Work Text:
“Chief.”
Guydelot leaned in the doorway to Sanson’s office, arms crossed across his chest. Sanson made no move to acknowledge him, but for a short hum. His focus lay on the mound of paperwork cluttering his desk, his quill moving across the pages without cease. There were brief pauses, moments when his brow would furrow as he read some report, and then his hand would start again. After Sanson had shuffled several papers into a noticeably smaller pile, Guydelot sighed and pushed off the door frame.“Sun’s going down. Time to head home.”
At that Sanson did react, twisting his body away from his desk to look at the window behind him, as if he hadn’t noticed the wash of orange light flooding his office. Guydelot needed to squint to look at him.
After a short moment, he turned back and met Guydelot’s eyes. “It’s still light out,” he replied, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, because the dark of night doesn’t extinguish the sun like a flame, Chief.” Guydelot rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s already gone home.”
Sanson’s eyes returned to his paperwork, his hand already reaching to dip his quill into the inkpot once more. “There’s still work to do. I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to work by daylight. I’d prefer not to waste oil.”
“Y’know, Chief, most people don’t work by candlelight,” Guydelot paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he continued, enunciating each word. “Because they go home when it gets dark.”
Sanson raised his head once more, but only to give Guydelot a withering look. “And that’s why no work ever gets done here.” His eyes flicked back down, and he resumed writing.
Guydelot crossed the office with a few easy strides and planted his hands on Sanson’s desk, his index finger dangerously close to some still-wet ink. Sanson scowled at it. “Fail to see how that’s your problem,” he said, looming over the desk. “You’ve got a home to go back to, just the same as the rest of ‘em.” Sanson’s eyes were still trained on the drying ink, and Guydelot ducked his head, trying to catch his gaze. When he did, he added: “And someone waitin’ for you”.
Sanson’s annoyance melted at that, his features softening. The beginnings of an embarrassed smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, before quickly being bitten down, and his expression smoothed over once more. Ah. Guydelot hadn’t won yet.
Still, Sanson’s voice was warmer when he spoke again. “Go home ahead of me. I promise I won’t be much longer.”
“That simply won’t do, Chief,” Guydelot tutted. “I didn’t settle down just to sit in an empty house all night like some jilted wife. I’m going home with you, or not at all.” An empty threat, they both knew, but the underlying sentiment still rang true.
“Guydelot…” Sanson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t make me worry for you more than I already do.”
Guydelot sniffed, pushing himself off the desk and crossing his arms once more. “Fair’s fair.” There was that withering look again. Guydelot held his gaze, letting the silence drag on, but eventually relented. “Alright, fine.” Guydelot uncrossed his arms. “Do me a favour then, will you? Lean forward.”
Sanson’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Humour me, Stiff.”
Still eyeing Guydelot carefully, Sanson slowly leaned forward in his chair. Acting before Sanson had too long to think, Guydelot rounded the desk, vaulted the armrest, and wriggled himself behind his lover. With both of them in uniform it was more than a little uncomfortable—buckles and hard leather poking and prodding where they shouldn’t—but thankfully the warm weather had kept Sanson out of his coat, at least. Sanson squawked, instinctively sliding forward in his seat to accommodate the intrusion.
“What are you doing?”
“Gettin’ up in your business, since you refuse to leave it,” Guydelot retorted, wiggling his legs until he triumphantly popped them out on either side of Sanson’s. The worst of the discomfort alleviated, Guydelot wrapped his arms around Sanson’s waist, and hooked his chin over Sanson’s shoulder with a satisfied grin.
In this position Sanson could hardly turn his head to glare, but Guydelot took great pleasure viewing Sanson’s pout in profile, brows furrowed and lips pursed. The slight flush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated, either. Guydelot grinned wider, tightening his hold on Sanson’s waist.
“Don’t mind me,” Guydelot hummed, lifting his head and readjusting it to sit on top of Sanson’s own. “I’ll be here until you’re done.”
After a pointed exhale through his nose, Sanson resumed his work, stubbornly refusing to further acknowledge Guydelot’s antics, but gradually relaxing into his hold nonetheless. Guydelot supposed he was meant to be acting a menace, but really, their positions didn’t seem to inconvenience Sanson much, if at all. He worked consistently, quickly establishing a rhythm. Guydelot had expected to be jostled awkwardly, but found himself being lulled into drowsiness by the pattern of Sanson’s movements, and the quiet scratch of the quill on parchment. Guydelot turned his head to let his cheek rest on the crown of Sanson’s head, and let his eyes slip closed.
“Guydelot.”
Guydelot’s eyelids fluttered open, eyes adjusting to the room once more. He hadn’t fallen asleep—more of a light doze, really—but the office was noticeably darker now. The last rays of daylight still pierced the gloom, but were losing their battle against the rapidly growing shadows. He hummed to clear his throat, and leaned back against the chair to let Sanson turn in his hold. Sanson twisted himself to look back at Guydelot and smiled up at him.
“I can call it a night here. We can go home now.” He said softly.
“Thank the Matron’s teats”, Guydelot groaned, raising his arms above him in a stretch. “And before it got dark, too. ‘m proud of you, Stiff.”
Sanson laughed and pushed them out from under the desk. He stood and went to retrieve his coat from the hanger, shrugging it on but still taking the time to carefully secure each button and buckle. Guydelot slouched in the chair, watching him with a lazy smile on his lips. Fussy man . After his final adjustments and checks, Sanson returned to the desk and held out his hand.
Guydelot took it, pulling himself up smoothly. “Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“Mm.” Sanson agreed, adjusting his grip on Guydelot’s hand as they approached the door. “A fine compromise, I concede.”
Guydelot laughed, bending to press a kiss to Sanson’s hair with a smile still on his lips.