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Katherine's choice of film left a lot to be desired as far as the Captain was concerned, her decision based predominantly on which had the most colourful case. Still, the male lead was a rather… fine actor, so it wasn't a complete loss, and he'd managed to find a spot far enough from Julian that he didn't have to listen to his constant stream of lewd comments.
Perched on the arm of the chair Thorne had claimed, he had one leg bent at the knee to balance more comfortably, back straight, his swagger stick held primly in his lap. A casual gathering was no excuse to let standards slip, after all.
Half an hour passed with few interruptions bar the odd question from a confused Mary, and the Captain was enjoying the peace more than the events depicted in the film. But even with the film only holding half his attention, he didn't realise how close Thorne had become until he felt the weight of his head come to rest against his thigh.
Oh dear.
The Captain froze, gaze affixed to the television screen as he tried to calculate how he could extract himself from this predicament without just leaping to his feet, inevitably causing a scene. Thomas remained still, made no move to right himself, as if there was nothing at all peculiar about the situation. Ah, he must have fallen asleep! That would explain both his sideways slump and his failure to notice.
Now the Captain just had to work out how to nudge him back into his own spot without too much fuss. Whether or not to risk waking him was a conundrum he was puzzling over when it occurred to him it was actually rather pleasant, this quiet closeness. And was he not merely providing support for his weary comrade?
This justification lasted right up until the moment his hand twitched, fingers itching to sink into Thomas's hair.
Well now, that wouldn't do. What a ridiculous notion indeed. A gentleman doesn't take such liberties! Especially when he knew better than most what the consequences could so easily be. On the other hand, what harm could it do, here amongst friends, in this relative privacy?
The angle was such that nobody could see. Robin, perhaps, from his spot on the floor if he were to turn around, but he was far too engrossed in the television screen. And Thorne was asleep, wasn't he, so he wouldn't even notice if…
Before he had even completed the thought, his fingers were tangled in the mop of dark curls, gently combing through the soft hair.
This lack of self discipline was quite unlike him. Perhaps he had just grown sufficiently comfortable around his companions he no longer felt the need to keep his every emotion buried. Perhaps he could allow himself a modicum of comfort, of affection. Why the cause of this revelation should be this ridiculous dandy who wore his feelings - as misguided as they often were - so openly was a mystery to him.
No, no, this just wouldn't do. Growing fond of someone only led to embarrassment. Or worse, heartache.
He would permit himself to indulge this weakness only a moment longer, and was honestly about to cease when a sudden eruption of noise made him start. It seemed something amusing had occurred in the film, causing the assembled party to burst into laughter.
Including, to his horror, Thomas.
How long had the man been awake? Had he ever actually been asleep? The Captain didn't dare wonder. If ever there was a time for a tactical retreat, now was it. He began inching his hand back to a more respectable position, but Thomas's head followed, chasing the touch, not unlike a large, affectionate yet demanding cat.
Right, thought the Captain to himself, time to put a stop to this bally nonsense, nip it in the bud.
Unfortunately, his body was still refusing to obey his commands; his fingers had already resumed their gentle stroking and Thomas had settled back into his previous position, cheek nestled against the Captain's thigh.
They remained like that for another hour, the Captain relaxed one moment, anxious and on guard the next. He had never quite learnt to be comfortable showing affection like this, so openly. It made him nervous, twitchy.
As soon as the film reached its conclusion, the Captain slid to his feet - his knees giving a creak of protest at the sudden movement - stammered his excuses, and fled the room at what he convinced himself was a casual, composed pace. Thankfully, the others were all engaged in a lively discussion about the film and didn't pay him any mind.
All, that is, except Thomas.
The Captain pretended he didn't notice the wistful look that followed his egress, and steadfastly ignored the pang of regret in his stomach.
* * * *
It was almost a relief to be alone, until, in the quiet solitude of his bedroom, the Captain's mind began puzzling over what had happened. Why had he reacted with such an uncharacteristic lack of self control? Why had he been unable to push Thorne away? Why had he so enjoyed the moment of quiet intimacy?
"I don't know what came over me," he confessed softly to his pillow. The lack of response almost seemed to invite him to unravel the reasons, decipher the answer, but personal feelings were something he was too accustomed to disregarding. They had no practical use. There was nothing else for it but to push the incident to the back of his mind and think instead of more important things.
He had just determined to close his eyes and put the night between himself and the events of the evening, when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Someone had entered his room.
It wasn't a surprise to find Thorne standing just this side of the closed door, but it took a second to recognise the determination in his eyes.
"Thorne?" Embarrassingly, his voice lacked its usual authority and Thomas paid no heed to the warning it was supposed to be, laying down beside him on the bed, propped up on one elbow. It was the Captain's astonishment at such impertinence that had him spluttering his next words, and absolutely nothing to do with just how close Thorne now was. "What the devil are you doing, man?"
"Ask me to leave if you wish," Thomas said softly, doe eyes imploring the Captain not to wish for such a thing, "and I shall."
The Captain opened his mouth to say that yes, Thomas should cease this frightfully improper incursion and leave right this instant, but the words caught in his throat, refused to form on his tongue. There was something in Thomas's voice, a hidden ultimatum, that suggested that if the Captain said no, Thomas would not offer again. Ever.
That possibility seemed far worse than the Captain cared to admit, even to himself.
In the silence, Thomas placed a hand atop the Captain's chest, the slightest pressure on the thick wool, and the Captain drew in a deep breath of air he didn't need. Stunned by the casual intimacy of the gesture, he remained stock still, staring at the long, pale fingers spread across the dark serge of his tunic. Thomas seemed to take his lack of reaction as permission, and before the Captain could do more than blink, he had settled in against his side, head nestled snugly on his shoulder.
When was the last time he had been touched like this? Too long, if ever. If the Captain's heart could still beat, it would be going nineteen to the dozen. Perhaps it was a relief that was impossible, or else Thomas would no doubt be able to feel it thumping beneath his palm.
The Captain watched as those soft, uncalloused fingers began playing idly with the buttons of his jacket. Really, he should scold the man, but something about the familiarity of the action was comforting. Pleasant. Enjoyable, even. Maybe he didn't have to feel guilty about wanting this, maybe he could finally grant himself permission to feel.
Ordering his body to relax, his spine finally lost some of its rigidity. Slowly but deliberately, he curled his arm around Thomas, passing it through the bed so as not to dislodge him, and hesitated only a moment before threading his fingers once again into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, then smoothing the curls with a sweep of his palm.
Thomas sighed, but it wasn't his typical desolate, melancholy sort of sigh. No, this was a sigh of contentment. He was happy, at peace - a sentiment the Captain found he, too, shared, deep in his soul.
His voice was low but unwavering when he spoke into the dim room, no longer feeling the need to hide amongst the shadows.
"Goodnight, Thomas."
"Sleep well, my Captain."