Chapter Text
When John wakes up, it is still the middle of the night. At least he assumes so, telling time can get tricky when one doesn’t see the sunlight very often, but he hears no movement in the floor above, so it’s most likely before sunrise.
Sam is still holding his hand. Not only is he still holding his hand, but his leg is thrown over John’s and his chest is plastered to John’s bare back.
Wheels start turning in John’s head. This is, very much, an enjoyable state of affairs. For John. Sam’s hand in his own feels grounding, and his chest, though clad in a sleeping shirt, is pleasantly warm and solid. But what about Sam? Were he awake, he would probably want to maintain some personal space. John noticed Sam often started fidgeting when people stood too close to him, looking uncomfortable, looking for space where to back off.
So John should undoubtedly roll over and create distance between them, or better yet, get down from the bed altogether and sleep on the floor. He spent the first few nights in the basement on the ground and he survived. Mostly. He could do it again for one night.
But John also knows Sam’s sleep often eludes him, and when it doesn’t, it is light as a feather. Not that Sam told him, but the late-night visits, bags under Sam’s eyes and quiet footsteps in the tavern above spoke for themselves.
Any movement would most likely wake Sam up; therefore, John can’t extradite himself from Sam’s grip. But that means he is making Sam uncomfortable, and Sam doesn’t even know it. So, he should move, but he can’t.
John’s mind keeps spinning in circles, until sleep eventually claims him again, his dilemma unsolved.
***
Samuel wakes to the sound of the basement door shutting, and with speed and agility he didn’t know he possessed, he climbs out of bed and sits, with a heavy thud, on the nearest bench. He tries to look around for some clothes to wear other than his linen shirt and braies. Then he remembers he didn’t take anything else with him last night, so all clothes here are John’s.
He doesn’t know how he would explain being found in John’s clothes.
As for John, he was looking around the basement blearily, hair tousled from sleep and his chest still bare. Samuel will have to look over his injury again.
Finally, his mame comes down to the basement, holding two bowls of what looks like porridge for breakfast. Samuel gives her a look of incomprehension. How did she know he was here?
“I heard you get up from the bed last night,” she says by way of explanation. Which does not illuminate at all how she knew Samuel would be in the basement, specifically.
She puts both bowls on the table along with two spoons. One of them is John’s, much fancier and expensive looking than Samuel’s. John told him it was his spoon for good luck. Samuel doubted it could bring much luck if he got stabbed while having it in his pocket. “You don’t have to worry, Shmuli, the tavern is open. You can have a slow morning for once.”
Samuel cringes at the nickname, but his mame only smiles at him and ruffles his hair.
John, thankfully, doesn’t appear to notice the exchange and is rummaging around in the chest at the foot of the bed, looking for some clothes to wear.
“Thank you, mame, for the breakfast,” Samuel says, a bit louder than necessary, which finally makes John take notice of his surroundings, and he echoes with his own, “Thank you, lady Sara.”
Sara takes it as a cue and leaves them with a laugh.
John sits down opposite Samuel, clad in linen tunic and hose, and stares at the table, hands intertwined under his chin.
Samuel stares somewhere to the left of John’s head.
The silence is eventually broken by John clearing his throat, “Did you have a good sleep?”
“Yes,” Samuel answers, cautious, “what about you?”
John sags a little, tension leaving his frame, like a marionette with cut strings, “Yes, I slept well too.”
Neither of them says anything for a while. Then Samuel drags his confidence back from the corners of his mind where it has crawled.
“If you want-“, “Would you mind if-“ both of them start at the same time, then John motions at Samuel to continue.
Suddenly losing his newfound composure, ha has to drag each word from his throat, “I wanted to ask,” a pause, “whether you would mind,” another pause, and John is sitting at the edge of his seat, hands gripping the edge of the table, “if I sometimes came down to the basement at night.”
Because as loathe as he is to admit it, he doesn’t remember having such a restful sleep for a long time.
