"I don't want to behave," Amos grumbled as he stared up at the ceiling.

Fox had recovered from the cold he'd shared much faster than he himself had and was actually over at Noah and Henry's, spending some time with his father figures. They'd come back from their honeymoon and immediately wanted him for the next few days before they both had to go back to work. He was pretty sure that they were going to the local amusement park today, too, if the decent weather held up.

Closing his eyes for a moment as a moist towel swiped across his face, Amos hummed and smiled. When he opened them back up, Owen was leaning closer, his knee and other hand on the bed beside him.

Don't worry, I'll recover soon.

"Just stay in bed and behave. You always say that you'll recover soon, when it doesn't happen. It takes you a while to get better, and you didn't help your poor immune system with all of the cigarettes," Owen said, never worried that he needed to pull his verbal punches.

You're so sweet, Amos replied mentally, not wanting to talk too much since his throat hurt pretty badly.

"No, I'm not. I'm freaking worried!" Owen yelled abruptly, glaring at him with narrowed eyes before quickly turning his back on him and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Amos wanted to say something in response, but he bit his tongue and thought through their current situation slowly. Owen had always stayed by his side when he'd gotten sick... which had happened quite a few times in their past together. No matter how busy Owen's life had gotten, he'd always find a way to be there for him when he got sick.

Pushing himself up on one arm, Amos squeezed his eyes shut as his body started swaying back and forth. Everything was way too hot, and within just a few moments he was dropping back down to the blankets.

"Stop trying to act cool. Fox isn't here to try and impress," Owen said as he carefully leaned over and helped get him comfortable again.

Amos couldn't find the energy in himself to open his eyes, but he couldn't resist replying with a tired smile.

No trying here. I'm just that awesome.

His mind went blank before he could process Owen's response, the darkness dragging him down into a much-needed sleep.

The smell of something delicious woke him several hours later. After blinking the blurriness from his eyes, Amos looked over at the alarm clock and saw that it was close to midnight.

Owe?

He felt a nervous static from the other man, but their connection didn't go all the way through that time. He'd know that he was awake, though, which was fine with him. He was already being an inconvenience. There was no need to bother the guy for attention every second he was home. Sick or not.

His focus turned to his surroundings. Everything was neat and tidy. His nose was partially stuffed up, but judging from how clean everything looked, it wouldn't have surprised him if Owen had wiped off all the surfaces with disinfectant.

I don't see any clothing on the floor, either.

The closet was full of hung up shirts and sweaters. Pushing himself up against the mound of pillows that had been built behind him at some point, Amos turned his head to look out the window. He observed the growing dark clouds in the distance, but it would be a while before it started to rain, or possibly snow.

I hope Fox had a lot of fun with Noah and Henry.

"He did," Owen said as he nudged the cracked door open and walked in with a small tray.

Amos looked over at him, trying to control his slightly too-fast breathing.

Owen set the tray on the nightstand beside him, then climbed into the bed so that he could easily reach over and press a hand to Amos' forehead.

"Stop trying to hold your breath," he said as he let his hand slide down his warm face to rest against his cheek.

Amos did as told, though he didn't feel that great clearly struggling in front of his good friend.

Friend, huh? Owen sat down normally and reached over, grabbing the hot bowl of soup off of the tray.

He wanted to question Owen's mental comment, but he soon had a hot spoonful of soup nudging at his lips. After being sick for so long, he honestly wasn't hungry, but since he hadn't eaten anything in two days, he didn't dare argue and simply opened his mouth.

"Good boy," Owen joked half-heartedly as he pressed another spoonful of chicken noodle soup against Amos' lips.

He accepted it and chewed slowly, then swallowed with a slight wince because of his sore throat. As Owen stirred the food to cool it down a bit more, Amos leaned over and licked the shoulder of his sweater. He expected Owen to scowl at him for being perverted when he was sick, like always, but when the other man quickly set the bowl down and reached over, gently cupping both sides of his face with his hands, Amos felt his breathing hitch.

"You're getting too hot," he whispered, more to himself than to him. "I shouldn't have felt heat through that simple thing."

Lifting one shaky hand, Amos grasped one of Owen's and smiled.

"It'll be o—" His words were cut off by a thermometer being shoved into his mouth, making him grumble but close his lips around it.

He waited obediently until it beeped, but didn't bother trying to look at the number as Owen withdrew it. Colds were never easy on him. It would likely read around one-hundred and two, if not three.

When Owen simply set the thermometer on the nightstand, then leaned back toward him to start removing his shirt, Amos raised an eyebrow, but quickly let it drop as a headache threatened.

"Need to cool you off," Owen mumbled as he carefully got the sweaty shirt up and over Amos' head.

It took some effort to lift both of his arms since they felt like they were weighed down with bricks, but he managed. Amos laid back against the pillows as soon as his shirt was gone, his energy drained. His mind began to go in and out as he felt fingers at the waistband of his pajama pants. He heard Owen say something about lifting his hips so he could pull them off easier, but he couldn't respond anymore... even though he desperately wanted to.

