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great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.
[ It's over, finally. Everything is being cleared out of the building except for the people who will keep it running during this next period of hopefully-peace. People are celebrating, but Heine's just tired. He wants to go... away. Not home, never home. He'll find somewhere new.
(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)
Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.
He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.
The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]
Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?
(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)
Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.
He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.
The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]
Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?
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[ It makes his chest feel tight again, that little motion— Heine reaching his hand out to Randall. All plans for dinner are abandoned. He wavers in the doorway for a split moment before he's shuffling back to bed, fingertips brushing the palm of Heine's hand and climbing back in.
He wasn't that hungry, after all. Randall's sure he could get some more sleep, and they'd both been sleeping rather well together, easily curling up as close as he can get and legs twining over Heine's good leg, loosely clutching the hand he'd been given. They can't get very close with the pillows supporting him, but this was still... nice. He likes it. ]
All right, me too.
[ His tail twitches in a gentle little wag, but it doesn't thump loudly against the bed like it had before. Randall's forehead brushes against the other man's shoulder and this much contact is enough. ]
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He can't roll over toward him, which he sort of wants to do, not with his back like this and doubly so with the pillows propped up on both sides. ]
Mmh. [ His eyes fall shut again, and he doesn't move when he feels Randall's head press lightly against his shoulder. ] 'kay.
[ Sleepy time again... Heine wakes up much later, when the sun has long since set and he's actually hungry. ]
THROUGH THE TIME MACHINE, WATSON!! to babby's first bath
It may be the second time Heine calls for him, but his ears perk straight up and he's immediately alert, rising from where he knelt in the garden— if one could call the dirt-filled flowerbed that, on the sunny back porch. Just a simple, frustrated call, and he's wiping his hands off on his knees then brushing everything off his pants before stepping inside, ears still perked high.
Heine was... about to bathe, wasn't he? So he's in the bathroom off his room. His steps are light but quick, trotting in to peek his head through the bedroom door before walking in, not wanting to embarrass him outright if he didn't have to. ]
Yes, I'm here! Is something wrong?
DON'T TALK ABOUT BABIES @ ME
Running the water goes fine. He tries to stay off his bad leg, balancing on his crutches so he can reach over and test the temperature. Once it's hot, he leans his crutches against the wall, standing on one foot, and attempts to lower himself into the water.
He's almost there when he hops a little, shifting his weight, and lands badly. His ankle turns, or he slips on some water, and suddenly the wall is headed toward his face at violent speeds. ] Shit—!
[ Hissing a curse, Heine just manages to get a hand up fast enough to keep him from braining himself on the tiled wall. But the water condensed on the wall is slippery, and he's still sliding downward, too fast to stop. When he finally falls, it's into the tub, the wrong way—legs hanging out the side, half of his body in the water, and his head and arms pressed up against the opposite wall. He's banged his elbow, but it's his back that's screaming in pain from the half-twist he'd done to keep his head from hitting the wall.
Oh, fuck. Ffffuck. Eyes shut, teeth gritted, Heine lowers himself the rest of the way into the tub. Every part of him focuses in on the struggle of not hurting himself any more. Eventually, he settles into a sitting position in the tub. The faucet is still running, but he can't move enough to turn it off. ]
Randall. [ He hates needing help, but he can at least admit that his dog has been helpful. He raises his voice. ] Randall—
[ Now soaked, Heine sits still until he pops in through the doorway. Looking up, he sighs and tilts his head down. It's hard to even talk without losing his breath right now. ] Can you turn the water off?
I am so sorry for your newfound baby trigger
He drops to his knees regardless, hands clutching the edge of the tub as big brown eyes watch Heine closely, desperately searching for anything to do for him. ]
What happened, are you all right...? Can I do anything else? I can take you into town if you hurt yourself—
[ His elbow's awfully red just below the surface of the water, but it's hard to tell if it's swelling or not. Randall's legs slip to the side and he settles in beside the tub, awaiting any commands and not even dreaming of leaving Heine's side at this rate. Once two and two came together, it had sounded like a bad fall and Heine's actions now only confirm it. ]
it's all your fault
I fell.