John gives him the widest grin Samuel has ever seen him, pleased surprise evident on his face.
***
If Sam had told him that Sigismund dropped dead, John doesn’t think it would make him as happy.
Of course, he will have to make sure he doesn’t bother Sam with his feelings, but still, he can’t help himself from smiling.
“Oh! That’s a coincidence!” he leans forward, looking Sam in the eyes “I was just about to tell you that if you ever want to come down again at night, I would welcome your company.”
“Oh. Yes. What a coincidence,” Sam remarks, his voice a little faint. John hopes Sam didn’t think John would refuse him. If Sam asked him, at that moment, to run away together to Naples and never be seen again, John would say yes without a thought. Jobst would manage.
Not that Sam would do such a thing. His family and people mean too much for him to just up and leave, a quality John can’t help but admire deeply. What’s more, this care is mutual, and Sam would surely be sorely missed. John doesn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he is slightly jealous of such a connection. He didn’t have much of a problem leaving his family when he joined Jobst’s court, and neither did they seem too concerned about it.
“We should probably eat, mame would be disappointed if we left what she prepared for us,” Sam adds, waking John up from his thoughts, and they both dig in.
***
Sam does come to him that night, John still dressed sitting at the table, pouring over one of the recent reports.
They did manage to find, in the end, who the councillor was sleeping with, without needing to pay the apprentice, who, thank God, was alright.
Turns out it was not the wife of another councillor, but rather his young and beautiful daughter. The daughter’s maid, who always helped her sneak in, finally broke after living with the secret for months and told about it to her mother, a notorious gossip, who then shared the news at the market, where Miriam, the wife of the quarter’s cobbler, overheard.
John is yet to decide how the information should be handled- should the unfaithful councillor be blackmailed or should the girl’s father be made aware, starting a feud between the two? Decisions, decisions. Well, they can wait for a later time.
John head snaps up, “Ah, Sam!!” John beams at him,” Trouble sleeping?”
Sam nods, then comes behind John and bends over slightly to see what John is reading. John can feel Sam’s body heat at his back and is grateful Sam can’t see his face, because it feels very warm, no doubt from blushing.
John pretends he keeps reading the paper, but not a single word sticks in his head. Deciding enough is enough, he turns his torso so he can look at Sam, “You can, uh, lie down. I’ll join you as fast as I can.”
***
Samuel did not anticipate this scenario. He thought John would already be asleep, and he would only slip in behind him without a word needing to be exchanged. Like this, it feels strangely intimate, and he feels out of his depth.
To prevent getting even more embarrassed, he lies down on his side as instructed, closer to the wall, so John can lie down behind him. He stares into the fur he recently hanged there. John did not complain about being cold, so Samuel doesn’t even know why he bothered, but hearing John say he is taken care of here better then at Jobst’s court made a strange satisfaction bloom in his chest.
He hears John puttering about, his paper being shoved to the side, then the rustle of clothes, then finally, John extinguishes the torches and leaves a small candle burning, which he blows out too when he sits down on the bed, leaving them in total darkness.
John lies down, probably on his back since it irritates his injury the least, and Samuel again makes a split decision.
He turns around so he is facing John, throws his left leg over John’s, slotting it between his plush thighs, puts his left arm around John’s chest so his hand is resting on John’s shoulder and buries his face in John’s other shoulder.
He gets slightly concerned when John’s chest under his arm stops rising and falling.
“Is it uncomfortable?” he asks into the darkness.
“No, not at all, Sam!” John nearly squeaks.
Samuel rises slightly on his arm to ask John properly what the problem is, then, but the movement shifts his leg slightly higher between John’s thighs and that’s when he feels hardness against his knee.
John inhales sharply, “I- I’m so sorry, Sam, I never wanted to bother you with this, truly, you already do so much for me, I should probably get up and-“
Samuel, having thought really hard in the last five seconds about where his life has led him, pins John’s shoulder against the bed, finds his face with his other hand, cradling his cheek, then silences him with a kiss.