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The sudden downpour catches both Matthew and James entirely off-guard. James isn’t sure why - it is London, after all, and at this point the fact that no one’s figured out a waterproofing rune seems like a serious lack of initiative on the part of the Nephilim.
“We should suggest Christopher experiment on some sort of magical water repellent. Maybe then he’d stop catching all our papers on fire,” James suggests, the words coming out between huffs of breath as his boots splash across the cobblestone streets towards the Devil Tavern, Matthew keeping perfect step beside him.
“I believe the mundanes beat you to it,” Matthew replies with a smirk. “It’s called an umbrella.”
James laughs, swinging the door to the tavern wide and startling the patrons nearest the door as he and Matthew stumbled through, slowing to a stop now that they’re free of the storm. They made quick work of going to their usual room, conscious of their clothing dripping and trying not to leave too much of a mess behind. They may get into the occasional bit of trouble, but they didn’t want to do anything that might lose them their room here, it was far too convenient to risk.
“Though we could probably due with Christopher around to set a fire right about now,” James admits, giving a bit of a shiver from the cold rain clinging to him. He spins around quickly to see where Matthew is behind him, only to nearly collide with him in the process.
What happens next feels inexplicably as if it plays out in slow motion.
James reaches out instinctively to steady the both of them but they’re too close. He finds himself gripping the wet fabric of Matthew’s vest in his hands instead, and, still trying to correct his own balance, only manages to pull him closer.
James is dimly aware that he should move back now that they’ve both steadied on their feet. He should let go of Matthew’s vest. He should breathe. He should do any number of things that his body has, at this moment, decided to conveniently forget how to do. His only comfort is that Matthew seems stuck in a similar hesitation, their eyes locked across the short space between them which feels charged with a surprising and unexpected energy.
Matthew reaches his right hand up to brush a bit of black hair from where it fell on James’ face, damp and plastered down his forehead and over his left eye. The movement is slow, Matthew’s touch lingering far longer than it needs to, not that it needed to be there at all. James is perfectly capable of wiping his own hair out of his face, but he’s frozen, rooted to the spot, first by his own actions and now by Matthew’s.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Matthew says. It isn’t a question - Matthew never questions what he wants, never doubts his impulses - but it is an opportunity for James to say no or back away or give any indication he doesn’t want this, too.
James does none of that, instead, he leans forward and tilts his head down slightly to meet Matthew’s soft lips in the space between them. The raindrops still sliding down their hair and faces mingle with their kiss, cool and crisp, making James lean further into the arms that now move to wrap around his waist and in his hair, craving the warmth of the body pressed against him.
The shock of it all is momentarily overwhelming as the moment settles and it truly hits James what’s happening he feels the edges of the room start to fade, the sound of the rain on the walls and roof dulling, even Matthew’s touch lightens and leaves entirely. For a second or two, James shifts into a shadow.
“James?” Matthew’s voice reaches him immediately through the disconnect, attempting to sound calm and casual but with an edge to it. James is brought back to the awareness of Matthew’s arms having slipped through the shadow of where he stood a moment ago, slipping fully back into their proper plane of existence. His entire body tingles and he isn’t sure if it’s from the quick shift or leftover from the kiss.
“That good, am I?” Matthew smirks, but looks relieved to see James solid again.
“Shut up,” James replies, with no actual malice. “Or it won’t happen again.”
He isn’t sure Matthew wants it to happen again, that it wasn’t anything more than a one-time impulsive action, so James tests the idea here with a comment he can play off as a joke just in case.
The smile never leaves Matthew’s face. “Then consider me ‘shut up’,” he says, leaning in once more.