Cuddle Bug

     “Wouldn’t pin you for the cuddle type,” Corinthian whispered into Moss’ ear, quite a usual poke at their intimacy. He liked it this way because it achieved his ultimate goal:  soften the personal aspect of the moment itself. Tone down the sugar with just a spoonful of teasing. Usually light-hearted, mutual back and forth, “Look at yourself, hugging me like a stuffed bear. I’m not a toy, you know– Is this your idea of objectifying me?”

     Only this time, there was no back and forth. Moss’ only response was silent, the unsteady puffs of shaky breathing. His face was close enough to Corinthian’s chest to be burrowed in his coat, hidden away from the outside world. Moss was holding on like a man lost at sea, and Corinthian wasn’t sure how to react.

     He sighed. Maybe it was time to think of something.

     Their most recent mission had gone– well, badly was not necessarily the right word to describe it, because their initial objective had been successful. By the end of the day, their target was lifeless at their feet.

     By the time their enemy lay lifeless as their feet, Corinthian had looked around for Moss, heaving and shaking from the thrill of violence. Moss, on the other hand, had been hurt more than Corinthian realized: Physically, the nightmare had faired without a scratch. But something had been said in the heat of carnage, whipping rot and bitting teeth, that Corinthian had failed to listen.

     Moss, on the other hand, had heard the last words of that dying man. Though it was a grim, concerning thought, Corinthian couldn’t help himself a morbid comparison: Whatever words had been spoken by that guy had killed a part of Moss along him.

     Now, Corinthian was no stranger to the psychological scars of human emotion. A Nightmare was created out of them after all: creatures spawned by the worst spots of the sentient psyche. He relished in schadenfreude at the sight of lowly mortals wallowing away their sorrows. It was in his nature to enjoy pain, whether it included blood or the absence thereof.

     But, as it happened time and time again when it came to Moss, Corinthian’s view was thrown off quilter. When it came to suffering, Moss was a quiet type of martyr, letting whatever emotions had infected his brain claw him from the inside out. And when it came to Moss’ suffering, unspoken as it was, Corinthian found it completely unappealing. Quite the opposite actually: it was disgusting. He felt a sort of tear rip through him to see Moss in pain.

     As a cold-blooded killer, Corinthian was no therapist, nor he had ever been keen on exploring emotional vulnerability. Still, the urge to help turn the situation around ran warm through his blood, a need to help his partner so unlike any other. A need to make it all okay, and help Moss breathe easy once again.

     Corinthian was painfully aware of how cheesy thoughts of that sort felt bouncing around his skull. He tried to redirect the awkwardness into a more productive sort of conversation.

     “Maybe we can get you one of those if you’d like. Or a heavy, stuffed blanket. I heard those are pretty good for this sort of thing.”

     There was silence again, but Corinthian held his patience. He could not make out the feature on Moss’ hair from his position hidden against Corinthian’s jacket– but the sound of his breathing was still an indication of his mood, loud and clear. It took a couple more moments, but a reply finally came.

     “... get me… what?” It was the first time Moss had spoken for a while.

     “Stuffed bear,” Corinthian chuckled, “Or stuffed… I don’t know, something. Mushroom, perhaps? Fits better with your theme and all.”

     Quite an absurd thought considering their nature, but it did what it was meant to. The sheer confusion of it pulled Moss from his burrowed state, and he turned to face him. Puffy, amber eyes holding an emotion that Corinthian couldn’t quite make out. If it was confusion, disgust, or a messy mix of both, it was better than the alternative.

     “I… do not want a stuffed mushroom,” Moss said slowly, almost offended.

     “Blankets then. With little mushrooms on it, perhaps?”

     “Why the… what the fuck?”

     Corinthian let out a laugh, the first sincere one since the mood had been weighing on his partner’s shoulders. Confusion was not necessarily the shift he had wanted Moss’ emotions to go through, but anything was better than shutting down.

     “Something weird?” He purred. Moss’ expression was answer enough, but that didn’t deter him from pushing, “Thought you were a mushroom guy.”

     “I– yes, I… look, I am,” Moss was struggling to push out coherent thought, “I am, but that doesn’t mean that’s not a– what?”

     “Brand recognition is very important,” Corinthian hummed.

     “Wait, no, go back,” pushing upwards from his nestled position, Moss sat up enough to look at his partner in the eyes, “Why would I need a mushroom blanket?”

