The motel room in which Lucas has taken residence for the night isn't much different than the one Kenneth has rented them downstairs. It even has the same floral bedding and heavy, scratched wooden furniture. The only difference is that there's no off-white paint on the walls; instead, brown-striped wallpaper is peeling at the corners. The dark shades make the room seem smaller.

There's a stain on the wall above the lengthwise dresser. There's a low hum from the television that's been muted, and a radiator in the corner makes an occasional, faint clicking. In the air, there's the smell of men's cologne clinging faintly to the sheets, a fragrance Reid's begun to attribute to Lucas. It's very masculine and woody, with a hint of what might be patchouli. It's not bad—a nice smell, even. A bit overwhelming in context.

Reid sits cross-legged on the lumpy motel bed. "So, who's your favourite?"

Beside him on the bed, Lucas mulls over his answer. "Robert." He laughs at Reid's scoff. "Oh? Not a good answer? Well, who's yours?"

"I'll tell you, it's not Robert."

Lucas shrugs. "Ah, I don't know, love. Robert's doing what he thinks is right for his family."

Reid shifts so he's not taking up the entire queen-size mattress, back to the entry door, and settles beside Lucas, who is resting propped against the pillows and headboard. "He's always lying and scheming. His family suffers for it."

"Yeah, but he's always doing the dirty work; without him, they'd never have made their fortune." Lucas takes up more than his share of the bed. He's a big guy. It's really hard to ignore when they're so close.

Reid chews on his thumb absently, feeling tired but also energized, which is never a good sign for him. He's begun having such episodes after the hospital; the use of those pain pills has reawakened withdrawal, which he'd rather never feel again. Sleeping has been difficult. He hasn't told Kenneth. The man's dealing with enough.

"You're the worst soap opera partner ever. Robert? Disgusting." Reid's kidding. Sort of. Not really. This Robert character reminds him too much of Gabriel, right down to the blonde hair and questionable parenting.

Wanting to change the subject, Reid snatches the remote from the nightstand. The television turns on with a low hum. He flips through the late-night channels rapidly.

Lucas rumbles, "Differing opinions."

Reid takes his cellphone from the back pocket of his jeans and places it screen-up on a low table beside the bed so he can shift and become more comfortable. "Give me a week. I'll teach you why there are so many other characters that should be your favourite."

He wiggles his socked toes against the bedding to fidget away his nerves, frazzled by everything that's happened tonight.

Lucas hums deeply. "Sure, and I'll teach you why Robert ain't so bad."

"Not likely." Reid stops on a show he knows to be atrocious. A detective that's always reminded him of Kenneth, tall and broody, who hunts killers with the powers of deduction. It's terrible, and he's watched almost all eight seasons.

They fall into silence. Reid thinks, at a quick glance, that Lucas might be falling asleep, having shifted down the bed to lay his head on the pillows and his gaze on the television has fallen half-lidded.

Time passes.

Detective Chance has just kicked his way inside a house to take the bad guy head-on with guns blazing, very Kenneth-like, when Lucas turns onto his side and says, voice gruff with coming sleep, "I told Kane I wouldn't come onto you."

Detective Chance takes a punch to the face. "Oh? Did you?" The bad guy has a gun. A kick to his hand sends the weapon flying. "But you're feeling up my leg anyway?"

There's a twist: the woman Chance was helping is actually his evil ex-girlfriend wearing prosthetics. It's a trap!

The hand on Reid's thigh is heavy, but it remains still. He's half-watching the show but pretending that it's keeping him enraptured. "Kind of dangerous, huh?"

"What is? Touching you? Feels like it sometimes."

Snorting, Reid gestures to the television. "No. Jumping off a roof like that." Detective Chance splashes into the pool after a precarious jump from three stories. The hand slides slowly up Reid's thigh. His heart is bounding. "Do you think it's even possible to survive?"

"Hm," Lucas hums lowly. "I've heard jumping from a height into water is equivalent to hitting concrete."

Reid nods. "I guess he'd be hurt badly if it were real life."

Detective Chance is racing across the lawn. Bullets are flying past him.

Reid's leg begins to twitch when the hand decides to stall at the top of his thigh. 

And then, infuriatingly, the hand doesn't move an inch.

Minutes pass.

The hand remains still.

Once the credits roll, Reid steals a glance at Lucas, and the man's eyes are closed, his cheek pudging slightly where it rests on his bent arm. He's not asleep; his slightly ragged breathing and a faint smile tug at his lips, as if feeling Reid's glare.