[ He sighs, wanting to push his hair back, but not wanting to move his arms in case he'll strain his back again. Gingerly, he settles into a proper sitting position, trying to not shift his weight. ]
I think—I think it'll be okay. Just can't... move.
[ Ugh. He grits his teeth and lets his head tip back, but he ends up banging it against the wall and groaning again. Goddammit. He looks up at Randall again, struggling not to pant. ]
I just wanted to take a bath.
[ And now he fucked up his back even more and he doesn't think he can move enough to wash himself. Well, at least he can sit here and soak for a while. ]
Can you help me turn around?
[ To lie the right way in the tub, he means. ]
I'll take the blame on that
It's— um, it'll be all right. I'm here, and I'll help! Always. You just need to tell me what you want me to do.
[ He's nearly fidgeting with his urge to help, ears splaying back further with the simple desire. He just wanted to take a bath. It must be hard, and he honestly can't imagine how he must feel, so limited in his daily actions. There's a soft sound of acknowledgement, a little thoughtful hum as his brows knit. He just... feels terrible, not knowing what to do. He wants to make Heine's life easier, more pleasant— after all, this man was the one who had saved him from the pound and given him a home. A yard to grow vegetables in and a comfortable bed and companionship, hopefully for the rest of his life.
Once the war had ended, his purpose was gone. He had no direction left in his life and was resigned to going to the pound if no one in the military claimed their partners and service animals right away.
His ears perk straight up with the request, immediately getting to his feet. ]
Yes, of course.
[ Randall considers this for a long moment, looking down at Heine's bare body laying across the tub, how he could best pick him up so it wouldn't hurt him. Maybe if he— one arm right there, and the other— ]
Let me know if I hurt you, all right? I'll do my best not to.
[ One hand slips under Heine's thighs, a little gap left between his legs and the tub wall, and the other dips right into the water to get him low around his waist. He doesn't want to grab his already injured back, and with the ease of lifting a grocery sack, he picks Heine up out of the water and shuffles one step to turn, lowering him right back in with his legs stretched out to the end, leaving him mostly sitting upright against the back. He could ease back and relax that way, then, or bend his knees and slip further.
Randall's as careful as possible, especially as he sets him back down against the porcelain tub floor. His shirt sleeves are soaked, but that's not important. Brown eyes search Heine's expression, hands still submerged in the water beside him as his elbows rest on the tub lip and he hunkers back down on his haunches. ]
Is this all right...? Do you want a folded towel behind you?
YOU SHOULD
He doesn't know what he's going to do after his leg is healed. It's easier to concentrate on one injury at a time. After the broken bone is healed, he'll have nothing to think about but his fucked up back.
Sunk into these thoughts, Heine doesn't flinch as Randall looks over his body. He's used to being nude in others' view after being in the army for years, though this situation is a bit more intimate than a changing room.
He glances up as Randall stoops down to lift him. Heine trusts Randall; he's too wholesome and earnest to not trust. His strength, too, is something Heine is certain in. ]
...yeah.
[ He does grab at Randall's shirt when he's lifted up, though. Heine bites his lip so he won't make any noise as he's settled back down in the hot bath. Releasing his grip, Heine leans back as gingerly as possible, cast-clad leg propped up slightly out of the water. ]
It's fine.
[ He grunts a little as he shifts, glancing around for a washcloth and the soap. They're both quite far away, and honestly, even turning his head pulls muscles in his injured back that he didn't know existed. Heine hesitates, but he's coming to realize that he really can't do everything by himself anymore. And this can just be one time. He's tired, he already hurt himself... next time he'll do it on his own. ]
Can you help me? [ The heat in the bathroom is a convenient excuse for the flush Heine feels in his cheeks. ] I don't think I can—move much right now.
