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Bison was lying in his childhood bed.
The thought should revolt him, unsettle him, as in the past it had been a place where he was stuck listening to the sounds of his parents death. Of the bullets that rang through the air, the echoes of it hitting every corner of his childhood home.
But for some odd reason his heart is settled, chest calm, and brain content. Bison don’t feel anything but peace at this moment, changed into new clothes while he eyes the door Kant is currently behind, taking a shower.
It’s a foreign feeling, this sudden peace. It’s not something Bison is used to, hasn’t been for a very long time.
Perhaps it was because he knew his end was near. His boyfriend had betrayed him, the police were on his trail, and if he didn’t die today he would have to be on the run for the rest of his life.
The knife Bison held in his hand grew heavy, the weight hard to bear. He twisted the cool metal gently, flicking it open as he softly traced the edge of it with his finger with dull eyes.
He should be scared, of course. Knowing this small item determined his end. A gun would have been more practical, but a knife had always been a safe space for Bison.
Bison’s eyes flickered back from the bathroom door to the knife, gritting his teeth in anticipation.
He had formed a new plan. No longer was he going to kill Kant— no. Rather, he would end himself.
It was only fair, wasn’t it? Here they were—Bison and Fadel—running around cities taking the lives of bad people because they didn’t deserve the time of day. But he was a killer in comparison. And that made him bad too then, didn’t it?
Emotions began clouding Bison’s vision but with a few blinks he had it tamped down. No, he thought to himself. You aren’t going to cry. You’re almost there. It’s almost done.
Shaking his head, Bison shut the knife before slamming it down on his side table. The killer being killed. The irony alone almost made him crack a pitying smile.
Untying Kant was a purposeful choice.
After a quiet meal, Bison had tied Kant to the room across the hall from his. Showering quickly so at least he was clean before he had to die.
When he got out he forced Kant into the shower—the ocean smell clinging to his body. Bison knew it made Kant sick to his stomach staring out at the sea, and the smell lingering on him couldn’t have been any better seeing as though he grimaced every now and again.
The sound of the water cutting off had Bison straightening in bed, and he watched the bathroom door with his breath hitched and lips closed, waiting to see Kant appear.
Several minutes had passed by when the door swung open, and Kant walked out with a towel to his head, rubbing at his hair to soak up the extra water that streamed down his neck in droplets.
Throat dry, Bison tried his best not to stare. The feelings of betrayal should have eliminated all his feelings for his boyfriend—or ex now, was it?
At the sight of Bison, Kant smiled. Just slightly. The expression formed a pit in Bison’s stomach as the words that had been repeating in his mind continuously ever since he found out had started appearing again.
This is all a ruse. A ploy. He doesn’t love you—he never did.
Kant’s earlier words began to ring in Bison’s mind, replaying the scene from just a half hour earlier.
“Is this the part where I drop you off home and kiss you goodnight?” Kant had teased, looking down at Bison.
“This wasn’t a date.”
“Wasn’t it? I caught you fish, you cooked it, we ate together, and I even walked you home. How else would you categorize this?”
Bison didn’t say anything to which Kant smiled, raising a gentle hand and moving it towards Bison’s face, pausing suddenly when Bison had flinched. Kant stepped back, realizing his error as he looked behind him towards the shower.
“I’ll go wash up.” He had said, voice soft. Sad. Bison didn’t understand why. The game was over, he had won. He had successfully fooled Bison into thinking this was real—that they were worth something.
Bison had stayed silent as he watched Kant walk into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. He waited until he heard the water turn on, and only laid down in his bed once he was certain that he could finally finish this.
“Kant.” Bison spoke, for the first time in a while.
“Yes?”
Bison had to swallow a few times before the words could leave his lips. When they did, he cursed at his heart for wanting this more than ever. “You can stay.”
Surprised filtered Kant’s eyes, but he quickly masked it, cautiously walking over to the bed.
“You want me to sleep here with you?”
Bison scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m making sure you don’t escape. Don’t think that cooking for you meant anything—how will I get my revenge if you die of starvation?”
“Right.” Kant said softly, and held his wrists for Bison to take.
