InsaneJournal

Who: Thomas (Derek Hale) and Patrick (Steve Rogers)
What: Having a Lovely Time
When: A Perfect Day (For the Children)
Where: Westview, NJ
Warning: Low, some language toward the end
Status: Completed via Gdoc


The alarm was far too loud, and the sun far too bright, but as his eyes cracked open and he reached out to shut off the former, the grumpy thoughts slid right out of Thomas's head. He sat up and stretched, yawning hugely, and then glanced over to the bed next to his.

Empty as usual.

Almost like clockwork, the smell of coffee hit him, and he knew that somehow his roommate had gotten up before him again. Thomas knew that if he got ready fast enough, the hot cakes and bacon Patrick was all but famous for would still be warm. He just had to get a leg on it.

In right about a blink of an eye, he was dressed for work and walking out into the kitchen, still tugging on his tie, but not quite getting it right. Thomas grinned at his long-time flatmate—as they'd call it in Jolly Ol' England—and chuckled. "I still don't know how you beat the alarm every morning. Apparently, you can take the man out of the Army, but you can't take the Army out of the man. Sleep all right?"

Patrick chuckled softly, still tending the breakfast--orange juice and coffee to go along with the hot cakes and bacon--but turned to smirk at his roommate over his shoulder. “I don’t hear you complaining when there’s a hot, filling breakfast on the table.” He lifted his own cup of coffee for a sip.

“Mmm, slept like a dream.” Early to bed, early to rise, right? At least, that’s the way Patrick had always done it. Even through the war, he was the most dedicated soldier amongst his regimen. “How about you?” he asked, offering Thomas a coffee cup.

Like a dream The words echoed in Thomas's head on repeat until his hand was wrapped around a warm porcelain handle. His fingers bumped a little against his roommate's, and he swore he got an electric shock from it.

It was a darn near miracle that he didn't drop the mug, and he glanced up once at Patrick's face and then away again just as quickly.

A hot, wiggly feeling went through his stomach, but he squashed it down and sat down to breakfast. Chalked it up to the last dregs of whatever he'd dreamt about that left him so disconcerted. "Oh, fine, fine. Are you going to the Neighborhood Watch meeting before the talent show later? It's going to be a really busy day today, huh?"

There was a moment when Patrick felt a jolt go up his arm. It seemed to always happen when he and Thomas accidentally brushed skin, or even when Thomas looked at him in… well, that way. That way he had that made Patrick’s heart thunder, and something white hot twist in his belly.

Patrick cleared his throat and moved back over to dish up the breakfast, trying to keep his hands busy. “Neighborhood Watch and the Talent Show? We certainly do have a busy day. —that is, if you’re going, too.” Suddenly Patrick wasn’t sure he wanted to go if Thomas wasn’t going to be there. “Are you going?” Patrick asked, looking up and over at his roommate.

"Well, we have to do our civic duty, don't we?" Thomas smirked a little over the lid of his mug, just one corner of his mouth tipping upward. He began tucking into the delicious breakfast Patrick made as he considered the talent show. It seemed a little silly to think he wouldn't be going. Not that it was mandatory or anything, but it seemed wrong not to. Thomas shrugged. "I don't see why I wouldn't go to the other. After all, it's for the children."

“I guess we do.” They’d spent many mornings together, eating their breakfast before heading off to work, or whatever they had to go. Actually, the cup of coffee and scrambled eggs was Patrick’s favorite part of the day--talking with Thomas about anything and everything, planning out their week… it was warm and comfortable.

Patrick settled down at the table and tucked in to his own breakfast. “Well, if it’s for the children, how could we say no?” He smirked softly, then sipped from his coffee cup before lowering it again. “Any idea what kind of acts we’re gonna see?”

"Probably the same as years before," Thomas replied, cheeks warming in a way he could blame on the coffee, but wasn't sure that was actually the cause. That strange feeling from before dropped through his stomach, but he disregarded it. He did that a lot. "I've heard the new couple are doing some kind of magic act? Can't say I'm very mad that they didn't ask me back this year. I think the only one who appreciated my bird calls of the wild was you." Thomas laughed and then shook his head before regarding his buddy curiously. "You work with the husband, right?"

