“He specifically said you would not be there.”
Another dagger. “I’ve been turning down club nights since we've been—” Sam still doesn’t know what to call it, so the sentence hangs in the air. “I turned them down early today, but then you said you were busy.”
“Yeah, that sounds right.”
Thomas lays back against the couch, his head resting on the top of the cushion. His Adam’s apple juts out prominently, even from his thick neck. He has a beautiful profile, really. Sam’s never appreciated it before.
“You are off duty tonight, but can I ask a selfish favor?”
Sam snorts. “Is fucking you my job now?”
“Yes.” Thomas’s head rolls along the edge of the couch to face him. He’s so dramatic, it’s almost cute. “You are very good at your job.”
“What do you want?”
“A hug.”
“That’s it?” Sam doesn’t know what he was expecting, but a hug isn’t on the list. “Yeah, sure, come on.”
Sam moves to stand up from the couch, but an arm shoots out, pushing him back down. Thomas scoots over, across the cushion that separates them, and throws a leg over Sam’s lap, pulling himself upright.
“Is this okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” Sam’s hands rest on the crease of Thomas’s hips. From this position, he has to look up to see Thomas’s face. “Like this?”
Thomas shakes his head and falls against Sam who lets out an “oof”. They’re crushed together, chest to chest, their skin separated only by the thin fabric of Thomas’s shirt.
Sam scoots his hips forward so Thomas’s knees have somewhere to go and the smaller man melts into the new position. He weighs about twice as much as he just did, but he seems content, so Sam wraps his arms around him and holds him close.
Thomas nuzzles into the side of Sam’s neck like a cat and sighs.
It’s an awkward position, but it’s nice. Intimate in a way Sam rarely gets to experience anymore. He could stay like this for hours.
If Thomas falls asleep, he just might.
“I thought he had chosen me.”
Sam tenses, but he breathes in and forces himself to relax. “I chose you.”
It’s quieter than a whisper. After it escapes, he wishes he could claw at it, drag it back down his throat. Instead, he just hopes Thomas didn’t hear him.
“I know.” Thomas’s breath is shaky when he exhales. “I am so sorry.”
That’s just going to have to be good enough for Sam.
He holds Thomas as the smaller man nods off, his head jerking back up every time it lolls down Sam’s shoulder.
When Sam braces him, his hand cradling the bobbing head against himself, Thomas finally gives in to sleep.
It’s not exactly comfortable, but Sam takes a moment to sit with him, to study him.
Thomas breathes with his whole body—his chest expanding and contracting with no sound louder than a hushed sigh.
With one hand, Sam delicately rubs the Frenchman’s back. He maps out the corded muscles beneath his shirt, the bumps of his spine, the dips of his hips.
His other hand stays as still as possible, his fingers buried in the soft strands of Thomas's fine hair.
Despite how quickly he fell asleep, Sam knows Thomaswould be much more comfortable splayed out on a bed than curled up in his lap.
