The embrace ought to reassure Scotty, but it terrifies him.
He's lying in bed, a silly narrow little bed in one of a thousand anonymous hotel rooms, and his arms are full, wrapped around the warmth that is Kelly Robinson. Kelly's head is nestled in the comfortable slope between neck and shoulder, his breath warm against Scotty's collarbone – smelling of dinner's onions, which is okay. Scotty likes onions. His arms are curled firmly, warmly around Scotty in sleep, one leg draped over Scotty's hip. Like you're climbing a tree, Scotty smiles silently, affectionately to his oblivious partner.
But the joyous, passionate embrace doesn't surprise him in the least. He's never known a more passionate person than Kelly Robinson. Never seen a man laugh like that, cry like that, a man with the courage to wear his heart on his sleeve like that. Scotty can't do that, can't even get up the guts to try. And there Kelly is, letting it all hang out for all the world to see. Out in the open, where anyone can touch, can hurt.
Loving Kelly is terrifying, because it's like holding a live wire. His love of life, his love of—well, of Scotty—his pain when things go south, his joy, his fear, his anguish, his laughter—all written across his face like a neon sign—it's not a place Scotty considers safe. Which is funny, because with Kelly is the safest place he knows. The only place he knows that feels like home.
The man in his arms shifts, smiles sleepily, rubs his face against Scotty's shoulder like a cat. "Cool it with the stubble, Mr. Sandpaper," Scotty mutters.
"That's what you think," Scotty growls, and Kelly breathes a laugh, wraps his arms around him tighter, sinks into sleep again.
He's scared, no way around it. Scotty knows Kelly adores him. He's seen the way his partner looks at him, and it takes his breath away, both with wonder that he can inspire that, and with terror that someone will notice. He can't really fathom how no-one has noticed until now. Well, maybe because of the little detail of it being, you know, terrible and horrible six ways to Tenerife, and secret and shameful and unspeakable. That's what Lord Alfred Douglas called it, didn't he? "The love that dare not speak its name."
Oh, Wilde explained it away well. To calm himself, Scotty allows his mind to run along the lines the man said in court: "…such a great affection as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep, spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art… It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand."
Well, he's not older, but 'joy, hope and glamour'? Scotty looks down at Kelly and cannot suppress a smile, unable to help the joy of just having this… this meteor, this shooting star, this incandescent flame, to have and to hold, the wonderfulness of Kelly's shining presence in his arms. And of course he knows Wilde was lying through his teeth. As they are to the world. And he ought to be depressed, but looking at the sleeping face, Scotty can't suppress another grin. "At least my family's not gonna sue you for corrupting me," he half-whispers to the warm, lazy lump in his arms, just the sight of Kelly filling him with warmth and delight, before the terror of being found out slams into him again. They hide it well – not even consciously hiding it, really, they both enjoy and love women – but they are one body, have been for years now, more natural than breathing. And nothing is more unnatural, in this world they live in.
"Scotty…" Kelly squirms and shifts in his arms. And smiles in his sleep. He never used to, and it scares Scotty to know that he is the cause of the change. Kelly shifts again, comfortable, at peace. At peace.
"Pipe down, Homer, and get some sleep." And that's it, of course, for Scotty. He'd do anything to see that smile, to keep it from ever leaving Kelly's open, unguarded countenance. He pulls the affectionate idiot closer. How could he not give him everything?
Holding Kelly tight, he stares into the dark. One day, a day he hopes will never come, they may have everything taken from them. Is it worth it to live in this wonderful moment? He has no idea. Is it worth it to hold Kelly in his arms, pull him close, breathe in his soul, lose his uptight fears in Kelly's enthusiasm, drown in his adoration? He has no idea. Is it worth it to be one with Kelly, to laugh with the purest joy, to tap into that joie de vivre, that pure, untempered passion? He has no idea. Is it worth it to nurture and cherish Kel's brave and broken heart, to give him this, to let him know that his adoration is returned tenfold, to give him the secure knowledge that this love is not leaving, that this love would die rather than betray him, that this love is his for as long as he needs it—that he'll never be alone again?
And Scotty sighs, for to that, there has only ever been one answer.