Well, the same as years before didn’t seem so bad to Patrick. He grinned at the sight of Thomas’s cheeks warming--going pink. He wasn’t sure why, but the sight of Thomas blushing made him feel good. Really good. The kind of good that was almost embarrassing. The kind of good that made him blush, too.

“What can I say? I like bird calls,” Patrick said, grinning softly. “But I’ll be glad to have company during the show.” He lifted his coffee cup for a sip. “That’s right. I don’t know him well yet, but he seems like an all right fellow. Do you know either of them at all?”

Every once in a while, Thomas thought he could feel a shift in the air, subtle and bright, whenever Patrick looked at him. But that was nonsense and just his nose playing tricks on him. Or his mind. Either one was easily pushed to the side in favor of neighborhood gossip. Thomas leaned in, dropping his voice even though they were alone. "I ran into Mrs. Hart at the grocer's the other day, and she said Mrs. Maximoff was from Sokovia. If we're not careful, she might introduce some high end culture to our sleepy little town."

He spared a regretful look at his empty plate before grabbing it and putting it in the sink for later. They always seemed to be washed and put away by the time he got home, even though Patrick left before he did and Thomas got home before he did. They would always laugh and say it was the Dishwashing Fairy. "I should finish getting ready. Those camping permits aren't going to fill themselves out all on their own."

Thomas paused on his way back from the table, right at Patrick's shoulder. The urge to touch his arm was almost too much to deny. His fingers curled in toward his palm; stopping himself was very close to being physically painful. Somehow, his voice came out casually, but he wasn't sure how. "I'll see you at the Watch meeting a little later."

Patrick nodded, finishing up the last of the coffee in his mug. His eyes followed Thomas as the other man stood and crossed to the sink, then came back over on his way out of the kitchen. Suddenly, Patrick’s heart was thundering. Was Thomas about to touch him? His shoulder? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“Yes,” Patrick said, with a slight hitch in his voice. He pulled himself up from his chair. “At the Watch meeting. I’ll see you there.” For a split second, he leaned forward, considering reaching out to touch his roommate. But then he stood up straight again. After quickly clearing his throat, he turned to put his mug in the sink.

-----

The sink was, indeed, emptied by the time Thomas and Patrick got home from the Watch meeting and unusual talent show. Patrick was actually feeling quite tired. Work had been long, and while the Watch meeting and show were entertaining and fun… Patrick was normally in bed fairly early. Tonight went a little longer than normal, but he bizarrely didn’t want to climb into bed yet—he wasn’t ready to say good night to Thomas.

Patrick led the way into the home and hung up his coat by the front door. “...what do you think about a cup of hot chocolate?”

The suggestion caught Thomas completely off guard, making him pause in the middle of getting his coat off. He was still turning the talent show over in his head and the strange feeling he couldn't quite escape, like a zinging concern deep in his bones. His pause was significant enough that there was no way his fellow confirmed bachelor would miss it, but he finished with his coat before giving a Patrick a raised brow. "On a work night?" he teased. "How rebellious." He relented with a laugh. "Sure, why not."

At the pause, Patrick thought perhaps that Thomas wasn’t interested. Maybe Thomas was trying to figure out a gentle way to turn his friend down? (The use of the word friend stirred something upsetting deep within Patrick’s stomach.) But then Thomas teased him, and Patrick blushed deeply, but led the way into the kitchen to make the cocoa. It wouldn’t take long--milk on the stove, add chocolate powder.

While it was warming, Patrick leaned against the stove and stirred slowly, finding that his heart was thundering for some reason. He glanced over at Thomas. “...that was some show, wasn’t it?”

First, Thomas had sat at the table to wait, but that hadn't lasted long—mostly because he couldn’t see his roommate's face from that angle. So he'd gotten up to stand with his back to the counter, a safe space away.

Safe? That was a weird thing to think. Safe from what?

