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When Jimmy returns from Rhona’s office, after giving her the final update on the beast of a case they wrapped up the day before, the station Christmas party is, as expected, in full swing. Billy hands him a glass of punch, which Jimmy gratefully drinks half of immediately. He doesn’t plan to stay long, he’s exhausted, but the team needs this bit of frivolity and cheer, and the decorations—which Billy and Tosh have been working on off and on for the last week—are pleasantly festive.
What he wasn’t expecting was to see Duncan here. His first instinct is to assume something’s wrong, that Duncan has come to tell him something urgent and Cassie-related, but Duncan only gives him a nod and raises his glass in Jimmy’s direction. If something was going on with Cassie, Duncan would have come over as soon as he saw Jimmy, not stayed leaning against Tosh’s desk chatting to her in a way that Jimmy would clock as flirtatious if it wasn’t Tosh.
Jimmy drinks his punch, accepts a second glass when Sandy offers him one, and lets Billy and Sandy’s conversation wash over him.
The police station Christmas party wouldn’t have been Jimmy’s first guess for how Duncan would spend his evening if he took a night off from the bistro. He hadn’t even mentioned he was taking the night off, come to that. Not that he’s obligated to inform Jimmy of his whereabouts at any given moment but, unexpected as Duncan’s presence is, it is nice watching his easy laugh from across the room as Jimmy listens to Billy recount a run-in his dog had with a hare.
Despite Duncan still living in Cassie’s room—which perhaps he ought to start thinking of as Duncan’s room at this point—they haven’t seen much of each other lately. Between the case, which took Jimmy all over Shetland any time of the day or night, and Duncan staying at the bistro until the wee hours, they’re hardly ever in the house together when they’re both awake.
If Jimmy had a pound for every morning he came downstairs to find Duncan asleep on the sofa in yesterday’s clothes, he’d be able to spot Duncan rent so he could get his own place. But whenever Jimmy strays anywhere near the subject Duncan changes it. Which is for the best, really. Jimmy doesn’t want Duncan to move out, but living with Jimmy must be cramping his style. He hasn’t brought anyone home since they settled into this more permanent housemate arrangement, and Jimmy’s reasonably sure he hasn’t spent the night anywhere else either.
Having another person in the house has been good, even if most of the time one or both of them is either half asleep or running out the door. Those little signs that someone else lives there are a comfort; a second dirty coffee mug on the edge of the sink, the damp towel on the rail in the bathroom, the sound of Duncan’s soft snoring when Jimmy passes his door on the way to an early morning callout, Duncan’s guitar propped up in the corner of the living room, discarded shirts on the sofa, the meals Duncan leaves in the fridge with a note saying that they’re testing out new menu options and what does Jimmy think of this.
All that goes some way to make up for the fact that Cassie is staying in Glasgow until Christmas Eve. Jimmy doesn’t begrudge her wanting to spend time with her friends without the spectre of exams hanging over them, she’s an adult and her life is more without him than with him these days, which is how it should be. Doesn’t stop him missing her though. At least, with Duncan in the house he doesn’t feel completely alone while he’s missing her.
Sandy laughs at something Billy says. He seems to have moved on from the hare incident, but Jimmy has failed to follow the thread of the conversation.
He looks down at his glass. Empty, save for a hint of bright red residue in the bottom. Tosh clearly can’t be trusted with adding rum to the punch; only two glasses and he’s already more than a little tipsy, woolgathering and watching his housemate laughing with his sergeant across the room. But it’s nearly Christmas, the case is solved, if ever there was a time to overindulge it’s now.
Jimmy watches as Duncan finishes off his own drink and pushes off Tosh’s desk, looking less affected by the punch than Jimmy feels. He flashes Tosh another half-flirtatious grin as Donnie comes up next to her, then heads for the breakroom and the punch bowl. Jimmy follows.
Like the rest of the station, the breakroom is draped with garlands of fake greenery, fairy lights, and twinkling bobbles. There seems to have been some sort of competition between Tosh and Billy to see who could fit the most decorations into the smallest space. Jimmy stayed out of it, but whoever was responsible for the breakroom appears to have won.
