Work Header

Happy Valentine's Day, I Guess

Work Text:

This moment is what Will wants.  It is everything he could ever want.  Soft, sweet, warm.

     Tom's waist is soft underneath his fingers.  His hair smells sweet, Will's nose buried in the dark tresses.  His breaths are warm on his collarbone.

     He doesn't want anything but the boy asleep in his arms.

     He doesn't move.  Doesn't rub circles in the softness of Tom's stomach through his nightshirt, doesn't kiss his forehead.  Will doesn't want anything to change, just for this one moment.

     It feels like they're suspended in time.  The breaking dawn casts an almost angelic glow across their bedroom, and Will can't help but remember that horrible day, running until he collapsed as the sun crept over the horizon.

     But that was so long ago.

     Tom's body rises and falls against his chest, underneath the tips of his fingers.  Steady, solid, and real.  A reminder of what they had overcome, of what he had almost lost.

     Will nuzzles his face deeper into Tom's hair and lets out a long breath.

     He loves him so fucking much.

     Tom's hands tighten in Will's shirt, and he nestles his face in his chest, shifting to be closer to him in his sleep.  Will wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him flush against him, craving his proximity and not caring if he wakes him up.  He wants to see his eyes catch in the light, his eyelashes flutter as he wakes.  He wants everything about him.

     Tom is starting to move, getting pulled from his sleep by his gentle touches.  Will pulls away, just enough to be able to brush his lips across his cheeks, nose, forehead.  He hears a small sigh pass Tom's lips as he kisses the soft skin under the corner of his jaw.  It's such a small, delicate sound, but it sends his heart racing.

     "Will..." he murmurs, and he stops, looking at his lover's face in the pale light.  Tom's eyes slowly flutter open after several long seconds, the haze of sleep thick in their depths and his voice when he mumbles, "Mornin.'"

     Will feels himself smile.  He stares into the blue, lets himself get pulled into their lazy, gentle love.  Basks in it.

     There's no need to say anything.  Only empty silences need to be filled, and this one is far from empty.  They stare for what feels like an eternity but doesn't last long enough.  Forever with Thomas Blake could never be enough.

     But they must talk eventually, about the most mundane of things, if only to hear the smooth honey of each other's voices.  "What time is it?"  Tom asks groggily, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he raises a hand and strokes a finger across Will's cheeks.  He closes his eyes at the touch, at the gentle scrape of his fingernail on his face.  It's so good.

     "Around five, I reckon," he buries his face in the crook of his neck, placing feather-light kisses along the skin there, "It doesn't matter, though, love."

     Tom hums, moves his hand to the back of Will's head and curls his fingers into the dirty blond strands. 

     Soft.  That's what Tom is.  It isn't fat, or roundness per se - but he's so unbelievably, intoxicatingly soft.  If there was a better word for it Will would be the first to know, but there isn't.  He loves Tom's softness, his gentle curves, with every fiber of his being.

     They had talked about it once, and Tom and had expressed embarrassment at his inability to sharpen up, to gain the definition and hard edges that so many of the other veterans had.  Will had told him how much he hated how he hated himself, shown him right then and there how desirable he was to him.  Tom hadn't brought it up since, but everytime he saw that doubt creep into his lover's eyes he would kiss him until all thoughts of unworthiness had fled his mind.

     Today isn't one of those days.  Today, Tom is all contentment, all early morning dreams, all happy-to-just-be-here-with-you love.

     Tom is content to let him touch him, let him worship his lips and hold him to his chest.  The warmth messes with his mind, with his ability to keep track of time, but not like how his concussion did.  Not like how his sickness and fever did, or his hunger and exhaustion  No, those had left a feverish smudge on his memories, left him disoriented and alone.  But Tom's...Tom-ness is like a warm spring afternoon spent outside, closing your eyes and dozing as the sun creeps at the corner of your eyelids, almost unbearably bright but just comfortable enough to simply sit and...exist in.

     The minutes are one long, warm, meandering walk through heaven, one touch unintelligible from the next.