Easily, Bison had Kant lying in bed, one arm raised above him as he manoeuvred the rope to securely tie him to the headboard. He purposely left his other arm free. The one that rested closest to him.
His heart was pounding in his chest, the words liar, liar, liar! screaming from within as he tried not to show Kant the real reason why he wanted him there. In bed. Lying beside him.
It wasn’t because he was scared that Kant would escape—no. It was because Bison wanted to feel his warmth one last time before he had to go.
It was selfish, he knows. Greedy. Yet he didn’t care.
Bison lies back down, staring up at the ceiling again. He can feel the burning gaze of the knife, mentally counting the hours before his death.
“I can hear your heartbeat,” Kant whispers to Bison, turning his face to stare at him. “Are you nervous?”
“I haven’t slept in this bed since my parents died.”
“Never?”
Bison swallows, shaking his head. He doesn’t care that he’s vulnerable or sad or upset anymore. Nothing mattered now. And he was so fucking tired of the lies.
Kant stiffens beside him, understanding what this means for Bison. He too had lost his parents. Had been a witnessing factor of course. The pain that Bison must have felt, being here again, was immeasurable. Yet, he was trying to act unfazed.
“Bison,” Kant whispers, trying to get his attention. When Bison continues to stare at the ceiling, Kant continues. “I know our relationship didn’t start off the right way, but Bison…I will work for the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness.”
“Don’t bother.” He wouldn’t be alive tomorrow anyway.
“ I’m sorry.” Kant whispers. It’s so sincere, so gut wrenching that it has Bison shutting his eyes, needing him to stop. “There will never be a day, an hour, a minute , that goes by where I will not be sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you— anything.”
“Even if it hurts you?”
“Especially then.”
Bison clenches his fists, squeeze them as tight as he can and lets out a low, shaky breath. Bison knows him, he knows that he’s Kant, yet the physical presence of him beside him can’t help but make Bison’s brain go haywire.
“Bison…” Kant calls out, most likely sensing Bison’s stress as he places his hand palm up in the space between them. “May I touch you?”
Bison turns his head to him, his eyes finally having the ability to see in the dark, and he can see that Kant is waiting for him to answer.
“No.” Bison says, and Kant lets out a low, strained laugh, knowing Bison was being difficult on purpose.
Still, Kant waits. Patiently. And Bison lets himself have this, him , one last time. Nodding his head, slow and controlled, Bison waits as Kant places his hand in his.
He immediately interlaces their fingers together, keeping their hands in the space between then as Kant’s thumb starts to trace small circles on the back of Bison’s hand.
“Tell me about the day you were given the assignment.”
Simple, safe, and doesn’t have Kant spilling into anything Bison didn’t want.
“What do you want to know?”
“Why me? Why didn’t you go for Fadel?”
Silence. Then softly, “You intrigued me.”
Somehow that answer hurt Bison more than anything. But he had asked the question so he would hear the answer to the very end.
“So what?” Bison let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Because I was a mystery you decided you wanted to uncover it?”
“No—you’re getting it wrong. Just—“
Bison tries to move his hand away, but Kant tightens his grip, knowing he’s about to run.
“What?” Bison asks, whipping his head to stare at Kant. “What? What is it? Why did you go through with it? Why?”
“You’ll hurt if I tell you.”
Bison takes in a breath of air, as if expecting this. “I can handle it.”
And he had, hadn’t he? He had been handling this. If it were anything, anyone else, Bison would’ve had them six feet under right now.
“I’m the only living person my brother has left. I had to protect him…I couldn’t just leave and go to jail before he goes off to college—I couldn’t do that to him. How was I supposed to know that they would blackmail me into getting close to you? How was I supposed to know? ”
“And what about me?” Bison cries out, ripping his hand away from Kant’s. His anger seemed to overtake him suddenly, and there was nothing to hold him back. “What about how I feel? What about my brother? My life? Do you think I had a choice? Do you?”
“It wasn’t about you, Bison.” Kant says, sitting up to the best of his ability. “At that time, I was only thinking about my brother . I was protecting him .”