When Jimmy steps through the doorway, Duncan is at the punch bowl—which is sat in a bower of greenery wrapped in multicoloured, twinkling fairy lights—refilling his glass. The lights that edge the ceiling are also twinkling, well, not twinkling exactly, sort of pulsing and changing gradually from one colour to the next. There are enough strings of lights wound around the room that when the colour changes the whole room is bathed first in blue, then green, then gold, then magenta. If Jimmy hadn’t seen the set-up earlier, he’d be worried there was something in the punch besides an excess of rum.
Duncan turns, giving Jimmy a once-over, and smirks at him. “Nice jumper,” he says, putting his drink down on the counter and walking towards Jimmy.
Jimmy looks down at himself and this year’s Fair Isle design sent by his mum. “You’ve seen it,” he says.
Duncan isn’t that drunk. Jimmy has seen him that drunk, he’s been that drunk with him, for better or worse, many times over the years. There’s no way Duncan doesn’t recognise a jumper that came in the post last week; he was there when Jimmy opened the package.
Duncan’s smirk turns to a full-on grin. “Well, it suits you.”
The light in the room fades to orange, creating the illusion that Duncan is standing in front of a roaring fire, not in the middle of the police station breakroom. He’s looking at Jimmy intently as if he’s trying to work something out.
“Have I got something on my face?” Jimmy asks, suddenly strangely self-conscious under Duncan’s scrutiny.
Instead of answering Duncan steps closer. The light shifts from red to purple and Jimmy finds he’s gazing at Duncan’s lips. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought. Jimmy blinks and meets Duncan’s eyes. He has a strange look about him, a look Jimmy usually only sees when Duncan’s not fully awake. Bleary-eyed and blinking up at him from the sofa when Jimmy finds him first thing in the morning, the evidence of a post-bistro drink on the coffee table, and tells him to go up to bed and get a couple of hours proper kip before he has to open the bistro for lunch. A look that Jimmy would describe as open if that made any real sense in describing how people look at each other.
Duncan glances up at the garland above Jimmy’s head, licks his lips, then closes the distance between them and kisses him.
“Mistletoe,” Duncan says when he pulls away as if that’s a rational explanation for the heat in his eyes and the swoop in Jimmy’s stomach.
The kiss was chaste at best, easily brushed off as nothing, but Duncan looks uncharacteristically apprehensive, and Jimmy suddenly, and with his entire being, doesn’t want it to be nothing. He reaches for Duncan, pulling him in and kisses him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if they know how to do this, as if they’ve always known. Duncan sighs into the kiss and pushes forward, his mouth opening against Jimmy’s, crowding him into the doorframe, pulling their bodies flush against each other. Duncan tastes of punch, but he smells like Duncan, and Duncan, Jimmy realises with a jolt, smells like home. Jimmy lets out a half-suppressed groan as Duncan presses his thigh between Jimmy’s legs and slides his hand from Duncan’s shoulder up into his hair.
There is a harrumph from behind them.
Duncan steps back, but not so much that they aren’t still standing far too close for two people who haven’t been caught snogging. Tosh’s arms are crossed over her chest but she’s grinning like she’s won something. Jimmy makes a futile attempt to smooth down his jumper where Duncan had it gripped in his fists.
“About damn time,” Tosh says. “But some of us want another drink.”
They both shuffle sideways out of the doorway and Tosh walks past them toward the punch bowl still grinning.
Jimmy’s sure he ought to feel embarrassed that his sergeant has caught him snogging his… Whatever Duncan is to him, whatever more Duncan may be to him now than he was ten minutes ago. He feels a bit dazed, and it’s not all down to the punch. It’s nothing to do with the punch. He wants to get his hands on Duncan again, his lips, his tongue. God, he needs to get a hold of himself. But he wants to get a hold of Duncan more.
