#guppy is FERAL for misha
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braiding hair
Just pure fluff (and a small dash of angst). Guppy (finally) gets to live with Misha.
CW: slavery universe, touch starvation
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“Elliot!” Misha called.
Elliot’s heart raced every time Misha called him, even though he knew he wasn’t in trouble, even when he knew why he was being summoned. Elliot set down his tea and shuffled over to Misha’s bedroom.
Misha was there, sitting on the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I love you, Elliot thought, so hard he clenched his teeth. Elliot had wanted to be Misha’s since that first day, but he’d only dared to pray for it months later. He of course kicked himself for not asking God sooner. But such astoundingly good luck, it just didn’t feel right to believe it could happen. It was utterly painful, almost unbearable, hoping for this, when he was at the farm. Guppy could barely stand Misha then, for how heartsick it made him. How so utterly and helplessly he needed Misha.
Elliot leaned on the bed, to lower himself to the floor. It still made him redden just to be close to Misha, to be so casual. To see him in pajama pants. Elliot put his weight into his arms, wincing at the bend of his bad leg.
“How’s the leg?” Misha noticed.
“S’okay. Didn’t hurt bad this morning, I got through breakfast fine.” Elliot had had to lean himself into the sink a few times, to take the weight off of his leg that punished him for every minute he stood. Elliot was just grateful Misha didn’t see him like that, draped over the counter, dry heaving. Misha would’ve made a big deal of it. But Elliot liked standing. It made him feel like he could be useful, still. And not like the tremendous burden he knew he was.
“I-It feels good to sit, though.” Elliot leaned back into Misha’s knees.
Misha shifted up to the edge of the mattress, allowing Elliot between his thighs, and Elliot closed his eyes.
Misha took the strands of Elliot’s hair in his hands. This was real. Misha’s fingers gently pulled the pieces of hair taught around each other. There was no better feeling than having your hair braided, Elliot was sure.
“What’d you make today?” Misha asked.
“Potatoes, eggs, and toast with butter,” Elliot replied.
“My favorite,” Misha said. Because that’s what he always said, no matter what Elliot made.
“Hair tie,” Misha said, and Elliot handed it upwards, leaving it partially rolled onto his fingers so Misha would have to touch them to take it. Elliot’s hair now touched his shoulders, his braid reached the base of his neck. Guppy was never allowed to wear it this long. Elliot wouldn’t cut it, not ever, so it’d grow longer and longer and Misha’d have to sit here for an extra minute in the morning, to braid it all the way. Elliot felt greed flare in his belly.
Misha put his hand on Elliot’s head, signaling it was done. As always, Elliot felt the urge to do something stupid and bad, like grabbing Misha’s leg or refusing to move, so that Misha’s attention could be on him for a few minutes, seconds longer. But Elliot scooted forward so that Misha could get up.
The injury of their morning moment ending, and the rabidness this inspired, soon faded. Elliot could now look forward to it again, tomorrow.
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the one and only tag list: @deluxewhump @eatyourdamnpears @newbornwhumperfly @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi@whoopsalittlewhumpy @library-albino-whumpee @pumpkin-spice-whump @crystalquartzwhump
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