“And what about now?” Bison asks. “What happens now? Your loyalty doesn’t lie with anyone but your brother. You will continue to go through with this for him, won’t you? That’s how this is. That’s now this will end.”
“No,” Kant replies, fiercely. “That isn’t how this ends. I will spend forever changing how this ends—“
“ You’re too fucking late!” Bison yells, shoving Kant’s shoulder. He grunts as his back slams against the headboard, but is held firm there as Bison’s hand stays on his shoulder, keeping him still.
“What does that mean—“
And then Kant’s eyes narrow in on the knife at the night stand. The same knife that Bison takes in his hand, switching open the blade.
Kants mouth falls open, heart dropping to his stomach as he watches Bison bring it to his neck, his fingers shaking with unshed tears in his eyes, his hand still firmly planted on Kant’s shoulder to keep him from moving leaving him helpless as he watches.
“Wait—“ Kant stutters out, trying to move towards Bison. “Wait, Bison, just—“
“No…” Is all Bison says, hanging his head as he lets the tears escape. “Kant…” He whispers, still shaking, still crying. “ I’m so fucking tired.”
“Bison, just—“
“I don’t want to do this anymore…I can’t do this anymore. Please— I just need it to be over.”
Kant struggles under Bison’s hold, trying his best to reach across to his arm so he can untie his other arm before it’s too late.
Bison’s sobbing against him now, the knife still pressed tight against the skin of his throat. Droplets of blood run down, off the knife and down his arm.
Before he can do anymore damage Kant has him on his back, his wrists pressed against either side of his head as Bison stares up at him, crying openly now.
His sobs are guttural. His face crumpled as he tights his hold around the knife.
“Kill me.” Is all Bison can push out. He’s no longer fighting against Kant, rather begging him now to put him out of his misery. “Kill me, kill me, kill me.”
“I love you.” Is all Kant can say.
Bison doesn’t respond, his entire chest shaking from the cries. Forcefully, Kant takes the knife from him, tossing it across the room before he gathers Bison in his arms, hugging him close.
Bison struggles against his hold, his fists hitting and slapping at Kant’s chest as he tries to escape. Sounds of frustration alongside his crying are heard, but Kant can’t find himself to let go. Not now. Not ever again.
Bison soon slumps forward, his face pressed against Kant’s chest, his tears soaking the fabric, his fingers gripping the bottom of his tank top in a tight hold.
“I love you.” Kant says again, just as forceful as before. “I love you and I won’t ever stop.”
“You’re fooling me,” Bison sobs. “You’re tricking me again . You’re lying .”
“I’m not.” Kant replies, but he knows words will never be enough. Not for Bison. Not now. Kant continues to hold him quietly, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of his head, running a hand down his hair, trying to gentle him as much as possible.
He does it over and over again until Bison’s cries slow down, small hiccups leaving his mouth as he falls against Kant in exhaustion.
When he’s sure Bison won’t fight him, Kant pulls back just slightly, cupping Bison’s face in his hands. His eyed are rimmed with tears, his nose and cheeks dusted red, his body shaking every now and then with the after effects of the crying.
He stares up at Kant with sad eyes and an innocent expression, his lips quivering so violently that it physically hurts for Kant to see him like this.
“My baby,” Kant tells him softly, wiping stray tears away with his thumbs. “My love. My everything.” Kant leans forward and kisses away his fallen tears.
“ Please—“
“Is this why you wanted me to sleep next to you? Is this why, baby? So you could say goodbye?”
Bison shakes his head, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t cry. His attempts fail when more tears begin to well up, joining the rest on his cheeks. His fingers continue to fist into Kant’s shirt, scared of him moving away and leaving him.
“No…” Bison whispers, voice hoarse. “I couldn’t. Because I didn’t want to say goodbye to you. I never wanted to say goodbye to you.”
They’re both breathing heavily after this taxing long overdue conversation, Kant sitting on the bed with Bison comfortably on his lap, his thighs on either side of his hips.
“I don’t want to fight with you anymore.” Kant confesses softly.
“Fighting you is the only thing I have.”
And then they’re shifting closer, drawn towards each other like magnets until their hips hit and they’re face to face.
