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“Don’t smoke in my bed.” are the first words Thomas speaks after an eight-minute span of awkward silence.
Judas scoffs, sitting up from where he’d been stretching off the bed to retrieve a pack of cigarettes from his abandoned jacket. “What? It’s bad for me?”
“No, you’ll get the smell of tobacco all over my pillows and stain the sheets,” Thomas hisses. “-more than you already have,” he added on for good measure, causing Judas to look away from him in discomfort. They hadn't really done much to stain the sheets. Unless Thomas was calling him out for spilling the wine. That was one time, and Thomas really needed to let it go. Even if it was just an hour ago, the past was in the past. Judas was embarrassed, though. At least it was white wine if that made it better.
There's a long stretch of silence before Thomas speaks again, softer now: “Yes. It’s unhealthy for you.”
A warmth spreads through Judas’ cheeks as he lays back, joining Thomas in staring at the ceiling.
“It wasn’t just… I didn’t just make out with you for your appearance,” Judas defends.
Thomas sighs, “No one ever said you did.” Despite trying to keep a calm demeanour, he stares up at the ceiling in raw, seething anger.
“You were thinking it,” Judas retorts, immediately regretting the decision to do so. God, he sounds like a goddamn prick.
“You’re a goddamn prick.” Thank you, Thomas, for confirming it.
“But it’s true-”
“Iscariot.” Thomas props himself up on his elbows, regarding Judas with a look of exasperation. “Drop it.”
Judas Iscariot could do anything but drop it. “-you may look like him, but I wouldn’t-" he shoots the other man a look that says "you know what," "-with just anyone. If, say, Simon looked like him-”
Thomas tsks, picking at his fingernails. “Well, considering that Simon doesn’t, and you have already-" he clears his throat, "-with him, that is, at best, not comforting whatsoever.”
Judas glares, crossing his arms. “Is that a jab at the state of my standards or a diss at Simon?”
“Can it not be both?”
Judas smirks, and the two share a chuckle.
“Listen…” Thomas starts. “I know that he and I look… similar. And I don’t blame you either, Jesus fucks.”
Judas makes the sound of a dying printer, yanking the pillow out from under his head and smacking Thomas in the face. That joke would never get old, and the twelve are never gonna let Jesus hear the end of it. Thank you, Matthew.
“But!” Thomas grabs the pillow and tosses it somewhere on the floor. “Just ‘cause he’s jacked does not make it any less fucked up that you’d make out with me for being his doppelgänger.”
Judas scoffs. “You know what’s kinda fucked up? That you wax poetically about wanting to touch Jesus’ abs when you, in fact, have the same abs.”
Thomas rolls his eyes. “What abs are you even talking about?” he protests. “I have no abs.”
Judas slaps a hand on Thomas’ abdomen, causing the man to yelp. “Those abs.”
Silence.
The two burst out laughing; it seems that they are still somewhat drunk.
Eventually, the laughing dies down, and Judas realizes his hand is still on Thomas’ abs. He runs his hand over them. They aren’t defined the same as Jesus’. In general, Thomas has a lither figure than Jesus while still being muscular. He has larger hands, though... and shorter hair... and thinner, more critical eyes.
Similar lips, though, they just never smiled.
Aaaand Judas is still feeling him up.
He looks up at Thomas’ face, which is rosy as he stares down at Judas’ hand.
“You’re not moving your hand,” he says, stating the obvious.
Judas, kinda woozy now, replies: “I could.”
“You haven’t,” Thomas shoots back matter-of-factly.
“I could,” Judas repeats.
“You won’t.”
Oh.
Thomas sits up and leans over, and Judas, having not lifted his hand, glances down to see his palm now has settled in the curve of Thomas’ waist.
Oh.
“We’ve arrived at an impasse,” Thomas drawls smoothly.
Oh god.
“Wait.” Judas scowls. “No, we haven’t. Do you know what an impasse is?”
Thomas’ face flushes, putting an end to his tough-guy act. Unfortunately, it has the adverse effect of making the man look cute instead. “Of course, I do!” he protests, “and we have. There’s nothing really to do now except… to keep going.”
Judas looks at Thomas long and hard.
If Simon were here, he’d be laughing at the unfortunate wording of “long and hard.” If Simon were here, he’d be laughing at every part of this situation. Especially Thomas insulting Judas’ taste in men.
Judas stares at Thomas and replies: “But I’m tired.”
Thomas grabs Judas’ hand off of his hip and slaps him with it. “Not what I meant, Iscariot.”
“Well, what did you mean, Didymus?”
Thomas stares tensely at the wall behind Judas. “Maybe this doesn’t have to be a mistake.” There’s something in the tone of his voice that has Judas dimly considering that maybe this suggestion comes from a place of deeper emotions. However, Judas is still buzzed, so he doesn’t dwell on it.
Judas taps Thomas on the chin, startling him and bringing his gaze back to meet his own. “...so long as we agree that this has nothing to do with Jesus.”
Thomas’ eyes widen, but before Judas has time to register to brief display of vulnerability, the other man’s lips are already on his own.
Judas hums softly, kissing back.
Then, he pulls away to yawn. "It is not that you're a bad kisser, but I am tired."
Thomas chuckles and lays back down. "Thank you for dampening the blow to my ego."
"Listen - good kiss or not - if you were Simon, I'd be kicking you out of this bed."
"This is my bed," the skeptic retorts with a scowl.
"So?"
Thomas purses his lips and hums. "Touché."