“Drinks are on the house next time you come by the bistro,” Duncan says over his shoulder as he push-pulls Jimmy through the door. Tosh gives him a double thumbs up.
And Duncan is smiling, smiling, smiling and Jimmy is smiling right back, letting himself be led through the station, aware that he ought to say goodnight to Billy and Sandy and the other assorted officers and significant others, but he can only focus on Duncan. Duncan, whose hand has a firm grip on Jimmy’s wrist, pulling him along.
“What was all that?” Jimmy asks, as the door swings shut behind them and they’re alone in the corridor.
“Tosh decorated the breakroom.”
Jimmy huffs out a laugh, still smiling. “So, it’s a conspiracy, then?”
“Aye,” Duncan steps forward, crowding Jimmy up against the wall, and God, this is the second time in some unknowable but small number of minutes and Jimmy likes this, Duncan getting up in his space, the heat in his eyes, the warmth in his smile. He wants more.
He doesn’t check to be sure they’re safe from prying eyes before he pulls Duncan in and kisses him again, and again, and again, cupping one hand over the back of Duncan’s neck and pushing his other hand up Duncan’s jumper, fingers sliding across warm skin, and wait… “Are you wearing my jumper?”
“So what if I am?” Duncan says defiantly, kissing down along Jimmy’s jawline, his beard catching on Jimmy’s own stubble. “Need to do laundry. Besides, it’s been a while since you wore this one.”
“You keep track of how often I wear my jumpers?”
“Not intentionally,” Duncan says, nipping behind Jimmy’s ear.
There is a lot there in those two words that Duncan isn’t saying. A lot that Jimmy isn’t saying either, not with words anyway. A lot in how kissing Duncan feels exhilarating and comforting and like the most obvious thing in the world. This is where it’s all been heading, isn’t it? All these years, the two of them. They’ve been connected through Cassie sure, always will be, and that is never going to change, but that’s not all of it. It’s never been all of it. All at once, it’s so blindingly obvious Jimmy has to pull back and catch his breath.
He leans his head against the wall behind him and closes his eyes, letting his breathing even out, his hands resting on Duncan’s hips. When he opens his eyes again, Duncan is gazing at him in a way that Jimmy can only describe as lovingly.
“Hi,” Duncan says, softly.
“Hi,” Jimmy replies, almost a whisper; years’ worth of revelation and sudden understanding in that single syllable.
“Glad you finally worked it out,” Duncan says.
Jimmy slides his hand up under Duncan’s jumper again—under Jimmy’s jumper that Duncan is wearing which is good, very good—letting the tips of his fingers slip beneath the waistband of Duncan’s jeans. Duncan leans his weight a wee bit more into Jimmy.
“You could have said something,” Jimmy says.
“Could I? You would have fallen into my arms if I expressed my love years ago?”
“I—” Jimmy wants to argue but Duncan knows him that well. Duncan probably knows him better than any other person alive. “Why now?” Jimmy asks instead.
“We’ve been living in each other’s pockets for months. You haven’t kicked me out. You don’t even seem annoyed with me being there.”
True but. “We hardly see each other.”
“Not compared to when I was living somewhere else. Last time I stayed with you, you were always grumbling about my things being everywhere, now you just smile this soft smile when you move one of my shirts off the sofa so you can sit.”
“Do I?”
“Aye.” Duncan nuzzles Jimmy’s neck, nipping at his earlobe. “You do.”
“I must have it bad,” Jimmy says, feeling an overwhelming warmth in his chest, which is, he realises, a not uncommon feeling when he thinks of Duncan.
“Mmm.” Duncan leans his forehead against Jimmy’s. “You’re not the only one.”
The sound of a door shutting echoes down the corridor. Duncan steps back but Jimmy keeps hold of his hip, not letting him get too far.
“Take me home, Jimmy,” Duncan says, low, like he’s sharing a secret.
“Aye. Yes,” Jimmy nods, the warmth in his chest travelling up to his cheeks and down to his fingers where he’s still holding Duncan to him. “Home.”
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