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Even if Heine says it's fine, Randall is grabbing one of the folded towels from the little cabinet and sinking it into the water behind him before he eases back, giving him some cushioned support. It's a little thing, but hopefully it'd help. His eyes follow Heine's as he looks around and settle on the soap and washcloth, leaning over to grab them immediately and at least get them within a convenient distance before his master even mentions anything. When he does, however... ]
Oh...! Um, of course, let me just— [ The slightest, nervous little wag of the lower half of his tail gives away his elation with the request, but he fidgets around the bathroom a bit until he seems to realize what he needs to do. His fingers are a little clumsy as he starts unbuttoning his recycled shelter dress shirt, baring the thin white tank beneath. The sleeves were soaked from helping Heine out and it was dirty in the first place, so with that out of the way, he can hunker back down and have a little more freedom to move.
His skin is still warm and smells baked by the sun and rich with soil, a little smudge of dirt still smeared on his cheek. When he has the soap in hand, he reaches in with the other to take Heine's wrist, grip loose and gentle as he pulls it out of the water with care and begins to massage the bar into his skin. His movements are slow, not wanting to tug on Heine or pull any muscles that would bring him more pain. ]
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Heine sighs out quiet word of thanks as Randall starts washing him. He tries to sit as still as possible, the hot water relaxing his muscles. He manages to tilt his head back and relax as his dog starts to wash his arm. Soap, first, gliding over his skin. Heine watches it move through his lashes, dewy with condensation from fog of the bath.
He can see Randall's muscles twist and flex under his skin, even though he's doing something this delicate. Heine wants to reach out for him—an urge he doesn't understand. Maybe it's because of what he's starting to remember—that past life that ended in violent death.
Heine wonders if Randall was there. He keeps his eyes half-shut as Randall goes about helping him bathe, the memories coming back. They'd fought together, again, but it was with weapons far less advanced than the ones in the war they'd just fought with—there were swords and not guns. That's how he'd been killed, he remembers.
He's clenching his hands into fists before he realizes it. WIth a sigh, he makes himself relax again. The hot bath has helped him relax his muscles and reduce some of the pain. ]
I think I can do the rest on my own.
[ Like washing his crotch area. Heine doesn't want Randall doing that. He'll still need help getting out of the bath, though. ]
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Something about that little sigh of thanks makes it ache worse. The soap bar massages slow circles in his skin and then he sets it aside to follow with the washcloth, sloughing the day's grime from him and leaving him as clean as he could manage. Randall may be corded with muscle but he's as gentle as can be, barely holding onto him but to keep each limb still as he washes him. There's nothing embarrassing or shameful about this, really, and it's easy to turn his entire focus on his master this way, mapping out his body.
One arm is done up to the shoulder then the other, taking his sweet time to be as thorough as possible. His hands had been a little dirty when he started but now they're perfectly clean, massaging down each of Heine's arms as he finishes and rinses some of the suds off. He had volunteered in the infirmary tents during the war on the off days, so he's used to bathing others by this point. It had never been intimate like this, massaging someone else as they went (there was never time for that, honestly) and focusing just on getting them clean and moving onto the next, but this is nice. It's nice to have a direct impact on Heine's well being, helping him relax.
From his other shoulder he works around his neck, halfway down his chest, and back up the other shoulder to the nape of his neck. Here he's a good deal gentler even than before, one large hand splaying at the back of his neck and waiting for Heine to stir so he can ask him to move.
Every time he glances up, however, those damp eyelashes seem to sink lower and lower, searching for any sign that he's done anything wrong when Heine's fingers clench into fists, muscles going taut under his fingertips. They relax right back out, though, and his master doesn't seem to realize he'd even done it. He seems in a bit of a daze, even with one of Randall's hands probing for access to his injured back. His most vulnerable place, his other hand cupping water to rinse off Heine's chest. ]
All right. Did you want me to wash your back while you do the rest? I can still do your legs, too. [ At least as much as he can reach that isn't in a cast. ]
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Those are new, he thinks, but somehow they suit him very well. Heine hums vaguely in response first, considering. ]
Uh, sure. [ His eyebrows furrow and he begins the process of rearranging himself. Moving is such a production with these injuries. He has to be careful of his back, of course, and also of his leg. ] Pass me the other one?
