Work Text:
Jones always knows when he's there. Big mountain of a man, a mass seemingly impenetrable, fur like a bear and scars like one too - and the heat he oozes, it could warm Jones for months. In the dark, he glows like a furnace, even with his eyes closed. Those embers are for Jones to see before the rest. Now, deep in his slumber, Lewis rumbles and snores, shifts sluggishly, one arm always around his younger brother.
They're clothed, which is something of a rarity, even in winter, and Jones feels the back of his pj collecting the slightest bit of dampness. Not that he would trade this moment for anything in the world, of course; he simply can't believe how warm he is. Icy toes and fingers, it had always been that way, soon engulfed in Lewis' grip, the older MacAllistair tending to the younger, swiftly, wordlessly, with brutal efficiency.
The weight behind him is a wall against all evil. Jones relishes in its firmness, the presence of sheer physical force, intimidating even when dormant, or maybe especially then: Who knows what the beast might be capable of? Jones is aware, but he's certain he's the only one.
Whenever Jones cuddles into him, the grip around him grows tighter before relaxing again. Each movement could mean the younger brother's impending absence, and in his sleep, Lewis can't bear to lose him. It'd be much different if they were awake, the possession would be more calculated, colder; here, it is the cozy sheath of love so internalized, there seems to be little room for anything else.
Jones closes his eyes and feels the big heart pump, then listens to his own beat: in synch, how could it be any other way.