"Get some sleep, you sick pervert."

Amos awoke late the next evening. He slowly sat up in the dark room, more than a little bit disgusted by the amount of sweat he left on the blankets after his fever had broken. He thought about calling out to Owen, but then bit his tongue and carefully got himself out of bed. It was no surprise that he was naked. After getting his balance situated, he got to work removing the blankets and sheets from the bed, as well as the pillow cases. Once everything was off, he walked out the bedroom door and headed to the laundry room.

Thankfully, the washer was empty. He added half of the items he brought, then started it. After that, he walked into the living room. The light over the dining room table was dimmed, but it told him that Owen was home. Another moment later and he found him curled up on the sofa, hugging one of the throw pillows as he slept quietly. There were dark marks beneath his eyes and notes from his schoolwork were strewn all over the coffee table.

It was unheard of for Owen to be messy, even when taking care of him. Amos wanted to walk over and pull him into his arms, but he stopped himself immediately.

Shower first.

Turning, he calmly walked to the bathroom, very aware of his lack of stamina. He wasn't one to take life slowly, but for once, he curbed his normal enthusiasm and very carefully got himself scrubbed from head to toe, then rinsed. He did skip shaving, though, not trusting his slightly shaky hands to handle the razor. He didn't look too scruffy with a faint beard starting up in all the right places. Smirking at himself in the mirror, he dried off his messy hair, then wrapped the towel around his waist and exited.

After pulling on a pair of boxers and a loose shirt, he went into the kitchen. Owen had thankfully ordered some groceries, so the fridge was fully stocked. He was about to start cooking something when he noticed a large pot pushed to the back. He carefully pulled it out after moving a few things, then set it on the stove as the refrigerator door shut itself.

Unsurprisingly, the pot contained what was left of the chicken noodle soup. He gladly poured what remained into a large bowl, cleaned the pot, then set it to dry on the dish towel next to the sink. The microwave beeped at that point, and he gladly took his meal over to the dining room table.

His eyes rarely left Owen's sleeping form as he ate.

How did I get so lucky to have two adorable, smart, stubborn men walk into my life?

He took another sip of soup, the bowl mostly empty already, when he heard Owen move a little on the sofa.

Are you feeling alright?

The man's words drew the edges of his lips upward as he lifted the bowl and downed its remaining contents. When he set it down and looked back toward Owen, the man had one arm over the armrest and was leaning on it with his other arm and chin.

Much better.

Amos stood up and walked over, but instead of sitting down with Owen, he knelt in front of the table and began carefully going through the stacks of messed up notes. He could sense Owen's nervousness at him touching his important papers, but he just silently watched as Amos got everything into three neat piles that were all in order and grouped for their respective class.

"There we go," he said with a smile, finally looked over his shoulder at Owen.

The other man had been watching him with a conflicted expression, one that Amos was just picking up on as he studied him closely.

"What's wrong?" he asked, worried that he might have messed up the papers.

He waited silently for an answer, but when Owen simply reached out and grasped his shoulder, guiding him down toward the carpet, he grew confused. When the man finally slipped from the couch to hover over him on his hands and knees, holding his shoulders down, Amos tilted his head against the floor and smiled.

"I'm..."

Amos waited for Owen to finish speaking, but when nothing else left his lips, he slowly pushed himself up onto one elbow and leaned his head up to press a soft kiss to the man's lips before retreating a little.

"You're Owen, one of the two men I'm in love with," Amos said sincerely, drawing the man's downcast eyes to finally rise to meet his own.

Owen had settled into his lap as he seemed to contemplate his next course of action, but Amos remained simply leaning on his left arm, waiting for Owen to figure out whatever he needed to think through.

"How did you know...?" he eventually asked, though Amos wasn't sure if the question was completely meant just for himself, or if Owen was questioning his own understanding of something, too.

Leaning back to settle on the carpet, Amos kept his warm smile in place and tilted his head slightly.

"How did I know what, Owe?"

Owen seemed to be struggling with his words, but Amos didn't want to push him. He had a feeling what was going on, and it was long overdo, but that didn't mean that he would try to force the words out of the other guy. He loved him, and yes, he wanted him to finally get this off his chest, but he wouldn't push him.

"Dominant... a-a top," Owen finally whispered as he looked away, blinking nervously.

Amos mulled his words around in his head a bit before deciding how he wanted to start his part of the conversation.

"Well, because I consider those words two very different things. Especially when I consider applying them to you, or even myself," he said, drawing a surprised look from Owen.

"T-they're the same thing," Owen said, clearly growing more confused.

Amos shook his head against the carpet, mussing up his hair further as he smiled sheepishly up at the man sitting on him.

"Let me tell you what I think... then we can talk through it?" he asked, waiting a few moments before Owen finally nodded his consent to hear him out.

Given the okay, Amos looked up at the ceiling as he put his thoughts together, speaking each word carefully after deciding on the sentences he had been wanting to say for years.