He crossed his arms reflexively over his stomach just to keep himself from fidgeting. His thoughts turned his face into the kind of frown that sometimes made people cross the street, but his only response at first was a musing hum. For some inexplicable reason, it was nice to know that Patrick also apparently had thoughts about the event. Thomas shrugged a little, and then scratched at his bearded cheek. "I thought Beverly did a great job as always, and was the most underrated act, as always. But that magic act was… something. If I didn't know any better, I'd have sworn it was real, even with Mrs. Maximoff's explanations. She kept…" His brow contracted further. "I saw her move her hands in an odd way after her husband did something strange."

Thomas's mind struggled with what he'd seen and what he'd been told, and a dull throbbing set up behind his eyes. The sensation was oddly familiar. He shook his head. "Probably just part of the show."

Thomas crossed his arms, and Patrick wondered if he was guarded. Or pulling away. That was the last thing he wanted. Maybe he shouldn’t have offered a hot chocolate. Maybe they should have just gone to bed. --to their own beds. The thought almost distracted him from Thomas’s explanation about the magic act.

“No, I agree with you,” Patrick said, frowning just a little as he tried to form the words he wanted to say about the whole thing. “...I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like I’m not supposed to think about it.”

"Yes!" Thomas flung his hands up and leaned in, glad his roommate was on the same level as he was. "That's exactly it! I thought it was just me."

He turned and grabbed a couple of mugs—their favorites, of course, clean from their breakfast this morning despite neither of them washing them that he could recall—and set them on the counter. "If I'm honest, I've kind of had that in the back of my head ever since I woke up this morning. Like things were off, but I shouldn't be thinking too hard about it, you know?" Thomas grimaced and shook his head. "What could this possibly mean?"

Another flash of pain went through his head.

And then his expression cleared with a blithe smile. "Never mind. It was all for the children."

The more they talked about it, the more uneasy Patrick felt about the conversation. And then, suddenly, the ache in his head reached a peak. He frowned at the sensation, but it evaporated just as quickly. His mind went blank. His face fell into a more neutral expression, then broke into a smile. “It was. It was all for the children.”

Then Patrick poured the hot chocolate into their mugs. He set the pot in the sink, and picked up his mug. It was warm under his hands as he turned to lean back against the counter, his hip practically pressed against Thomas’s. “I’m glad we were able to go together tonight.” Neither of them had a hard time getting the time off of work to go.

Very suddenly, Thomas wasn't thinking about the talent show or the strange couple who had moved into Westview and given the town something to talk about.

No, the entirety of his attention was on the closeness between them and how it had never happened before and yet it was so comfortable and right. Slowly, by degrees, and in a way Thomas barely realized until it was done, he leaned his arm against his roommate's. The hot chocolate was all but forgotten. "Same here." What was this breathless quality to his voice? "I really wouldn't have it any other way."

“Nor would I.” Patrick’s hands tightened around the mug. His heart was beating considerably faster as he felt Thomas’s arm press gently against his. After a couple of quickened heartbeats, he turned to look over at his scruffy friend. There was a warmth in his eyes as he gazed fondly at Thomas. “You know I prefer your company to any other.”

Words stuttered and died in Thomas's throat, and he swallowed around a tightness that threatened to actually choke him. He took in a shaking breath and tore his own gaze away—when had he moved his head at all?—because this? Whatever this was? This wanting? This longing? It was impossible. "Same here," he murmured as he started to face the counter to finally retrieve his mug, and then laughed quietly, "again. I promise I have an original thought in my head."

The laugh that came out of Thomas brought a little smirk to Patrick’s lips. He loved the sound of his roommate’s laugh, even (maybe especially?) when it was low and growly. When it was somewhat self-deprecating, when it was in good humor. Patrick bumped his shoulder against Thomas’s playfully, gently. “You promise?” He asked, teasing.

Facing the counter now, Thomas was glad he hadn't picked up his mug yet when his roommate jostled his arm. It was lightly, of course, but the principle of the thing. He turned back to Patrick with a narrowed eyed look that was completely betrayed by the amusement in his eyes. "Well, maybe promise is a bit of an exaggeration. More like hopeful idea? I think a promise to have a headful of thought is something you'd find a way to use against me, especially when it's so much harder to achieve when I'm around you."