[ The other washcloth, he means. Once given it, Heine soaps it up and starts cleaning around his cock and balls. He also can't lift his own body enough to wash under himself, but he'll do that later. ]
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He's already moving and Randall's hands twitch, reaching for him for a split second before settling and calming and moving to help with steadier hands. ]
Right...! Here you go. Let me; just relax—
[ And if he actually listens and relaxes, Randall will support him and help him sit up instead of Heine pulling himself up with one arm, straining. He already has the other washcloth in hand to pass to his master and he tips him forward just enough to rest against Randall's arm braced across the tub, supporting his own weight as he leans over to reach down to the curve of his ass. He starts at the nape and works his way down in slow circles, incredibly mindful of his surgery scars from his back injury. Those, he decides, get the gentle touch of his fingertips to dab a fine layer of soap on that tender pink flesh bisecting his back. He doesn't let it sit and sink in, rinsing it off with a couple handfuls of bathwater to keep it from stinging.
Once he's satisfied with his scar care, he'll resume working his way down his back to the dimples, not daring much further and moving to ease Heine back against the towel cushion he'd slipped behind him. It's fallen into the water, but at least this way it'd cushion the length of his back. Now, for those legs. ]
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He knows he's not nearly as badly off as Randall in this department, though, and as the man rinses his back he feels the urge to do the same for him, somehow, to care and accept.
For now, he settles for just letting Randall do whatever he thinks is necessary. Heine shifts around as directed so that Randall can replace the towel behind his back. The simple physical comfort of being clean again and not having to work for it is making him more relaxed than he has been in weeks. ]
Randall... [ He's considering about the memories that have been coming up again and again. ] I think I remember you from something a long time ago.
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He's tried to keep Heine from seeing most of his body. Nothing about him was pretty, or would ever be pretty. He may have had a passably handsome face once from his strong jaw alone, but he's otherwise plain and unremarkable. And that was fine. His life was fine that way.
Randall is simply glad Heine has relaxed. Even if it's only for an hour, it's something he'll remember to apply in the future. Maybe he'll run him a hot bath every other day. He shuffles down to the other end of the tub on his knees and takes his cast leg in hand, shifting it just enough to give him access to the side against the tub wall. He'll be careful as he starts to scrub, staying about an inch away from the cast's edge so he can shield it with his hand when he rinses the soap from his skin, working down his thigh from the over-the-knee cast. He'll hand that washcloth to Heine when he gets near enough to the crux of his legs and stand to sit on the tub ledge, resting his cast foot in his lap before lathering up the other washcloth and taking his other leg in hand.
It might be a little ticklish when he starts to wash his foot. ]
Hmm? [ The look in his eyes when he glances up to meet Heine's is a little sharper than usual, ears perked and stilling with the intensity of his interest. That... sounded familiar. Didn't it? ]
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As Randall sits up on the edge of the tub, Heine's gaze flicks up to his face briefly, body tensing before he relaxes again. His toes curl as Randall's big hands pass the towel over the arch of his foot and a breath escapes his mouth at the sensation. He tilts his head back (carefully this time, to avoid injury), and continues. ]
Yeah. It was during a war, but I think it was a different one. ...I know that sounds weird.
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Could it even be called a laugh when those toes curl against his hand and he huffs out that little breath, leg twitching minutely? His ears flick as the washcloth pushes up the line of his leg, following the bone. ]
It doesn't sound weird at all. I've... had things like that, too, I think. Bits and pieces that feel like memories, but they couldn't have been. Right...? I mean. Like you said, it was different. Older.
[ He looks over to catch his gaze as well, and the splay of his ears is perplexed. He doesn't know how to put it into words when everything is blurry for him, as well. There were no concrete details, just the faint recollection and a feeling. He hadn't had anything vivid slapping him in the face just yet, or if he had, he'd forgotten about it shortly after waking.