Kant leans over, his head bending as he tries to scan Bison’s expression with his eyes.
Everything is so quiet that their breathing is enhanced, hearts beating erratically against their chests. Kant reaches over, tugs on something, and a small string of light appears, making him blink to adjust to it.
“Can I touch you, Bison?” Kant finally asks, and it takes him a second to reply.
“Yes.”
Kant gently cradles his face in the palm of his hands, holding him close as if he’s precious. He can feel Kant use his right hand to reach back, running his hands through Bison’s hair, further trying to gentle him as his chest still shakes lightly from the after effects of crying so viciously.
And then Kant is leaning in further, their lips millimeters away from each other when he starts talking again.
“Tell me to go,” Kant almost begs. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you hate me .”
“I hate you.” Bison says weakly.
And they both know it’s an enormous lie. Kant looks like he’s holding himself back, his body tense and under pressure, and so Bison reaches up with one hand to circle Kant’s wrist, holding him there.
That seems to relax Kant, his fingers tightening their grip ever so slightly on Bison’s face.
“Say it again,” Kant whispers, and Bison does.
“I hate you.”
Kant shivers, his eyes closing momentarily as if to soak in this moment before they open again, his gaze filled with clarity.
“Can I kiss you, Bison?”
Bison swallows roughly. “You’re asking me?”
“Anyone ever ask you before?”
He pauses, shaking his head in Kant’s hold. “No… I can’t say it’s ever mattered before.”
Bison can see his brown eyes turning black, Kant’s fingers tracing the column of his throat as his own tangle themselves in Kant’s hair.
“I think about kissing you all the time,” Kant confesses. “I think about holding you close, running my hands down your body, lifting up your shirts, and sucking on your skin there. I think about kissing you when I’m alone, when we’re together, when I’m at work, when I’m reading. You’re infesting my mind, Bison.” His voice rasps. “So please… put me out of my misery.”
“Kant?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Kiss me.”
So he does. And it’s so good Bison can feel himself melting against Kant, his eyes closing and his hands holding Kant’s shirt for stability. Kant’s mouth opens to his, like he’s starved for a kiss, for a taste of him.
Kant is moaning into his mouth, tilting his head to get deeper, and Bison finds himself climbing higher into Kant’s lap, pressing their chests together.
Kant’s grip on his face tightens, nipping and sucking and taking Bison whole, and he feels Kant everywhere. He feels the kiss run through his body, like there are strings attached to every limb, pulling him tighter and tighter.
They kiss like that until they can’t breathe, then draw away panting, only to come back to each other again. And again. Deep, luscious kisses that only last a few seconds before they try another and another.
Bison curls his hands into the fabric of Kant’s shirt, desperately tugging and pulling, making little sounds of neediness so unlike him that it shocks him.
When they pull away to take in oxygen, Bison’s hands start to shake, his lips swollen and his eyes glazed over as Kant stares down at him.
Kant is smiling, his lips curved in a way that has his heart beating faster, and only when Kant’s hand comes over to brush hair away from his face does he realize that he’s smiling too.
Kant presses his forehead against his, and he can see the slight sheen on Kant’s mouth. “I’ve been dreaming of this forever.”
Bison closes his eyes, swallows down any overwhelming emotions, and curls his shaking hands into fists.
“I’m not good at dreams.”
Kant caresses his cheek in a way he’s never felt, and the entire action has Bison opening his eyes to look at Kant again. More tears well up in his eyes, overflowing and running down his cheeks again. His tears don’t seem to stop, and usually this would annoy Bison but he couldn’t care less in this moment.
“Then let me be the one to hold yours until you are.”
“You can’t grant every wish of mine.”
“Can’t I?” Kant says it with so much sincerity that Bison feels like collapsing.
“You can’t say things like that to me.”
“But I mean them,” Kant whispers, leaning forward to press kiss after kiss against his lips as he mumbles his words. “Do you want me to lie?”
“I don’t know,” Bison whispers, and Kant smiles again, stopping the press of his lips against Bison’s and shifting them so that Kant is leaning back, his hands back to holding his face as he tenderly brushes his hair back.
“I’m so unbelievably addicted to your hate.”