Work Text:
Henry shifted his vision over to his business partner. William was slumped over his desk, drowsy breath fluttering the papers that lay in front of him.
He reached over to shake his shoulder. “Will.”
“Mm?” William slowly sat up, stretching like a cat, with his hands in fists extended in front of him.
“You fell asleep again.”
“Just resting my eyes.”
“Liar. You were snoring.” Henry fibs.
“Oh, was I?” William looked up at him through dark brows. “Like you haven’t.”
“I never said I was above it. I just thought we were working the whole night,” Henry replies, “Unless you have something else you’d rather do?” He folds his hands under his head.
William shifts.
It takes a long minute of eye contact for him to look back at the blueprints he’d fallen asleep on, seeing a few patches of ink lighter than the others.
“Is there..?” He turns to the side, showing Henry the side of his face he fell asleep on. “Did the ink transfer to my face?”
Henry stifles a chuckle. “It seems it has.”
“Could you get it off?” William asks, turning back towards his friend. “It’s going to annoy me the rest of the night.”
“Of course. Come.” Henry stands, motioning for William to follow.
And he does.
Somehow he always does.
“The bathroom?” He ponders aloud.
“Where else?” Henry asks. “There’s a sink and washcloths in here. It’ll be easiest to clean you up.”
“You’re making it sound like I need a bath,” William groans. “I just got ink on my face.”
“Sit.”
“On the floor? We haven’t cleaned in here yet-”
“On the counter.”
‘Like a child with a scraped knee.’ William thinks to himself. “Scared to hurt your old back?”
“You’re older than me, Will.” Henry reminds. “Or are you just hesitating?”
William pulls himself up onto the counter.
He didn’t expect his heart rate to rise when his best friend stepped in between his thighs.
“Now hold still.” Henry says, dabbing a wet washcloth on William’s face. The cold water makes him inhale sharply, closing his eyes for a second.
And then something brushes up against his crotch.
He immediately recognizes the feel of Henry’s corduroy pants, even through his own slacks.
“Could you.. stop wiggling forward? I’m trying to focus. This isn’t coming off.” Henry says, and as William looks down at him, he furrows his brow. “Work with me here.”
William wiggles once more just to spite him, but doesn’t expect the rush of cold water down his collar.
“Ah!” He gasps, looking over at Henry.
“I told you not to move. You bumped my hand. Now you have a wet shirt. Actions have consequences, Will.”
“Just.. fine. Just get the rest off and we’ll go back to work.” William says, trying not to focus on everything touching him.
The cold of his dampened shirt, the marble of the counter…
The hips of his closest friend…
“I’ve got most of it off.” Henry says. “Now, just let me put this down.” He says, leaning over William to throw the washrag into the laundry basket.
Their hips press against each other impossibly more so, and William fights the urge to squeeze with his thighs.
The friction is just too much to bear.
They’re back in the room they were in, with the fan blowing yet more cold air onto William’s already cold shirt. Somehow it still hasn’t dried.
“Henry, did you bring a spare shirt?” William asks. “Mine isn’t drying.”
“This seems to be the one time I haven’t.” Henry answers.
William looks him up and down. “You’re wearing a sweater over another shirt.”
“I was afraid you’d notice.” Henry looks over at him. “Yours will dry. Give it time.”
“We’ve been out here for half an hour.”
“…fine.” Henry says, taking off his glasses and standing. He turns away from William.
William does not copy his actions, merely stares at him as he begins to tug the hem of his sweater up. The shirt he has on under it rides up as well, almost to his shoulders, exposing his back muscles moving fluidly under the skin. He turns around, now wearing just a collared shirt and corduroy pants. He hands William the sweater.
Neither of them speak as William stands, fumbling with every button on his shirt. He doesn’t turn away like Henry did, but shrugs off his shirt and slips on the sweater, all the while feeling Henry’s eyes on him.
“Is that better?” Henry asks sarcastically.
“It is, thank you for asking.” William replies.
A few minutes pass before Henry admits, “I’m cold too.”
“You must be. I can see you shivering.” William smirks. “Your sweater’s nice and warm.”
“I’m going to get the blanket out of the back room.” Henry announces, before standing and marching off. William could practically see his nose turning pink with cold.
William knows what that means. They keep a massive fleece blanket in here for nights like these. Typically they’d pass it back and forth, but tonight William has other ideas.
He loudly scoots his chair over next to Henry’s and moves his papers so they’re next to the ones Henry was working on.
“What are you doing?”
“We can share the blanket.” William looks back at him. “More people, more warmth. It’s genius.”
“Fine. I just need space.” He says, sitting down in his chair, thigh pressed against Will’s. He slings the blanket over both of them.
Not even a few minutes pass before they begin fighting over who has more blanket.
“You’re hogging it, Henry. Give me some.” William tugs it, making it completely come off of his friend. “That’s better.”
“You’re wearing my sweater. You’re warm. At least give me some of the blanket.” Henry looks over at him.
“Or what?”
“Can it and give me the blanket.”
Will feels a smirk spreading across his face. “No.”
“William. We are two thirty-something men fighting over a blanket when one of us clearly needs it. Hand it over.”
“You said it yourself, I clearly need it more.” William sasses, feeling a bit like his son Michael when he doesn’t get his way. Him and Evan always argue over the dumbest things.
“Get closer then. It’ll be easier to share.” Henry says, pulling Will’s chair over by the armrest.
He gently lifts one side of the blanket off of his friend’s shoulder and places it over his. “There. Can we please get some work done now?”
“You have more blanket than me.”
“You could always get closer.” Henry reminds. So Will does.
He stands up, dropping his claim to the blanket, and sits in between Henry’s legs, facing forward.
“What? As you said, we have work to do. I’m improvising.” He explains. Henry drapes the blanket over both of them.