The washcloth works further up to his knee, then slips to the underside to follow the curve of muscle in slow circles. ]
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Yeah. Stuff that I thought I remembered, but that never happened.
[ At least Heine has an explanation for those "memories", unbelievable as it may be. He debates just saying it—I think we met in a past life—and then decides against it. He'd introduced the idea, and Randall seems to be receptive, but... he doesn't think he can take that step yet. Later. When they're more settled, when he's hopefully remembered more.
For the moment, Heine just is soothed by the attention. He lets his leg relax in Randall's hold, head hanging down as he settles. ]
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[ It sounds so vague. He could just be spitballing random perks of war, but something in it is genuine and fragile and right beneath the surface on the ice, like he could wipe the fresh dusting of snow off the lake's surface and see a blurry picture beneath the ice.
His touch continues to rub circles in Heine's skin, cloth massaging with the strong flex of his fingers, little circular motions leaving him as clean as possible without delving into the, ah, ...ahem. ]
Anyway, I think that's all...? Wait, your hair— did you want me to?
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[ At least Randall's gentle touch distracts him; Heine sighs softly and lowers his head. He feels cleaner than he has in a long time, and he'll probably feel even better once he's dried off and in clean loose clothes for bed. ]
No, it's fine. [ His hair doesn't need washing for now. ] ...thanks.
[ Now for the arduous process of getting out of the tub. Remembering the disaster of trying to get into it, Heine scowls as he sets about bracing his hands on the lip of the tub. ]
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...Does that sound stupid?
[ He doesn't get much time to second-guess it, really. It was already out between them, both confessing to the same strange little moments of recollection. Maybe more would come, or they'd find out it was just some coincidental dream they'd shared similarities in from how often the other was on their minds.
Heine turns down the offer for his hair and is already moving to get out of the tub, fingers long and slender and pale against the porcelain when Randall shuffles back to allow him space.
He'll want to try on his own, he already knows. But Randall will be right there to bracket him in his arms for support with the towel already in hand to wrap him in, so he won't fall again even if he slips. Or be naked about it. ]
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In another time? [ That makes sense, too. He hms softly. ] No... I think you're right.
[ Heine does want to try on his own—and try he does, lifting himself out of the tub with more success this time. He puts his better foot down. (His back aches.) Then his other leg, still in the cast. (A starburst of pain in his lower shin.)
He takes the towel, then, and starts drying himself with brisk movements. Dressing will have to take place on the bed. He can't stand steadily for so long. ]
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Within reach. He does take note of the pain visible in his posture, how he favors his leg, and can't help but wonder with the draw of his brows if Heine didn't injure himself worse when he slipped. Randall gathers up the crutches left askew against the wall when Heine seems finished, careful not to let his eyes wander inappropriately and tip of his tail wagging a bit nervously with an airy swish. ]
Is there anything else you need? Should I fetch a set of clothes, or some ice? [ For his back— or leg, he supposes, but the cold wouldn't reach through the cast to where he really needs it. ]
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[ He extends a hand for the crutches with the towel still slung around his neck. Once given them, he gets himself over to his bedroom, movements ginger and more uncertain than usual. He doesn't think he'd messed up his leg any more, but fuck does his back hurt. Lying down sounds like a great idea right now.
His clothes, meanwhile, are semi-unpacked and mostly just dumped on the old writing desk, half of them still in his duffel bag. Hanging them up was too hard for him. Also, he's not used to staying in one place for so long. ]
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He's too aware of Heine not to notice how gingerly he moved, staying at hand and only stepping away to gather his things and lay them on the bed.
He tries not to hover. He tries, but... ultimately, he fails. Randall can give him his privacy and turn around but he doesn't want to leave his side, half-finished garden or no. ]
Is everything, um... You're moving a bit— are you sure you're all right after falling? Is anything different?
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extended life alert advertisement, the thread
I'VE FalleN AND I CAN'T GET uP
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