"There is a difference. I'll use myself as an example first," he said, then continued. "I am an extremely determined person when it comes to being a top. I'm not someone who feels comfortable being held down. There is no thrill. I don't get turned on, and I don't want to fool around."

Owen's eyes widened as he quickly tried to withdraw his other hand from Amos's shoulder, but Amos reached up and quickly grabbed his wrist, then slowly lowered it back down to his own shoulder with a small but uneasy smile.

"Let me finish," he said, making Owen nod after a few moments of nervous silence.

"I don't like it from someone who intends to try and dominate me physically, but I will definitely accept it from someone I love, because I know that they aren't going to try and hurt me. I will gladly tolerate you pushing me down, because of who you are. Owe, you don't like physical contact much, even when it's on your own terms. For you to sit on me like this... to put forth the effort, in your own mind, and then to turn it into a physical response. It makes me feel grateful that you took that chance to touch me. That you wanted to do it enough to put yourself into a situation that made you clearly uncomfortable."

Owen slowly retracted his hand again, and this time, Amos gladly let him do so. After a few moments of silence Amos carefully pushed himself up, then moved them both so that his back was against the sofa and Owen was still situated in his lap, one hand pressing slightly against his chest for balance.

"When it comes to physical dominance," he said, holding himself back from reaching up and brushing Owen's bangs away from his face. It wasn't the right time. "As far as sexual situations, I can't bottom. I'm a stubborn idiot, but it's something that I know I'll never be comfortable with. I want to make others feel good. I want to take you and Fox to heaven and back... but I'm not comfortable doing so without being the person on top. I'm just not comfortable having things enter my body or not being in control of a sexual situation... though I am willing to try and learn to curb the latter issue."

Owen pursed his lips and hunched his shoulders, still clearly thinking through the situation.

"But how are the two words different for me? I don't understand."

God, I want to hug you so badly right now.

He held himself back, however, and instead, took a deep, calming breath and began to speak again.

"Because, Owe, over the years that I've known you, I've seen the difference in you."

The man in his lap jerked his head up, his eyes wide and watery, tears inching their way to the edge.

"I've tried to talk to you about it several times... then to show you, but you always shrunk back into yourself afterward. I was honestly close to just giving up, even though I would never, ever, leave your life... but I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to get through to you."

Owen blinked a few times before replying in a slightly cracked voice.

"What changed?"

Amos's face lit up with a genuine, wide smile.

"Fox came into our lives."

Hearing Fox's name had Owen relaxing a little, a small smile finding its way onto his own face as he blinked away his remaining tears.

"I love him. He's so sweet, yet naïve. He didn't understand much when we first met, but he's learning, and trying so hard to improve himself to just make us prouder," Owen said, earning a nod from Amos in response.

"I love him, too. He's exactly what we needed... and he's exactly what I needed to show you the difference between those two words," Amos replied.

Owen rubbed at one eye for a second as he responded with a curious "how?"

Feeling like he was finally starting to really get through to the man before him, Amos straightened his back and spoke honestly.

"Because, every time we show affection to him when we're together, it seems like I'm always first. I'm the one who initiates, but you do join in on several occasions. I want to be inside of him, Owen. I want him screaming my name in our bed every night," Amos said, his tone completely seriously.

"But Owe... you want him to see you as a dominant figure. You want him to understand that you make the rules. And you want him to want to obey them. A large part of that, as I've seen growing up with you, is from your fox losing its eyesight. You became very defensive and your dominance grew from that point onward."

Owen rubbed at the back of his neck but didn't look away. Amos let out a shaky breath and finally let his fingers lift to brush away Owen's bangs.

"Owen... does it scare you when I try to touch you?"

He saw Owen fight back a habitual fidget, then stutter his response. "O-of course not."

Taking another calming breath, Amos lifted his hand back up and placed it softly against Owen's cheek.

"Does this bother you? In any way? I'm being honest with you. Please give me your sincerity."

Owen took a few seconds to think through the question before shaking his head against Amos' palm.

"No, it doesn't bother me."

"Do you like it when I try to touch you? You tell me to stop eventually, except that one time when I had you on your back a few weeks ago. What had changed at that point? Why didn't you ask me to stop?"

Owen's face started to warm against his palm, but he didn't respond. Amos waited, not wanting to add more stress to his questions. When Owen finally decided to speak, he straightened in Amos' lap and looked him in the eyes.

"I didn't tell you to stop because I didn't realize, that all this time, you were never trying to dominate me. You would always joke about how I liked to be pinned down, or held against the wall to be kissed... but my brain couldn't wrap around the idea that you weren't dominating me, even though it felt like I somehow liked those things, to a point. My fox half, especially, wasn't able to comprehend, but what you said earlier..."

Amos tilted his head, honestly curious what he'd said that finally made the situation click in Owen's mind.

"You said that you wanted to take Fox to heaven and back. That you wanted to give him pleasure. You never said that you wanted to dominate him, or make him do anything he didn't want. I... I guess I've been learning from watching him interact with you, too."

"How so?" Amos asked, curious.

Owen finally gave him a relieved smile and turned his face to nuzzle against his palm.