologise but Dan shook his head.

"Jonesy," his whispered, his eyes now focused on the empty breakfast plate in Jones' lap. "If we're going to be... out... as a couple, as an official couple, not just as friends but as an actual, romantic... as boyfriends, or lovers or whatever you want to call it, then maybe we should focus on other milestones."

"Like what?"

"Like," Dan took a deep breath and reached to take Jones' hand in his own. "Holding hands in public. Kissing in front other people - I don't mean snogging in the library or anything like that. Jones. Shut up. Stop laughing - I mean not being afraid to kiss each other on the cheek or something when we're out of the house. And I want to celebrate our anniversary. And do couple type stuff at Christmas and-"

"You're such an old romantic," Jones chuckled, biting his lip to stop the laughter escaping.

"Shut up," Dan answered blushing furiously. "I want just you to be happy. And thought maybe we could, I don't know, go out to dinner as a couple, on a date, before we worry about you pouring a litre of lube into my arse and pounding me into the new year."

Dan's voice had taken on the rough, argumentative tone that had always reminded Jones of cheap coffee and cigarettes, as addictive as it was dangerous, and he grinned and ducked his head so that he could look up at Dan and catch his eye.

"Thanks," he said once he had Dan's attention and Dan glared at him before rolling his eyes and leaning forward to give Jones a quick, rough kiss.

"You're welcome."

"So, no sex then?" he asked, feeling strangely thrilled that he didn't have to worry about it.

"Not until you're ready and able," Dan grunted back. "I don't want to have to carry you to the hospital and explain that you injured yourself in flagrante delicto, do I?"

Jones grinned. Dan was doing his 'saucy face' and waggling his eyebrows in an attempt to make Jones laugh and it was working but it was a game they'd played before and he wasn't about to let Dan win this easily.

"I don't know what that means," he said, forcing himself to keep a straight face. Dan just lowered his head and looked up at him through lashes that were unfairly long given the size of his actual eyes.

"You're a smart boy," he said in a deep, creamy tone. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

Jones felt himself blush but there were still questions he wanted answered.

"And what if you... you know..."

"Now I don't know what you mean," Dan told him blankly.

"Well, what if you get all, you know, hot and bothered. From thinking 'bout me. As you do."

"As I do."

"Well what're you going to do then?" Jones asked, worried that he now sounded a little too serious, but Dan just gave him another wicked look.

"I'm sure I can get by with just the occasional shower wank for the next little while, don't you?"

Jones let out a huff of laughter but blushed again when he looked up into Dan's eyes and realised that Dan was absolutely serious and was happy to let Jones set their pace, even if he was still flirting enough to make Jones' entire face turn pink and blotchy.

"Actually," he said slowly, and Dan raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I could really do with a shower. If that's ok?"