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Fic: Patching Up the Walls (Pitchiner/Proto, Pitchiner/Pitch, R)

Title: Patching Up the Walls

Fandom: Rise of the Guardians

Pairings: Pitchiner/Proto, Pitchiner/Pitch

Author’s Notes: Belated birthday fic for dildarium with thanks to nightmareships for the speed beta! Gratuitously fluffy (after a fashion) NDU hatemuffin with a splash of nightmare galleon for seasoning.

*



Pitchiner had come to realise over the years of knowing him that Proto’s emotional vocabulary was much broader than he’d first assumed - Proto just happened to be picky about when he proved it.

If Pitchiner’s parents were visiting, Proto was a model citizen, charming and polite and reserving his acid tongue for celebrity gossip if it came up. If Purradox or Tarminator were in clingy, whiny moods, Proto was willing to be an affectionate and attentive master.

Proto could be full of surprises as well as scares, and not all of them were bad.



Pitchiner hadn’t ever expected to find Proto acting timid, but there was definitely a touch of apprehension in Proto’s attitude when he came home from one of his “club nights” and saw Pitchiner in the kitchen.

It was written all over Proto’s face that he wanted to talk, so after putting the kettle on to make his own coffee and whatever Proto fancied, Pitchiner adopted the approach that normally worked for Jack, opening his arms and saying, “Spit it out, kid.”

“I’m trying to,” Proto snapped, fetching the vegan hot chocolate and cursing when he dropped the jar on the counter, hands shaking.

Pitchiner straightened the jar and passed a teaspoon to Proto, cocked his head as he assessed Proto’s appearance. Shaking hands aside, he looked alright - still pale and skinny, but no skinnier or paler than usual, and the circles under his eyes weren’t too dark. “I’m guessing you don’t need a doctor, but I could do with a helping hand, man. What d'you need?”

Proto laughed, finished mixing up his hot chocolate before grabbing rice milk from the fridge and completing his blasphemy against all things good and chocolatey by adding a splash. “I spent the last half hour in the club waiting for someone to untie me after my dom left. She’d had an emergency and forgot to mention I was still in the private play room, so a few of the usual TLC clichés would be nice.” Proto smirked, made Pitchiner’s coffee for him, and handed it over.

Blasphemer against hot chocolate or not, he made good coffee, though anything was better than Pitch’s three teaspoons of the strongest cheap brand assault on his tongue. “Hot chocolate, warm bath, lots of cuddles?” Pitchiner guessed, unsure of what Proto considered cliché.

“Mmhm. Just pretend you love me and I have a cold you can’t catch.”

Pitchiner was willing to put up with a lot of bullshit from Proto, but he figured the reason that stung was because Proto said it like he meant it. Finishing his coffee by chugging it down in far too hot gulps that he’d likely pay for later and setting the cup aside, Pitchiner grabbed Proto by the waist and pulled him close, kissing him hard with tight lips. “I don’t fuck people I hate, y'know. I think you’re fucking scary, but I don’t hate you.”

Proto didn’t exactly smile at that revelation, but he did sigh and lean his head against Pitchiner’s shoulder, occasionally lifting it to take a sip of his hot chocolate, but otherwise happy enough to be held.

The coffee-scorched inside of Pitchiner’s throat didn’t feel so bad when he got to play the good guy, and it was some time after Proto finished his drink that Pitchiner suggested, “How about that bath, then?”

Proto’s fingers clenched against Pitchiner’s back. “You don’t have to spoil me.”

Pitchiner shrugged. “What if I want to? No one else ever lets me. If that’s okay, I mean.”

Proto swallowed thickly before nodding, and Pitchiner pulled away enough to take Proto’s hand and lead him through to the bathroom, wondering what Jack and Proto had in common that made the idea of being spoiled so nerve-wracking. Pitch just hated fuss - Jack and Proto seemed to like it, but were reluctant to accept it.

Pitchiner turned on the taps and tossed in a fistful of the salts left over from Pitch’s last fit of exhaustion, and figured shitty parenting had a lot to answer for.



The horny fucker inside Pitchiner had hoped Proto would want company in the bathroom, and he wasn’t exactly unhappy when its hopes were answered. Proto wanted privacy for using the toilet and brushing his teeth, but allowed Pitchiner back in before climbing into the tub.

Pitchiner wondered how the family line Proto and Pitch came from had ever survived when the guys were almost all stick-thin workaholics, Proto’s bones seeming all too close to the skin when he sponged it clean. Clean-ish, anyway - he’d opted against using soap.

Maybe the secret to their family survival was the spectacular asses. Piki and Pitch had beauties, and Proto’s wasn’t bad for his build.

“Did you have fun tonight, at least?” Pitchiner asked as he washed Proto’s back, bruises and scratches and scars covering it that looked crueller than any he’d ever given Pitch, even if the hisses Proto let out when the sponge rubbed over them seemed entirely self-satisfied.

“Yes, daddy,” Proto murmured, eyes closed and face relaxed as if he was half-asleep, and Pitchiner wondered if he’d even realised what he’d said. “They’re good friends, you would like them.”

So he had realised. Pitchiner smiled, feeling a little less guilty about how his cock had stirred at the nickname. “Good. I want the best for my boy.”

Proto’s eyes fluttered open lazily before he held out his hands, Pitchiner standing up with him to help him out of the tub, and wrapping a towel around his shoulders, patting it down gently instead of roughing it over his skin like he’d normally do for himself. Proto smiled and pulled away, before saying, “I think I’ll be alright now. Thank you.”

Pitchiner nodded, pulled the plug out of the bath before chewing his lip in thought; he didn’t think anything of fucking other people, but Pitch was pretty much monogamous with him, and he’d tried to be that way with others emotionally. Sex was sex, intimacy could be complicated. “I can tuck you in,” Pitchiner said, figuring that was the fairest compromise, and feeling pretty pleased with his decision when the tension dropped out of Proto’s shoulders.



Pitch was dead to the world when Pitchiner slipped into bed beside him, muttering something incomprehensible as Pitchiner rearranged the blankets but otherwise unconscious, and Pitchiner kissed him lightly, once on the neck, once on the shoulder. It was tempting to wake him, to kiss him until he stirred then hold him down and fuck him slowly, until they both came hard and fell asleep sticky and sated.

He decided against it, considering all the time and effort he’d put into fixing Pitch’s sleeping pattern over the last few months.

Pitchiner didn’t often go to bed feeling like he’d won a game unless he’d literally played one, but as he wrapped an arm around Pitch’s waist and shut his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel victorious.

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