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Jesus could hardly keep his eyes open.
It wasn't an unusual thing as of late. Their days had been getting longer, their time for sleep shorter. The exhaustion weighed on all of their shoulders— especially when they had just traveled as far as they just did. Yet it was hitting Jesus very hard tonight. His feet were sore, and his muscles pulled achingly as he slogged across the shabby inn's balcony, each step feeling like a monumental feat. The doors around him were stained and grimy with God knows what, and the guard rails were painted a shoddy purple, but the inn might as well have been a palace with how drowsy Jesus found himself. A haven fit for a king. They had been camping out in the desert for the past few months after Peter had an altercation with the police, and they needed to stay off the grid; Jesus hadn't slept in an actual bed for... a very long time. The hum of the neon signs and the scent of nicotine-infused smoke permeated the air around him, already trying to lull him into a sleep fitting for the dead.
As usual, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and the dignity of his name.
And a grumpy Judas trailing after him.
His friend's footsteps were heavy, the scowl pulling at his lips even more so. He was still fumbling with his wallet, counting their now-dwindling cash with a grumble on his breath. The metal key to their room was dangling on a ring around his slender finger, jingling with each movement. He hadn't spoken for a while, save to mumble to the girl behind the counter what rooms they needed while the others did...whatever it was they were doing. Something to do with a pot stash and a condom. Jesus didn't even try to ask questions anymore. But it didn't take many inquiries to deduce Judas was just as tired as he was.
Jesus could see it in the darkness under his eyes, in the way they went half-lidded. They gave him away. It was clear Judas wanted to crash as soon as they stumbled into the room, too.
It only took a few moments more before they were at the door, Judas moving to stick the key into the lock and turning it with a relieved sigh, pushing it open. Jesus let out a satisfied hum himself, but when he went to follow after him, Judas paused abruptly.
"Oof." Jesus, with all his exhaustion, stumbled to the side a bit as he bumped him, catching himself against the door. A smile pulled at his lips. "What are you—?"
Judas stared into the room, and then he looked at Jesus. Then, he was back to gawking into the room.
Jesus' smile widened crookedly. "Judas? What is it?"
Judas sent him another incredulous look before his hand was shooting out to gesture into the room, a sputtering, offended slew of sounds pouring over his lips. Jesus' brows shot up as he looked in, too.
It was typical for them. The dusty heater was rattling with old age but still sent a pleasant wave of heat toward them. The curtains and blankets were beige and scratchy and threadbare, but still the most comfy-looking thing Jesus had seen in a while. The sink's tap was dripping annoying, but that just meant there was running water. The mildew smell was only slightly noticeable under the cover of a cigarette-heavy veil of scent, but that wasn't anything unusual. And, it looked like the lock on this one wasn't broken and was fully functional. A win. They didn't get many of those.
"What am I supposed to be looking at, Jude?" Jesus questioned, sleepy amusement coloring his voice. "It's just a room."
"The wrong one." Judas managed to get out. He emphasized his gesture. "It's— It's— The bed. There's only one."
Jesus glanced over at the lumpy mattress with a rounded headboard. He tilted his head. While the craft of it was certainly nothing to look at— he could have made a better one in only three hours, he was sure— it was rather roomy. Lots of space. Inviting. Jesus longed to step forward and smash his own face into the flat pillow. His fingers twitched by his side. "Yeah. Only one. And?"
Jesus nodded as he confirmed Judas' words. And the silence grew heavy as Judas continued to stare at him. Then his hands were spasming as his eyes widened and he gestured even harder to the bed. " And?!"
"Hm?" Jesus made a non-committing sound, leaning heavily on the door facing. He crossed his arms over his not-so-white shirt, fingers sliding over the sleeves of his worn jean jacket. His smile turned warm. "It's a spiffy room, man. I don't see the problem."
"You don't see the— I told that chick the room was for the two of us!" Judas protested, sounding slighted.
"That's not exactly...asking for two beds, is it?"
Judas stared at him. Then his face was twisting. "God, this is some—" He turned on his heel. "I'm going to get it fixed."
