That couldn’t happen. When the blur that was Voigt stepped in, Rafael lunged. They grappled. It was vicious, the kind of nasty, no holds barred fighting they’d both learned in prison. Rafael held on, baring his teeth and scrapping like a wild animal. He felt like something feral, no longer human. And then he got his arm around Voigt’s neck and squeezed until the man’s eyes rolled back and he went limp.
God, the temptation to hold on until it was over. But sirens wailed in the distance, and Rafael couldn’t take any chances.
“Consider yourself lucky,” he growled as he released his grip.
Limping back to his car, he cursed himself for letting his guard down. As the adrenaline wore off, he felt every one of his injuries, every breath like a knife twisting in his side, and the taste of blood in his mouth.
All he wanted was to be home with Summer in the warmth and safety of that apartment.
Safe. He hadn’t felt safe in so long, and yet that was what Summer’s apartment was, safety.
I just have to get there.
***
Summer stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with meticulous precision. The aroma of garlic and onion wafted around him as he tried to focus on preparing dinner. It was meant to be a peace offering for Rafael, a way to show his appreciation despite what had happened earlier.
The door slammed open, startling him. He whipped around to see Rafael limping into the apartment, his face bruised and bloody. Shock coursed through him, and he cried out, dropping the knife onto the cutting board.
“Rafael! What happened to you?” Summer asked, urgently crossing the room to help support Rafael’s weight.
“Old enemy,” Rafael grunted, wincing as he lowered himself gingerly onto the couch. “Caught me off guard. Brought friends.”
Summer’s heart clenched at the sight of Rafael’s battered body—the purple bruises blooming on his cheekbones, the blood trickling from a his mouth, and the way his breaths came shallow and pained. Broken ribs? Fuck, what happened?
“Stay here,” Summer said, rushing to fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom. When he returned, Rafael tried to wave him off, but Summer wasn’t about to let him suffer alone.
“Let me do this, Rafael,” Summer insisted, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to be so tough all the time.”
Rafael sighed, relenting as Summer began tending to his injuries. His ribs weren't broken, maybe only bruised. The bruises on his kidneys were worrying, they would have to keep an eye on that. But the rest was manageable.
Gently, Summer dabbed a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic on Rafael’s split lip, careful not to cause him further pain. It hurt to see Rafael like this, in pain and bearing the physical evidence of a brutal fight.
“Does it hurt?” Summer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” Rafael said. Summer decided he was lying.
As he cleaned and dressed Rafael’s wounds, he found himself consumed with worry. He knew that Rafael lived a dangerous life. It was part of who he was, part of the world Summer had grown up in. But now, seeing the consequences of that life laid out before him, Summer was consumed by a desperate need to protect Rafael from further harm.
He looked up from Rafael’s battered hands, and caught Rafael looking at him with an unreadable, intense expression. His cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and something else, something that made his heart race. He quickly returned his focus to cleaning Rafael’s torn knuckles, trying to push away the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.
“Did the assholes take the money?” Summer asked hesitantly, fearing the worst.
“No,” Rafael replied, his voice strained with pain. “I gave it to your friend first.”
“Oh, good.”
There was a brief silence and then— “Your friend. Is she un prepago?“ Rafael asked bluntly.
Summer hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should tell the truth. But there was no point in lying to Rafael about it. “Yes,” he confessed. “We use the term ‘sex worker’.”
To his surprise, Rafael didn’t seem disgusted or judgmental. Instead, he simply grunted and said, “That’s dangerous work.” The lack of condemnation in his voice took Summer by surprise, but he was both relieved and grateful for it.
Working carefully, Summer applied antiseptic to Rafael's knuckles. As he finished, he impulsively lifted Rafael's hands to press two gentle kisses to the backs of them. “Please be more careful,” he whispered, unable to keep the fear out of his voice as he thought about what could have happened to Rafael.
Rafael’s eyes widened, surprise flickering through them before being replaced by a soft warmth. And then, in a move that took Summer completely off guard, Rafael reached out and pulled him close, capturing his lips in a firm but tender kiss.
Summer’s breath caught in his throat, the sensation of Rafael’s mouth on his sending tendrils of heat spiraling through his body. He kissed Rafael back, heart racing. The intensity of their embrace sent waves of longing and desire through his body. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, breaking down the barriers that he had built up around himself over the years. He couldn’t quite bring himself to call it love, not yet, but the feeling in his chest was undeniable—a fierce, possessive fire that burned away any doubt or hesitation.
