Chapter Text
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Cold fingers, colder toes seeking warmth around his calves. Thin arms, too thin, one wrapped around his chest, chilled fingers clutching at his skin, burrowing under the duvet cover. The room's cool, a draft filled space that leaves goosebumps on the man wrapped around him.
He doesn't feel it himself. He runs hot in bed.
There's rain pattering against the window pane, rhythmic and steady, drenching the streets outside. The skies had opened up hours before, bruised storm clouds rolling in with the sunset and washing out the world. The rain's cold, nothing but heavy drops that splat on window glass between ticks of the clock on the nightstand.
He doesn't move, lest he disturb the slumber of the man he's got a proprietary arm on.
He watches from the corner of his eye as the rain streaks down, illuminated by the shadows on his wall. The clock ticks on, and he looks to the floor, to the piles of clothing strewn across the carpet, to the empty bottles littered on the coffee table at the far end of the room.
This is madness, he thinks absently, letting his gaze wander to the tufts of black hair tickling under his chin. His mind is hazy, alcohol soaked, and he supposes he could blame the booze in the morning but he's not so certain that he wants to. He's not one to shy away from hard truths.
This truth however...he exhales carefully, his breath ruffling the soft peaks of hair. He's tempted to bury his face in the dark strands, to breathe in. His heart pounds at the thought, at the memory of before, and he can still feel those cold fingertips on his skin, greedily touching as much as he'd dared to, as if at any minute the privilege would be gone.
It was madness, it has to have been, though there's hardly a regret to be found.
This is crazy. It can't work, it...can't. He can't justify it. And yet...part of him wants this, wants it more than he can believe. The idea of never touching, never again...the thought aches. It must be madness, because he wants more already, he wants with every fibre of his being.
He sighs, watching Oswald's chest rise and fall, watching him scrunch his nose as he dreams, his lips twitching, still kiss swollen, cheeks still flushed from before. He's tracing a line of small bruises that he knows he left on Oswald's neck earlier when he feels him stir, feels the weight of his sleepy stare.
"Jim?" he whispers, blinking slowly. He seems years younger in this moment.
"It's fine," he murmurs back, running his thumb over Oswald's bottom lip, his skin tingling at the lightest touch.
He nods, accepting this, and curls up closer, tucking one hand over Jim's chest, feeling his heartbeat with the tips of his cold fingers, mostly asleep in a matter of minutes.
Madness, and he can't understand how, or why, but it must be because he feels more than he ever wanted to, and he's tired of saying no to himself, but mostly...mostly because once isn't going to be enough.
It can't work.
Jesus, he wants it to.
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