Jesus laughed again before he pushed his tired self from the door. He caught the other's arm and pulled him back before his feet traversed over and he tugged him across the threshold. He kicked out his sandal, catching the door with his foot and closing it with a shrill squeak and a loud slam. "Judas, you know that will cost more money. Money we don't have. It's fine. There's nothing wrong with there being one bed. It's too cold to wait out there any longer."
"Oh, yeah. That's great, Jesus." Judas deadpanned. "This makes perfect sense. Let's just ignore the basic math of the situation here. Two dudes. One bed. One."
Jesus raised his eyebrows as he suppressed a yawn, his hand rising to his lips as he shrugged. "Judas, it's a big bed. We can share."
Judas blanched. He tilted his head at Jesus after a moment, squinting his eyes, and looking at Jesus like he was the stupidest person on the planet.
"Oh, we can share, can we? You want us to share?" Judas' tone was laced with something that sounded bitter. But there was also something more there. Then, he was shaking his head. "No. I'm just going to sleep on the floor. If it's all the same to you."
Jesus gave him a timid smile. "Should I feel offended?"
Judas gave him a glare. Jesus’ smile grew.
"You really think that's appropriate?" Judas argued.
"Why not?" Jesus remarked. As if he didn’t know. Judas only became more flustered. He pinched his lips together, eyes flickering to the floor as he scratched his fingers over his beard. The heater crackling filled the silence.
"Well— Uh— I mean it's..." Judas seemed to lose his words. Jesus softened. They were both exhausted and he completely expected Judas' brain to be a bit slower than the usual biting, alacritous state he's always in.
He stepped around him, humming gently. Jesus reached up his hands, taking his corduroy from his shoulders, sliding it down from his arms. Judas slowly moved to accommodate him. "You deserve to rest well, Judas. And be comfy. You've slept in a sleeping bag for two months. I'm not gonna have you refuse the small comforts that we get in this life, man. Not when you've earned 'em. You've been so good lately."
Judas shivered, making a small sound.He carefully folded the coat over his arm, then put his hand on Judas' shoulder, his fingers curling over the slim joint.
Judas let out a breath.
"Are you okay?" Jesus asked gently. "If it bothers you that much, I can sleep on the floor. It wouldn't be a—"
"No!" Judas whipped towards him, his eyes comically wide, his jaw going slack. His cheeks looked more flushed than usual and there were chills over his arms. Jesus slowly quirked his brows. "No, you won't be the one to sleep on the floor, Jesus. How could you even suggest that? This carpet is probably filthy, and you know your back is always hurting and—"
Jesus laughed. It floated through the air. He grabbed both of Judas' shoulders then, the coat sliding further down. He gave him a light shake.
"Then, we'll share the bed. It's a non-issue."
Judas studied him, his dark eyes darting and disbelieving. The tension slowly melted from his shoulders. Something about his features was softening. He gave a sigh and nodded his head. Jesus grinned and matched the movement.
"Okay. We'll share the bed."
Jesus gave a soft cheer and plucked Judas' graffitied bucket hat from his head.
When Jesus' eyes found themselves open, he couldn't be sure why. Or where he was. That familiar upside-down, fevered confusion that made sweat prickle at the back of his neck warped at his mind for just a few seconds. It felt like a bad trip. He hummed softly over a moan as he unstuck his lips from each other. He shifted in place. Slowly, the memory of the journey and the motel began flooding into his grainy mind the longer he found himself awake before he was letting out a sigh. Right. Groovy.
He groaned as his eyes slid over to the bedside table, bright red numbers that read 3:47, the digits flashing back at him. He wrinkled his nose. Bummer. He hadn't had a bed in months and he can't even sleep more than a few hours? It was disappointing. He didn't even know what woke him. For once, he didn’t have any memories of nightmares plaguing him. His tongue wasn’t dry and there weren’t any tears staining his cheeks or any sweat collecting in his hair— that was fanning over the pillow, still smelling like cheap motel shampoo. The water hadn’t been hot, but at least he was clean. That should have been enough to make him pass out for the entire night. But no.
