Chapter Text
“Arthur, this is stupid.”
“Come on, don’t get frustrated and quit on me now.”
“I’m not-” John pauses to huff and Arthur grins at the sound. Thankfully his reaction goes unseen. “I’m not frustrated, I don’t see what the point of all this is.”
“That’s something I’d like to show you, once we figure this out. Now, here, let’s take a breath and then can you tell me where everything is laid out again?”
Another sigh rushes through Arthur’s head and he fondly considers his favorite mystery regarding how John can make such breathy noises without lungs to bellow the air. He patiently waits for John to steady his temper. The entire point of this afternoon was to relax and enjoy their free time and if they can manage to sort out their recent acquisition in the process, then he’ll consider that a bonus. Their body shifts as John brings his hand over, tapping at the table before them as he lists the items.
“Pack of papers to the right.” Arthur floats his own hand over to lightly touch each item as it is called out. “That bag of plant matter to the left. Lighter to the far left but you said we won’t need it until we’re done.”
“Okay, okay, let’s go slow. Fetch me a fresh paper?”
John grumbles but Arthur can feel him moving to comply. The light crinkling of thin rolling paper being handled occupies the movement and John sets it down next to Arthur’s hand. He can imagine the small pile of failed attempts scattered about their workstation.
“Right, let me do this part first and I think I can walk us through the steps without flubbing it.” It’s easy enough to fold the paper in half while blind with one hand and soon Arthur is holding it aloft and ready. He restrains the urge to include a triumphant flourish, not wanting to risk losing John's cooperation. “Okay, pinch and hold here, where I’m showing, so I can twist this edge and keep us from spilling all over this time.”
“I see plenty of people smoking their own rolled tobacco cigarettes, is that not a skill you possess?”
John’s tone is mocking even as he moves to follow the instructions, but Arthur knows it’s a sign of his frustration and doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand before responding lightly. “I never picked up the habit of smoking tobacco and when I did indulge it was typically with a pipe. Or someone else had one to share. This was something I used to do when I was younger but time and, well, various circumstances have made things more complicated. There, yes, this side feels secure, it should look somewhat like a wide envelope? Now, we add the “plant matter”, is it shredded into a fine texture?”
“As fine as it could be. Also, I don't want us smoking tobacco, Arthur.”
“Hm?”
“It's not- no, never mind, let’s not get into it now. Besides, I know this is a drug, Arthur. I simply find the name juvenile and don’t wish to say it.”
“What, weed? Jive? Muggle? We could use the official term of marijuana or cannabis, if you prefer.” Despite his best efforts, Arthur's tone slips towards ribbing. He never could explain the reason behind the bright glee that bubbles up when he picks on John during moments like this. Something about the safety of knowing any argument now would be low stakes and halfhearted, perhaps? He's been accused of being a bully with his affection in the past and after so long he cannot help but chase the warmth that irritating John brings him.
“Regardless of the name, you’re shit at this.” The subject change is abrupt but not unprompted, Arthur knew his teasing would be short lived after fumbling through this latest attempt. Still, the folded paper feels straight and true between his fingers and Arthur senses John’s hand hovering close, not yet touching. He resolves to remain disciplined.
“You’re right. I always had someone else offer to do this part for me. But now it’s up to me to lead the way, however tenuous my navigation may be. Now please,” Arthur shifts his grip to hold the paper aloft, “could you manage this next part?”
Another airless sigh rushes inside Arthur’s head and he indulges in the pleasant giddiness of anticipation. He doesn’t know why he feels so excited to share this but something about the clumsy cooperation is fun. Arthur is having fun and he suspects John is too, in his own way. Even as he mutters and rustles around, warm fingers brushing over Arthur’s as John rearranges his hold on the paper.
This is not the first time their touch has tangled. Most tasks involve the coordination of both hands and muscle memory typically smoothes their movements but certain situations require awareness and teamwork. During those times Arthur finds it difficult to ignore how strange it feels to have his hand, his hand, belong entirely to someone else. Stranger still is how natural it has become to acknowledge that part of his body as “John’s”. As much as his eyes, no, more than that, as much as his life now belongs to John. It’s not a loss or a threat. It’s them, together, as they are continually learning to be and Arthur doesn’t know when he settled into that acceptance like a thick, worn coat. All he knows is now when John’s skin slides over his, those familiar fingers tilting his wrist and poking at the paper in his grip, it feels strange but welcome and good.
An inconvenience, certainly, but it offers opportunity for moments like this one. Silly, inconsequential moments where Arthur can try to show John silly, inconsequential human acts such as how to smoke the jive he lifted during their latest investigation. For all the trouble that job gave, they deserved a reward and besides, Arthur feels more comfortable with smokes than liquor. And he is curious how the effects of smoking may feel now that his body houses the both of them.
“Okay.” John taps Arthur’s forefinger with his own, drawing his attention back. “Don’t move.”
“Yessir.” Arthur holds still, waiting patiently as John starts gathering up the dry, crushed buds and carefully fills the bottom of the folded paper in his hand. It takes some time but he prefers that John go slow.
John, to his credit, continues to display more patience than Arthur expects. He still hisses a curse when he fumbles, or so Arthur assumes. “Fuck.” He says it in undertones, to himself, and Arthur grins. “Fuck.”
“Take your time, we’re in no hurry.” The smile is clear in Arthur’s voice and also clear that John notices by the way he hums a mean chuckle, low and mocking, thrumming bass vibrations down Arthur’s spine. This is fun.
They continue in silence before John once more guides Arthur, his palm at Arthur’s wrist to gently nudge him downwards. “Careful, careful, there. Let go, I got it.”
“Thank you.” Arthur flexes his now-free hand, brushing the stray crumbs from his fingers on his slacks. “We’re doing good so far?”
“So far, yes. Though I don’t feel like trying this again if we fail, I dislike the tacky feeling on my fingertips.”
“Then we best not fuck this up. Now, ready?”
“Right. It’s right in front, there. Are we doing the rolling thing again?”
“Yes, make sure to tuck it all into one roll so it doesn’t crumble apart.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Because, and I’m just pointing this out, we’ve tried this a few times now and-”
“Yes, Arthur, I know.” John sighs, very aware Arthur is teasing. “Just, let’s do it. Last time.”
“Last time.”Arthur agrees, and carefully tucks his side of the paper back, curling it inside itself and pocketing the cache of “plant matter” within the created tube as he goes. John starts cussing and Arthur feels the dry flower stick to his finger but the paper seems straight as it rolls forward. “If it’s spilling, ignore it. Keep going. It doesn’t have to be pretty, just in one piece.”
“Pretty was never an option.” It’s difficult not to snicker at John’s dry tone, especially when Arthur can feel that this is working, finally, this cigarette is actually doing what it is supposed to and soon there’s a solid roll of paper between their fingers. It doesn’t escape John’s notice, who exhales an impossible sigh of relief and his arm relaxes audibly against the table’s edge. “Finally.”
Triumph courses through Arthur and he laughs aloud. Guiding their hands to his mouth he seals the paper with his tongue, maybe a bit messy but what matters is it holds, it continues to hold, and then they find themselves in possession of one functional, smokable cigarette. He brandishes the joint as if waving a torch before carefully setting it back down on the table before them.
“Well.” John plays it off but Arthur can sense his pride at accomplishing a task that proved troublesome. “Now what?”
“Well!” Arthur drums his fingers against the wooden tabletop and allows himself to succumb to boyish excitement. “Grab the lighter for me and I’ll show you.”