     “Or a stuffed bear. Stuffed mushroom, rather? Though those would look pretty phallic– which, don’t get me wrong, we’re not prudes in this household– but having a cartoonish depiction of it might be crude even for me–”

     “Corinthian,” Moss looked dumbfounded, so much so that the debate looked to be getting on his nerves, “I don’t need a goddamn stuffed animal.”

     “Mushrooms aren’t animals, aren’t they?”

     “No,” the rot hissed out, “They aren’t–”

     “Plants then!” Corinthian chirped up, matter-of-factly.

     That might have been Moss’ last straw, because his muscles tensed, and his body recoiled with anger. Corinthian watched from under him, as those soft brown eyes were swallowed by darkness, then lit up by a pair of iris ablaze. From deep within his lungs, growing eager with every breath he could, came buds and spores, clouding the air, and sprouting across the expanse of Moss’ exposed skin. He was reading himself for an attack.

     Despite his better judgment, Corinthian braced, empty eyes focused solely on the hostile creature. Like the predator the nightmare was, Moss’ was an intimidating force of nature, reeking of danger and decay, fully braced for a fight to settle the single most important principle of Moss’ existence:

     “Mushrooms aren’t plants, you imbecile, they’re fungi!”

     The laughter that came suit boomed through their entire household, chasing any residual tension in its wake. The entire situation was nonsense– from their topic of conversation to Moss’ theatrical reaction– and had managed to pull quite a cluster of emotions from each individual. Corinthian could not believe the dramatics associated with Moss’ scientific clarification, while Moss could not believe how scared Corinthian had looked at said dramatics. At least, that’s what he had said in between wheezing, even if Corinthian swore again and again that he wasn’t scared.

     It took a while for the laughter to fizzle out, cathartic as it was, but when it started reaching the beginning of its end, Corinthian wanted nothing more to make things right. He pulled Moss back into the bed with him, to lay with him just as they had mere minutes before– only this time, whatever it was that had been clawing at Moss’ conscience was gone. Chased away by a good laugh, and the memory of a bizarre interaction.

     In a silent sort of delight, Corinthian noted how relaxed the other felt between his arms. Their contact was no longer to shield, but a complement to their relationship. Closing his eyes, and wanting nothing but to drown Moss in a sensation of comfort, Corinthian left his hands to trace circles in his partner’s back. Moss, in return, melted against the sensation, letting out a sigh of relief, and with it, whatever weight remained of the prior mental conundrum– for better or for worse.

     Because Corinthian knew they would one day have to talk about it– not because Moss wanted to, but because he would be forced to do so. By an individual or a situation, the nightmare wasn’t so sure, but that didn’t matter: Moss’ fear had now gone dormant, and one day, it would awaken to the same horrified state of earlier that night.

     Whatever it was that had caused it, maybe Corinthian could understand it all. Maybe he couldn’t. He wasn’t quite sure, shrouded in mystery as it was right now, but he was sure of one thing, and one thing alone:

     If Moss would allow him to shoulder some of the burden for them, Corinthian wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

     In silence, Corinthian attempted to make that known. Fingers still pressing against naked skin, soothing Moss’ neck, and shoulders to rid them of any residual tension. Moss’ breaths slowed down to a quiet lull, gentle to the point where he almost drifted to sleep on a couple of occasions. All through it, he’d snuggle closer and closer to his partner’s side.

     “Cuddle bug,” Corinthian whispered. It was endearing.

     “Am not,” Moss argued in return, voice muffled against the bed.

     “Right, sorry. You’re a cuddlebug and a nerd, mister Mushrooms aren’t plants, actually.”

     When their eyes met again, Moss’ sclera had cleared back to normal. He was no longer hostile, but he still carried a semblance of annoyance when he argued, “It’s a basic biological fact. Living things are categorized in five different kingdoms, and mushrooms are fungi, not animals, not plants– I’m proving your point, aren’t I?”

     “The nerd one? Yes, you are.”

     Moss hung his head in defeat, and Corinthian apologized with a kiss to his temple. Then one to his cheek, and a final one to his lips, for good measure.

     “I didn’t say I minded,” he murmured, savoring the sweetness of Moss’ lip balm, “great quality in a man.”

     After a second to recover from the kiss, Moss managed to pull out a question, “Being a nerd or a cuddle bug?”

     Corinthian's smile was answered enough.