There were no sounds from the room next door, either, which meant Peter and Simon were behaving. Or so high they were too focused on something else. Either way, he wasn’t woken up by any of their shenanigans. The condom and pot were nothing to worry about after all. So not that.
He stared blankly at the wall as he tried to think of what could have woken him up when he still felt so tired. He let out an exhale as he trailed his fingers over the warm arm looped around his waist, rubbing back and forth gently as he tried to…
Oh.
Oh.
Yeah. That would do it.
So the wall of pillows and blankets Judas had built between them didn’t do much, after all.
He slowly looked down to Judas’ arm, gently tucked around his side. Judas’ skin was making his own prickle with a comfy, warm sensation. His hand and those long fingers were splayed right against the hollow of his tummy. Jesus sucked in a breath. It made Judas’ fingers twitch against him. It made Judas snuggle closer, unconsciously seeking Jesus’ warmth as he gave a long breath of his own. Judas had relaxed completely.
Jesus, inexplicably, began to grin like the idiot Judas had always accused him of being.
He bit down on his lip before sneaking a peek over his shoulder.
Judas looked sweet in his sleep. His eyelashes just barely fluttered every now and again, telling stories of dreams as Judas observed something phantom playing out in his mind. His lips stayed softly parted, gentle snores sounding with every inhale. He stayed cozied against his other hand, turning into his pillow just enough. It all let Jesus know Judas didn't really like sleeping alone as much as he pretended to. Or being alone, period.
Jesus always knew Judas needed nearness. Deep down, he did. Judas’ feigned disgust at the others and their "vulgar lack of boundaries and sanitary practice" — when they cuddled in puppy piles, shared tequila and cigarettes and licks of strawberry ice cream, kissed each other in many ways, and hung off of each other like it was nothing. Or maybe it wasn't feigned at all and the need for closeness was purely an unconscious thing. But he always caught Judas' gaze lingering on them just a hint too long when they were engaging with each other, a look in his eyes that reminded Jesus of a kicked puppy in his own right.
For some reason, Jesus' heart gave an extra hard thud at that thought. It tugged and pulled. Familiar but nameless.
He pressed his lips together, and he couldn’t stop staring at Judas.
Judas had always been beautiful. That was an undeniable fact. But seeing him like this, when his features were relaxed and soft and calm… he was radiant. Jesus felt his cheeks heat and the smile was creeping back. He slowly turned back to his pillow, fighting off a giddy little sound as he let his own eyelashes flutter and he fought to keep his breathing steady. He shifted his feet in a nervous slide before burrowing deeper into the bed.
He could feel the softness of Judas’ skin, the steady rhythm of his breaths as his chest rose and fell, the warmth of his protective and cuddly hold. It was intoxicatingly right.
And it was far from the first time Jesus had felt this way about the other man. These small moments between them…
Jesus shook off the thought. Now was not the time to think about it.
He would pretend he never saw, of course. He would pretend he never woke up. That would just serve to make Judas defensive and distant, from embarrassment more than anything else. But this moment— this raw and pure moment— it was there. And it was real. It was just as real as every glimpse Judas snuck in his direction, as real as every spark of connection, as real as that look in Judas’ eyes. That kicked-puppy, beautiful, longing look.
It was real.
But Jesus wouldn’t speak on it. It wasn’t his move to make. It never was. So he would wait. He would be silent. He would be patient. Unbelievably patient.
In the morning, Judas would wake. He would wake and flush and take his arm away so carefully and gradually it would be like threading a needle. He would straighten and overcompensate for the rest of the day, talking about how he couldn’t even get to sleep with Jesus’ unbearable snoring, and swear off ever sharing a bed with him again. Jesus would pretend he had been out like a light. He’d put on the radio station that always played those Elton John songs and pretend that the both of them didn’t think of the other as the words crooned out, as if they hadn’t already memorized all of the lyrics like they were poems written just for them.
Judas would tell him what he needed when he was ready. He would tell him everything.
But, for now, this was it. It was good. And Jesus knew— he just knew— this moment would be enough.
He slept better than he ever had as he drifted back into slumber.
Safe.
And loved.
Even if it was only for a private moment.