Title: Sweet Dreams
Characters/Pairing: Sam and Gene
Rating: Blue Cortina
Word count: 630 approx.
Disclaimer: LoM belongs to Kudos and the BBC. No money being made here.
Notes: A spot of pre-slash for 1973flashfic comfort challenge. Unbeta'd.
Update 19/07/08: there is now a sequel - In the Cold Light of Day
Gene sighs and carefully rolls over onto his side. He should be comfortable right now, but he isn’t. He likes his bed: the mattress is just the right balance of soft and firm, and the feather pillows always mould themselves into the right shape for a good night’s sleep.
But not tonight.
Tonight he’s wide awake and restless, and it doesn’t matter what position he tries because it’s not helping.
He had thought that nothing could be worse than that rubbish fold-out cot in Tyler’s crappy bedsit, so just goes to show how wrong you can be.
In fact, right at this moment Gene heartily wishes that he’d just agreed when Sam suggested that they crashed at his place, rusty springs and thin mattress be damned. But no; instead he’d had to suggest they came back here for a nightcap since the missus was off visiting her mother for a couple of days. And one nightcap led to several, and then it seemed only polite to suggest that Sam stayed instead of walking home in the rain.
Which all makes sense.
But quite how he ended up sharing his bed with Sam is beyond him.
The spare room wasn’t made-up so he was going to give Sam a blanket and leave him on the sofa – would have been luxury compared to Sam’s own bed, after all. But instead there had been some pointed comments about hospitality (from Sam) and being a big girl’s blouse (from Gene) and not being man enough to share (from Sam) and definitely being man enough to share (from Gene).
Which didn’t make any sense at all now that he comes to think about it.
The annoying little git is sound asleep, his breathing slow and even, and Gene is tempted to kick him awake just so that he isn’t suffering alone.
Problem is, he can’t kick Sam because kicking him involves touching him.
Touching him in bed, in the dark, naked foot to naked foot.
And if Gene starts doing that sort of thing then he’s not sure where it will end.
He shifts further to his side of the bed, trying to get as far away from the other man’s body as he can. He’s perched uncomfortably on the edge – in more ways than one - and for a moment he wonders whether that’s a metaphor or a simile and manages to distract himself quite successfully. But then Sam moves in his sleep and Gene can think of nothing other than the bony knee pressing against his thigh.
He closes his eyes against the dark and something darker throbs behind his lids.
Bollocks. He’s been awake so long he’s starting to sober up, which is a good thing because he’s less likely to do something stupid, but a bad thing because if he does do something stupid he can’t blame it on the booze.
Then again, maybe the headache will take his mind off things. But the more he tries not to think about it the more he does, until he’s sure he can feel Sam edging ever-so-slightly closer with each unconscious breath.
But it’s the arm that makes him finally move: Sam’s arm, which Gene finds suddenly draped across his chest. For a second he can hear the sound of his own pulse beating in his head.
Then Gene shifts.
He doesn’t bother trying to be quiet but Sam continues sleeping anyway as Gene slides out of bed and pads out to the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him. He rests his back against the door while his heartbeat slows to a more sensible pace. Right: bathroom first to get rid of the stiffy he’s had for the last couple of hours, then downstairs, and he'll worry about thinking up an explanation in the morning.
Fortunately, Gene has a very comfortable sofa.