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This was a compromising position.
The kind that made Lars glad that he lived in the garage instead of in the pink room. Glad that people knew he preferred to be left alone. Glad that he only had one roommate.
Speaking of, Ken smiled up at him, softly, from underneath Lars. His nerves must've been showing.
Yes, Lars was sitting on his lap, hands stiffly at his sides. Yes, on his bed that he sometimes shared with Ken. And yes, it was his idea.
Doctor Breman had explained the concept of exposure therapy for Lars’ touch aversion to him before. It wasn’t a new idea, just… a new situation.
The two of them had already shed all of their outdoor layers off, a must in this Wisconsin winter, and were just in their bare layers. Ken in an absurdly bright patterned shirt, Lars in his plain thermal.
He even took off his gloves.
Gloves had become a norm between them, a simple way to hold hands or show simple physical affection, a loose hair tucked here, a shoulder pat there.
Lars tried to breathe evenly. Focus. Ken tilted his head slightly. Please don’t ask, please don’t-
“Do you want to stop?” he said gently.
Ken shifted, slightly nervous, and leaned back to try to give Lars more space. He closed his eyes, everything was easier when Lars wasn't looking at it.
“...No.”
He had to move at this point. He was taking up Ken’s time, wasting his own, staying up too late, they had work in the morning.
Stiff as a poorly articulated doll, Lars set his hands on Ken’s shoulders. The egregious shirt muffled the contact to a comforting degree. Less of a burn and more like sticking your hand in the shower when the water was too hot.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
He creaked his eyes open, the soft lighting of his (their?) room seeping in. He was not met with Ken’s electric blue eyes staring back. His eyes were closed, soaking up the contact he supposed.
The nerves in Lars' palms were crying out, so he gently took them off, hovering slightly above the source of pain.
Ken’s eyes fluttered slightly. “Please don't open your eyes.” Lars tried to spit out as fast as possible. Eye contact and skin contact would be too much.
“Mkay”
Breathe.
Lars’ hands were starting to ache for movement.
So he moved them.
Slowly.
Faint peach fuzz brushed against his fingertips, sending electric shocks throughout his nerves. Hands moving at a snail’s pace, Lars gently dragged his fingertips along Ken’s face, slowly increasing the pressure. It was much warmer, more painful than Ken’s shoulders. He’ll have to take his hands away faster than before.
Ken hummed softly. If he could, without potentially overwhelming Lars, he’d lean into the touch. Lars pressed his palms into his cheeks, and he could subtly feel the calluses where his fingers connect to his hands, built up from years of wood chopping. Did he find that hot? Probably. Was he gonna voice that? Not now. Idiot. Why would you ask that?
Lars felt like he was holding his hand down on a stove top. Ow ow ow ow. Surely blisters had formed now. He withdrew his hand gently, trying not to flinch. It would hurt his feelings if he acted like Ken hurt him.
Gosh it hurts.
So much…
He clenched his teeth, blinked away tears, clenched his hands on his jeans. Unclench. Smoothed out the wrinkles from said clenching.
Breathe. Good golly, just breathe.
For a moment, whether it was seconds or hours neither of them could relay, they both just sat there. Ken eventually took pity on his arms holding him up and just laid down along Lars’ bed. His eyes still closed, arms awkwardly laying at his sides, he looked like a doll or an action figure fresh from the box. Or like Bianca. Lars smiled to himself at that. Maybe he did have a ‘type’ as they say.
The blistering pain in his hands has died down to a low buzz. A subtle electricity beneath his skin. Maybe that's enough for tonight.
Half a glance down revealed that Ken’s shirt had lifted up slightly, revealing a sliver of exposed skin.
Maybe not.
The buzzing had died down, and Lars moved ever so slightly, focusing his weight on his knees that were each settled on the sides of Ken’s lap. Yet again, he slowly moved towards the exposed skin. Moth to a flame.
The time between decision and action was shorter than last time. Does that count for exposure therapy?
Ken inhaled sharply when Lars’ fingertips touched his sides. It was hard not to react.
“Does that hurt?”
It came out more sad and upset then Lars meant it to.
“No.” was the confident response. “How are you holding up?” He felt like he had to physically fight himself not to open his eyes. Ken could imagine Lars' soft smile though. Maker above, he wanted to kiss him without it hurting Lars.
“...Better.”
He laid his hands flat against Ken’s skin. The contact didn't burn as much. It gave Lars time to focus on the sensation of his skin instead of the pain.
Ken's skin was smooth and subtly warm like a lightbulb that was turned off recently. His skin wasn't as warm as Margo’s handshake or Dr. Breman’s hand on his back, but it also wasn't as cold as Bianca.
He moved his hands up slowly, feeling Ken’s side rise and fall with his breath. Lars was leaning more and more forward, awkwardly. So he just laid down. Surprisingly it was still comfortable. The steady rise of his breathing with his own hands still under Ken's shirt (now only slightly stinging). He closed his own eyes.
Comfortable.
That was good.
The two of them stayed like that until they both fell asleep.