     And it's everything.

     Will doesn't know how or when it happens, but he only realizes Tom is pressed to the bed underneath him, sandwiched between his considerably larger thighs, when said boy eases him away just enough to mumble against his lips in-between open-mouthed kisses.

     "Will...I love I don't really want to...move around that much."

     Will stills.  He rises up on his elbows, looking down at him.  Tom is sprawled out across their bed, his skin glowing gold and looking thoroughly content to stay right where he was.  His eyes trace around his face: lips swollen and red, hair ruffled from how much he had carded his hands through it.  He probably doesn't look much different.  

     He gently strokes one of his cheeks, leaning closer once again, their noses brushing.

     "You don't have to do anything.  I just want to make you feel good," he whispers against his mouth, "Relax, darling.  Let me love you."

     Tom's hot breath fans across his face, and he sinks back into the bed.  "Alright."

     He pulls Tom's upper lip into his mouth, lightly grazing his teeth over it.  The boy sighs, hands falling to Will's face, cupping his jaw and angling his face so as to kiss him slowly, deeply.

     He carefully, slowly, removes Tom's thin nightshirt, and he sits back on his haunches to stare at the beauty before him.

     He reaches out, traces the scar on his abdomen with his fingertips.  It's barely more than a raised line at this point, but Will knows it still pulls at him occasionally, still aches after moving around for too long.

     Tom's stomach quivers at his touch, his eyes falling closed and head falling back against his pillow.  His breath catches in his throat as Will's fingers scratch up his sides, moans as he strokes over his nipples.

     Will is desperate.  Desperate to feel his lover's curves, grasp his hips in his palms and push the need between the crux of his thighs down onto him, giving Tom the pleasure and love he deserves.  His hands wander over the expanse of his chest, stomach, tracing the line of his jaw; he sneaks a finger beneath the hem of his pants to rub at the tender skin.

      Tom gasps, moans, whimpers under his touch; whines and mewls under the gentle rhythmic rocking of his hips.  Will doesn't hold back, doesn't tease or torture him.  He wants to give him everything.

     When Tom is naked before him, Will bends down, pours every last ounce of love he has for this amazing man into a bruising kiss.  He kisses him and kisses him, slowly, passionately, intimate on a level he rarely gets to be.  He barely lets him catch his breath as he takes him in his hand, stroking, squeezing, drawing ragged breaths and softly cursed expletives from pretty lips.

     "I love you," Will whispers fervently, feeling Tom twitch and the muscles in his thighs tense under him, already close.

     "I love you, too."  The words are gasped against his open mouth, almost lost amongst the sound of their teeth clacking together and Will's own little gasps.  He's achingly hard, desperate to be touched, but this is about Tom and he is going to keep it that way.

     "Ah-I...f-fuck!  Will, I'm-"

     He silences him with a kiss.  "It's alright, love.  You can let go."

     Tom comes into Will's hand, into the small space between their tightly-pressed bodies, his face twisted in pure bliss and hips thrusting up into him and his name, said like a prayer, falling from his lips over and over again.  Watching it happen feels like the closest thing to holy Will will ever experience.

     Tom relaxes, the tautness easing from his muscles.  It is only now that Will has given his lover what he wants that he turns his focus to himself, grinding against Tom and burying his face in his neck.  His hips stutter on his own release not long after, and Tom envelopes him in his arms, tracing a hand up and down his spine.

     Will closes his eyes.  He breathes in the scent of Tom's sweat and soap, musk and arousal.  He wipes his hand on the bedsheets, but it's pretty much pointless as there's still the sticky mess between them that they'll have to deal with fairly soon.

     "We should go bathe."

     Tom chuckles, low and gentle, vibrating against his chest and warming his heart.  "Yeah, but I just want to lay here for a bit.  Do you mind?"

     They will have to clean up, will have to get dressed and go do various things later today.  But they don't need to do anything right now.  Not yet.  They just need to be here, in each other's arms, warm and soft and sweet in the rising sun's golden light.

     "No, not at all."