Work Text:
Nam-gyu often finds it hard to sleep.
It’s been easier ever since he’s started sharing a bed with Thanos. A necessity, as they deem it. Small apartment, no room for more than one bed. They’ve been sleeping tangled together for about two months now, and Nam-gyu wouldn’t have it any other way.
He sleeps better having someone next to him, but it’s not a foolproof solution. His brain often runs rampant at night, and it doesn’t necessarily help that the person who so often consumes his thoughts is always right next to him.
Thanos, who currently lays with his arm slung across Nam-gyu’s chest and his face buried in the crook of his neck, hot breath fanning against chilled skin. Their blankets have been haphazardly kicked off the bed, but Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to shake Thanos off of him in order to get up and pick them back up. Thanos is warmer than the blankets they have, anyways.
Nam-gyu nestles himself closer. In this precise moment, he comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t give a damn about the implications of it all. Laying with Thanos like this is comforting. Seeing the bright mass of purple hair tucked against him, feeling his breath against his neck, the security of having an arm wrapped around him, holding him close.
It’s nice. It’s really, really nice. Nam-gyu doesn’t think he’s ever felt more happy than he does living with Thanos.
(Not that he’d ever say so aloud, of course. Sincerity has never been his strong suit.)
Thanos shuffles against him, nuzzling his nose against his jaw. Nam-gyu makes a noise of contentment, bringing a hand up to idly drag his fingertips across Thanos’ scalp, gentle and featherlight.
Since when has Nam-gyu ever been gentle? He retracts his fingers quickly, frightened by his own tranquility.
“Nam-gyu,” Thanos mumbles against his neck. How come he only gets his name right when he’s half asleep? “You awake, my boy?”
“No,” Nam-gyu snarks, before quickly following up with a soft, sheepish, “…yes.”
Thanos hums against his neck, fingers tapping against Nam-gyu’s hip in an almost chiding manner. “Go to bed.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder. You get grumpy when you don’t get enough sleep,” Thanos murmurs.
“I know.”
A brief lapse of silence. Nam-gyu assumes his bedmate finally fell back to sleep, but is proven wrong when Thanos’ sleep-ridden voice fills the room yet again.
“What’re you thinking about?”
“You,” Nam-gyu answers easily. He always has a hard time lying when he’s tired.
“Me?”
Something grotesquely close to yearning settles within Nam-gyu’s chest. He thinks he might be sick.
“Yeah. You.”
His voice cracks. Nam-gyu mentally berates himself for the sudden onslaught of emotion that crashes into him for no concrete reason, and sighs at his own vulnerability. He hates the way his voice sounds when he talks about things he shouldn’t.
Thanos shifts, propping himself upwards in order to stare down at the other. Nam-gyu doesn’t meet his gaze. If he does, he thinks he might shatter into a mess of indistinguishable pieces. Pieces of himself that are better left tucked away.
“Nam-gyu,” Thanos says, his name rolling off his tongue with a certain lilt that they both know is reserved for only them. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
Nam-gyu shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling. He can’t trust himself to speak. He can barely trust himself to move.
“Before I woke up, I was dreaming of you,” Thanos says. Nam-gyu can’t pinpoint why, but the admission calms his nerves. “Come on, boy. Look at me.”
The room is dark, and it’s difficult to make out anything more than vague shapes and muted colors. Nam-gyu turns his head. He feels Thanos’ gaze more than he sees it.
“You think too much,” Thanos murmurs.
“I know.”
Thanos leans down, clunking his forehead against his roommates. Nam-gyu lets out a sharp, startled laugh, his hands moving on autopilot to rest on each side of Thanos’ face. Nam-gyu let’s his fingers caress the other's jaw, letting the darkness serve as a blockage for the jumbled thoughts in his brain that try to halt him.
They breathe in tandem, slow and steady, alive and real. Nam-gyu wants to kiss him. He should hate the thought for entering his mind, but he doesn't. Not even remotely.
Nam-gyu isn’t sure which one of them moves first, but he’s too focused on the warmth of Thanos’ lips atop his own. This isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, but Nam-gyu knows this is the first time they’ll acknowledge it afterwards. Neither of them are drunk or high. They won’t be able to rely on the excuse of forgetting, and this time, Nam-gyu thinks neither of them would want to even if presented with the opportunity.
They linger against each other for a long, drawn out moment, lips locked in place against each other. When they pull back, Nam-gyu can hear Thanos softly inhale before leaning back forward for more.
Nam-gyu tilts his head, opening his mouth slightly. Thanos takes the chance to lick into his mouth, slow and deliberate. Nam-gyu’s hands stay glued to the side of Thanos’ face, fingers moving in tender ministrations. Words of adoration that are unable to be spoken aloud are presented in the form of trailing fingertips.
Thanos tastes like the peppermint mouthwash that Nam-gyu always sees him use. When they pull back to breathe, Nam-gyu lets his hands fall to Thanos’ shoulders.
“You're the only one I want,” Nam-gyu admits quietly. “You know that, right?”
“I’m already yours.”
Thanos presses a chaste kiss to Nam-gyu’s forehead before lowering himself back downward, tucking his head back into the crook of Nam-gyu’s neck and encircling his arms around his waist. “Goodnight, Nam-gyu.”
“Goodnight,” Nam-gyu says, and this time, his voice no longer shakes.