Chapter 1
Colson has a brief history of finding himself in trouble or in other bizarre and inconvenient situations, and while it is not always Davis Ford's fault, it is Davis Ford's fault so often that Colson feels like he definitely deserves an honorary mention when talking about the bad decisions in Colson's life. he has involuntarily been an accomplice to some dog stealing, has stood outside in a freezing temperature in a pair of boxers and a hoodie after Davis set off the fire alarm in
his
apartment. has, on multiple occasions, found himself walking his fucking lizard on a leash around the neighborhood because Davis's too busy to do it himself.
so when he wakes up handcuffed to another person, he just sort of automatically assumes Davis Ford is somehow involved.
the first thing he registers upon waking up is a dull pain in his right arm due to his elbow being bent in an unnatural position. the second thing is that he's not in his own bedroom;
where
he is, exactly, he can't tell yet in his groggy state, and because he can't quite lift his face from the sheets, which, on an unrelated note, smell nice and maybe vaguely familiar. the third is that he's not alone in this bed. there's a lumpy mountain of blankets next to him that he's pretty sure has a person buried underneath it.
the handcuffs are about the fourth thing he registers, and this is after he attempts to move his arm into a more comfortable position and realizes it's stuck, or rather, there's something stuck to his arm. something metallic glistens around his wrist. looks like a silvery bracelet. looks like -
he props himself up on an elbow, and lifts his arm. the metal rim digs into his skin, and he pulls up a short chain of three metal links, and someone's deadweight arm, trapped in a cuff similar to the one around his own wrist. yep, that's handcuffs.
okay.
handcuffs in the context of a bedroom is not something Colson's entirely unfamiliar with, to be entirely honest, but 1. he sure as hell didn't engage in that sort of thing last night, 2. you usually don't cuff yourself to your partner, and 3. these aren't the sexy type of handcuffs, anyway. they look and feel like actual fucking handcuffs used in arrests. Colson drops his arm with a muffled thump. the deadweight arm is fortunately attached to the person under the blanket - although, as the lumpy mass next to him stirs, mutters a quiet, "
ow,"
Colson finds himself thinking that being handcuffed to a severed arm actually doesn't sound so bad.
oh, jesus fucking christ please no,
he thinks as he recognizes the voice, but what comes out is just:
"fuck me."
Ethan Hart pushes the blanket out of his face. he blinks at Colson, sleepy and confused.
"Colson? what..."
Colson has no idea what his face is doing. he momentarily forgets how to form words and make them come out of his mouth, so he just lifts their arms again - his right, Ethan's left - and Ethan stares at the handcuffs, for so long that Colson thinks he zoned out or fell asleep with his eyes open.
"is this a dream?" Ethan asks, voice thick from sleep.
"i think i've had this dream before."
"you... what?" Ethan has dreamed of Colson in handcuffs?
not the detail to focus on right now. try again,
Colson tells his brain. the next thing it offers is: or himself in handcuffs? Colson gives his head a firm shake, frowns.
"what?"
Ethan blinks his eyes, and focuses them on Colson. he seems to finally wake up, because his eyes widen comically.
"what the fuck?" he sits up, forces Colson to follow suit.
"why - what? are these real? did you do this?"
"why would i -" Colson draws a deep breath through his nose.
"
stop panicking."
"i'm not panicking," Ethan says while trying to force the cuff open with his bare hands.
fuck this,
Colson decides, and starts tossing the pillows and blankets away in random directions in search for the key. it becomes evident the key is not on the bed with the handcuffs, and Colson groans, drops his face, runs his free hand through his tangled blonde hair. Ethan's shaking his arm forcefully, and Colson's is bouncing limply in the air.
probably good a moment as any to go through the events of last night in his mind. it started out as a movie night.
you've been overworking yourself to hell and back, and when's the last time we all hung out together?
Finley had asked.
we went out to eat together just last week,
Colson had said, but Finley showed up at his door anyway to physically escort him to Ivan, Davis, and Ethan's shared apartment. Colson would've gone, anyway. he doesn't prioritize work over his friends. not on purpose.
someone brought wine. probably Gael. someone also had soju. probably Ivan and Davis. Colson didn't drink that much but at some point Finley passed out on the couch and Gael was extremely wine drunk in the kitchen taking things out of the fridge and putting them in various pots and pans and Colson's not sure what came out of that or if he's even alive anymore.
he actually does remember crashing in Ethan's bed. partially. he remembers Ethan's fingers... tugging.
sleep in my room
. something like that. they were definitely handcuffs-free at this point, and that is an important point to keep in mind.
been ages since we slept in the same bed
. Colson said that. oh, god. what else did he say? they talked about something. what was it?
they are in their last night's clothes. Colson in a black hoodie and torn jeans, Ethan in a loose white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. he's inspecting the cuffs closely with an intense frown and a pout, murmuring something about maybe being able to pick the lock with a paperclip; his hair sticking up every which way, and it would be funny if he didn't still somehow look fucking attractive first thing in the morning and if Colson wasn't in hell right now. but he does and Colson is so it's not funny.
Colson drops his hand from his hair.
"does Davis own a pair of handcuffs?" he asks wearily, already knowing he could as well be asking,
why
does Davis own a pair of handcuffs, but then again, he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know. Ethan looks up at him, slightly pained.
"i actively try to
avoid
learning about the things he owns."
speak of the devil, a voice comes from behind the closed bedroom door.
"if you guys are done panicking, come out and let me explain. because i do have that. an explanation. and before you do that, let me just say i'm unarmed? and there's pancakes? and don't kill me?"
"the pancakes are a lie," comes a more distant voice.
"shut up, Ivan," Davis hisses.
"i'm going to kill him," Colson grumbles, already scrambling out of the bed. their coordination is... not all there yet. Colson's pulling on the handcuffs, halfway off the bed, and Ethan's weighing him back, and then suddenly he's
not,
and Colson falls forward, towards the floor, and Ethan grabs his arm, but the mattress tips, and he lets out a high-pitched squeak, and then they are both going down.
Colson lands on his ass first, which is already painful enough, but then Ethan falls on top of him, knocks him to the floor onto his back, punching the air out of his lungs. Colson's hand gets pinned beside his head when Ethan catches himself on his forearms. Ethan's nose brushes at his jaw.
this day is fake, Colson decides, staring blankly at the cracks in the ceiling. it's not real. it's a hallucination and in reality he's at the studio, dying after overdosing on caffeine. this doesn't just happen. you don't wake up handcuffed to a guy who -
then he's staring into Ethan's doe eyes, which seem even huger than usual, as the younger lifts his face and hovers right above Colson.
"are you okay?" Ethan asks. Colson almost laughs, or cries, maybe, he really isn't sure.
which fucking drama is this,
he thinks, and closes his eyes, knits his brows together.
"get off," he says, strained. his pulse is speeding up. he's very aware of Ethan's body against his.
"ah. right." Ethan rolls off him, onto his back next to him, the handcuffs between their heads. they lie there for a moment, Ethan rubbing at his rugburned elbow, and Colson catching his breath.
"i think you broke a couple of my ribs," Colson mumbles.
"you should get Finley to look at that," Ethan says. Colson grunts.
"he'll be busy tending to Davis after i'm done with him."
Ethan's getting up, offering his handcuffed hand to Colson, who takes it, lets himself be pulled onto his feet. he grimaces at the pain in about every part of his body and soul.