"Gotta ask me," Lucas rasps.

"Huh?"

"Can't do nothin' told Kane," Lucas says, yawning, sleep pulling him. His fingers tighten despite his words, digging into the flesh of Reid's thigh and leaving an ache that isn't all that unpleasant. "Gotta ask me."

The next episode has begun to play. Detective Chance is sort of a self-proclaimed casanova. He's with his newest conquest; there's nothing shown, but it's obvious Chance is chasing pleasure with a sweet blonde. The camera angle gives a glimpse of bouncing curls and pants for breath from pink lips. He feels the stirrings of arousal from the simple imagine.

And not for the first time, Reid wonders if he should listen to Kenneth's off-hand remarks and go to therapy.

What would a therapist tell him when he admits that he can't differentiate between affection born from friendship and intimacy? Would they tell him his constant touch-starved behavior is simply a by-product of that nagging fear that he'll be left alone in this shit world and that he doesn't feel like he has anything substantial to give someone except maybe this?

They'd probably say he's broken, and he'd laugh.

Reid looks at the hand on his thigh, and then his gaze sweeps Lucas's face with new interest, and he stares at the split on Lucas's lip and the intense bruising near his eye, now explained. Lucas had a conversation with Kenneth in the parking garage, and they fought like morons. But here Lucas is, trying again, always, because he has a fantasy of Reid that isn't true but that Reid wants to pretend could be, that he could be worth the effort someday.

Impulsively, Reid grasps Lucas's wrist and, without resistance, picks up the hand, the scarred fingers falling limp. 

Turning points. Reid's had many. Precious moments in time that he can physically feel burn themselves into his subconscious. Substantial decisions that will surely bleed into his future in ways he can't perceive. 

When he entangles their fingers, his on top, and presses the palm of the limp hand between his legs to rest over his jeans, Reid has an innate feeling that this is one of those times.

Suddenly suspiciously awake, Lucas lifts his head sharply, his brown eyes intense and dark, taking in Reid's expression.

The little devil that lives at the end of Reid's tongue, yearning to destroy, marionettes him to whisper shakily, "Is this good enough? Or did you want me to say outright that I want you to bring me off?

Lucas smirks and hums deeply and throatily. "Like to hear it."

"Bring me off," Reid says sternly. He grins, flushing.

Reid expects—well, honestly, he doesn't know what he expects. Lucas would surge up, and they'd begin tossing clothes and having their wicked ways with each other. Maybe for Lucas to take the invitation as an excuse to hit him again; hopefully not. The man's gaze is intense and unreadable, but that's Lucas, always turning Reid's world off-kilter.

Reid certainly doesn't expect Lucas to minutely shift over Reid's shin, nudge Reid's bent knee higher up the bed, and situate himself between Reid's legs.

"What are—" Reid loses his voice when he's tugged down the bed, fingers hooked in his belt. His shirt rides up his back. He rolls his eyes at the need Lucas seems to have to bring light to their differing strengths. Despite what Kenneth claims, Reid's not weak; he's just not a beast that was born to hunt animals with his bare hands.

Yawning and giving a glimpse of white teeth and a pink tongue, Lucas palms Reid's jeans, unfastening the belt with soft clinks. "I'm tired, but I'm not going to squander the opportunity. A man must do what he must do. You know? Climb the mountain. The snow is melting. Spring won't always be here, or whatever they say."

Either Lucas has terrible eyesight, which gives him the need to be extremely close to Reid's groin, his dark lashes practically brushing the tiny zipper, or he's going to bring Reid off like this. It's not that Reid's complaining; he just didn't know this was an option.

"If you grab me like you did at the auction, I'll kick you in the head."

Lucas laughs. "I won't, promise." He looks up through dark lashes. "I thought you'd be into it. You can't deny you were awake for me, though." He grins.

Flushing because his body had betrayed him and he was very much awake despite being groped against his will, Reid scoffs. "Why did you think I'd like that?"

Lucas shrugs. "Kane's always hitting you."

Gradually, Reid's frown deepens. Kenneth does hit him a lot and doesn't care when they're in public. But Reid always ends up begging for mercy, never aroused. Kenneth would probably hit him harder. "He doesn't try and castrate me."

Lucas makes an annoyed face that's so dramatically overdone, Reid can't help but chuckle. The man says, "And now I know. Trial and error."