Thomas froze, unable to believe what had just come out of his own mouth. His body pulsed with hot embarrassment, but he still couldn't move it, even though he knew he should move away, laugh it off, go to bed, forget the whole thing.

Both of Patrick’s eyebrows rose at that idea. First, that he’d use against Thomas? Never in a million years. That must have been his friend teasing, right? And second… what did that mean? Harder to have thoughts when they were together? Patrick’s pulse picked up suddenly and mightily when it dawned on him: maybe Thomas had feelings for him the way that Patrick… well, was confused about what he felt.

The mirth in his voice and on his face started to fade a little into a much more somber expression as Patrick leaned in a little. “...is it?” He asked, wondering if his pulse could be heard in his voice. “Is it hard to think when we’re…?” close.

They were right on the precipice. Of what, Thomas didn't know, but Patrick wasn't running away. Heart in his throat and breath getting caught up in the misplaced organ, he could only stare before slowly nodding. Why had he never noticed how blue Patrick's eyes were? It was almost like he was seeing color for the very first time. Somehow, a word squeezed itself out into the world, and when it did, it came out as a sigh. "Very."

Patrick’s gentle nod matched Thomas’s gentle nod. It was as if a light switch had been turned on in his mind. They were talking about the same thing--they felt the same thing. What it was? Patrick didn’t know. He didn’t have words to describe what he was feeling at the moment. It was big, and scary, and absolutely wonderful. It grew and flashed and swelled whenever he felt Thomas’s hand or shoulder or hip against his own, whenever he looked into Thomas’s kaleidoscope eyes. Patrick gave a very soft, “me, too.”

Next, whatever it was pushed Patrick forward. He leaned in, his heart thundering so hard it almost felt like it was one solid beat that went on for seconds and seconds. His breath caught in his chest, but he didn’t let it stop him. He closed his eyes and brought his face right up against Thomas’s, and met his lips. It was gentle, tentative, and incredibly hopeful.

A broken sound dropped from Thomas's otherwise occupied mouth. Full-body right went through him as a thousand thoughts swirled his mind. His hands drifted to the other's hips, the grip new but so so so familiar—just like the rest of kissing his Soldier. "Steve…"

And just like that, the spell was shattered.

Suddenly, the world came rushing back to Steve. He inhaled sharply, memories of holding his Wolf in his arms washing over him. The kiss opened the door, and Steve and Derek--Derek, not Thomas--were thrust through it. Steve’s eyes went wide as he gaped at his husband, shocked and confused as to where they were and what they were doing.

“Derek,” he whispered. Then he leaned in to kiss his lover once more.

Sudden desperation drove Derek's arms around his husband. How could he have forgotten him? His heart, his pack, his love? He'd even forgotten he was a wolf, and it howled through him now, raging against the magic that had done this to him. To them.

The only thing keeping Derek from growling and tearing off to find Wanda and demand answers right the hell now was his need to be close to Steve, the man he loved with his whole heart. His impossible Soldier. Together they could figure all of this out.

But they didn't need to, because the Formica kitchen faded around them in a weird glow, only to be replaced by the familiar confines of their room in the Facility just a second later. Derek hadn't let go of his husband yet, didn't intend to for a while. This intention, however, didn't keep him from growling, "What—and I cannot stress this enough—the actual fuck?"

Steve glanced around them as the kitchen disappeared and was replaced with the more familiar surroundings of the Facility. Steve frowned deeply, a look that made him almost seem his age. Almost.

His arms still tight around his Wolf, Steve cleared his throat. "I have no idea. But I know who we can ask." They had questions. Steve was determined to get answers.

After. Later. Steve wasn't ready to let go of his husband yet.

"Later," Derek all but purred, as if intuiting Steve's thoughts, and began herding them both to their bed. "So much later. I need to commit you to memory, cement you to my soul. I'm never losing us again. No matter what."