Over Lucas's head, the television continues to play. Detective Chance is in a bar brawl with a bunch of hooligans. Reid huffs a laugh when one of the goons is thrown through a window. It reminds him of Lucas tossing vampires earlier tonight.

A man must do what he must do. Reid laughs belatedly, his attention solely focused on Lucas between his legs. "A mountain to climb, Lucas?"

He doesn't know how he feels about being referred to as something to conquer, but the subtlest of grazes when Lucas unfastens the button of Reid's jeans have him extremely awake and willing to accept the sacrifice.

Lucas snorts, smiling. "Tired. My mouth is fuckin' dismal." He grins devilishly. "Well, not where it counts."

The way Lucas's hooded gaze slides up, catching Reid's eyes, there's a hunger there, but also deeper emotion. Reid's lips move without thinking his words through, whispering, "Do you love Asha?"

"I do," Lucas says without hesitation, slowly laying his cheek against the side of Reid's thigh. His dark lashes flutter, and his half-lidded gaze is red-rimmed with tiredness. "Why? Don't you love Kane?"

Reid blows air through his nose. Kenneth is one of the only people in his life he could ever say he truly cares for without any preambles. But he feels jittery and, out of his stupid mouth, slips, "What's it like to be in love?"

Lucas smiles curiously. "Love isn't definable. It changes for everyone." He lifts his head from Reid's thigh. "You have to feel it, and when you do, you'll know."

"I'll take your word for it." Reid smiles shakily. The patter his heart had taken in Rowan's orbit was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Maybe that was love? He said it was. But despite his inner battle, he says, "I don't think love is for me."

Lucas laughs softly. "I was there tonight. I know what you did for that girl, putting yourself at risk like that...damn, it came close. Not many men would do that for a stranger. Not the ones I've met anyway."

Reid tenses as Lucas raises a confident hand, and slowly his fingers slip beneath the hem of Reid's shirt. The calloused touch makes a shivering over a scar on the curve of his hip. There's no denying that Reid's heart yearns.

Lucas's touch becomes a palm resting against the shallow rise of Reid's stomach. "You're just as much of a warrior as Kane. He's just flashier with all his bullshit. Stop acting like you're worthless."

Reid laughs bitterly. "You saw how useless I was when the fight started."

"We all fight battles. It doesn't have to be in the muck."

Reid's eyes widen ever so slightly. "Shut up," he grumbles, flushing. His lips have a mind of their own, whispering, "You don't know me. You think you do, but you don't. I'm a coward. If I hadn't been so weak—if I'd killed my father when I was a teenager—it would have stopped all this."

Lucas's eyes widen, but he remains silent and lays a palm on Reid's knee, squeezing. The touch is heavy but comforting.

Reid's gaze traces the jagged scars crossing Lucas's fingers. "Azrael wouldn't have had any reason to entice his revenge. Would he have gone his own way? Stopped killing. I was in that house. I saw the massacre the Tellers suffered. I can't stop thinking about it." The strange, pattering warmth in his heart propels the forbidden words to tumble from his mouth as he whispers, "My mother, she would still be alive if I'd just put a stop to—"

Lucas's fingers tightening on Reid's knee cut off his shaky confession. "You didn't want to kill your father because you're a good guy. Not like them. That's the point. You're better. Shit. I've got lots of regret, but I don't dwell on it. You shouldn't either. It'll drive you mad."

Air thin, Reid breathes, "Do you, uh, feel something for me?"

Lucas rises, placing his palms on either side of Reid's head, and the mattress dips. His gaze is serious, more so than Reid has ever seen the man before. "I..." Lucas swallows. "I saw, once Asha showed me, when I was at my lowest, a glimpse of my future."

Leaning heavily on an arm, he lays a palm on Reid's cheek, the rough pad of his thumb grazing Reid's cheekbone, as if to try and wipe away the look of confusion twisting Reid's features. "Would you believe me if I said I saw you? I saw you're blue fuckin' eyes and your face, pretty as hell."

"I might," Reid breathes, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I did. And..." Lucas inhales deeply. "I felt something for you, yah, I did. I do."

The room is spinning. Reid doesn't know how to react to this confession, if that's what it is. He narrows his eyes. "Stop calling me pretty; it's insulting. I'd much rather be called insanely handsome or..." His brain is mushy from all the bubbling emotions that don't come naturally to him. "Ah, crap, I can't think of anything else." He bemoans, "You've broken me."

Lucas chuckles and leans back on his knees. He grabs Reid's foot and, with a dark grin, begins tickling him mercilessly. "I don't think I will, because you are so pretty. It'd be a travesty not to say."

Choking on air, Reid's kick to Lucas's arm does little. "Asshole!" He's annoyed, but he can't help laughing, squirming, tears springing from his eyes. He's a tad desperate for the tickling torture to stop, kicking out, until Lucas's fingers finally abate.

"I didn't dream about that mouth you have, though," Lucas drawls, smiling. "Well, I did, but you know..." He grins wickedly, and his fingers, once again, tease the sole of Reid's foot.

"Don't you dare," Reid warns, feeling hot.

The wickedness in Lucas's grin has Reid attempting to flee. He only makes it into his stomach and to the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the motel sheets, before the weight of a beast falls over his back, crushing him into the mattress. A spring jabs his hip. "I'll —" He wheezes as relentless fingers begin poking him for the sole purpose of looking for his ticklish spots.

This should be humiliating. He's a grown man being tickled to the point of tears, but the teasing fingers and the deep laughter he can feel rumbling over his back as he chokes on air have him smiling against the motel bedding, wider than he has in a long time.

Through bouts of laughter, Reid shouts breathlessly, "I'll leave! Lucas! I will!"

Lucas leans back, no longer crushing Reid with his weight, but his tickling torture doesn't abate. "Oh? Then go. I'm not stopping you." He laughs as Reid stutters on a curse and tries to jab him with an elbow. Lucas catches the appendage with ease.

Like the ass he is, Lucas hums and teases, "Huh? What's that? You want me to stop? Why didn't you just say so?"

The tickling ceases.

Reid's laughter falls away, and he's left taking in ragged breaths, refilling his burning lungs. His cheeks are damp. He keeps his face mashed into the motel's bedding. He can't turn because Lucas still has a hold on his elbow. He mutters, "Jerk."

Lucas laughs lowly. "What was that?"

Reid groans, "I'm dead."

"Look alive to me," Lucas says lowly, fingers slipping beneath the hem of Reid's shirt, and the slow, calloused graze of skin sends pleasant shivers to ascend Reid's spine. Even though Reid is stiffening, it feels really good.

Despite the niceness, sweat sticks to Reid's skin. He tries to give his best rendition of a dead body because he's a coward and can't handle the way his heart is beating faster, unsure and frankly scared of what Lucas is offering with sweet words and tender touch. He kind of wishes the man tried to castrate him again; it was simpler then; pain is simpler than whatever this is.

Lucas chuckles. "It's strange to not hear you speak." He still has his hand under Reid's shirt. "Talk to me, love. Or this is going to become awfully one-sided."

Reid's rapidly beating heart hasn't quelled. He turns his face away from the bedding, blinking at the television atop the motel's scratched dresser. On the screen, Detective Chance is in a bare-knuckle fight with a man twice his size in a leather jacket. "It's not my fault you killed me."

Lucas's hand should be registered as a weapon for how good it feels when the other slips under the hem of Reid's shirt and massages Reid's scarred back deeply.

When he's able to speak again, Reid huffs, "You wanted to get me off, and then you tickled me until I'm on the cusp of death. That's not romantic at all."

Lucas stills. "I can be romantic. Just didn't think you wanted that."

Reid smiles against the bedding. "Maybe a little bit." He doesn't actually know what he likes. He's only ever been with women and always had a one-night stand, which is hardly memorable because he was literally out of his head on a concoction of pills. But the thought of Lucas acting soft has Reid interested enough to try gentle, even if it's frightening.

"A little bit," Lucas mimics with a lilt of a smile in his soft voice. And even softer, he whispers, "Look at me."

Reid complies; his elbow protests at the awkward angle he has to keep as he glances over his shoulder. And the smile he's rewarded with is so infectious that his own lips rise on their own accord, burning his cheeks in one of the rare dumb, genuine grins he lets slip when he's not careful.

"There you are; I missed that face," Lucas says softly, smiling wider. He lets go of Reid's elbow. "Hell, your eyes—they're so damn pretty."

Reid resists the twisting in his gut as he recalls the hospital visit not long ago when Kenneth complimented him. Kenneth explicitly told him not to do exactly what he's about to do. What's wrong with him? He really is broken. But maybe a man like Lucas can make use of his broken pieces. He hopes so anyway.

Ignoring the very genuine annoyance he receives for once again being called pretty, Reid smiles shakily and says, "Then why aren't you—"

The phone on the nightstand vibrates.