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Abraham turns over, and takes the entire blanket with him. Jack, ever a light sleeper, startles awake at the sudden rush of freezing air, disoriented for a moment before remembering that this is his nightly routine: forever fighting for the blanket with the love of his life.
Occasionally, when the room is particularly icy and his slumbering partner, the heaviest sleeper he's ever met, refuses to loosen his clutch on the blanket, Jack wishes that he could sleep alone again. That thought never lasts long, though. It's a small price to pay. There was a time not so long ago when he believed that he would sleep alone forever.
He had never been able to imagine sleeping next to Lucy. Having her live with him, yes— eating dinner together and buying her pretty things and having conversations over tea, yes— but never something so intimate as sharing a bed. It wasn't for lack of trying, but his mind could not conjure a reality in which they could sleep side by side.
On the other hand, his mind had always richly supplied him with thoughts of his former professor. He'd be paying attention to Abraham's words, but his attention would slip into forbidden territory, and he'd find himself imagining the strength of those arms wrapping him up, and that barrel chest pressed against him, or his head tucked into the crook of that neck.
Now, he doesn't have to imagine. Abraham is here, every night, holding him, caressing him, wanting him. It feels like a dream, sometimes, an illusion that will pop if he doesn't hold onto it tightly enough. Yet it is real. It feels like the warmth pressed against his back, and the soft purring of his partner's breath, and the sweet smell of tobacco that lingers on his pillows all the time, now.
So it's worth it, for the stolen blankets. Jack reaches over and grabs the edge of the covers, putting all his effort into dragging them back. Abraham isn't clutching them too tightly tonight, so Jack is able to tuck the corner around his shoulders, then roll over to his other side, reeling in the blankets with him. Abraham is snoozing softly, but doesn't stir.
Jack snuggles against him, back to back, and clutches the blankets more tightly, determined to hold onto them even in his sleep. It always takes him a while to return to his slumber, but in the meantime, he's content, feeling the warmth at his back and listening to the slow, steady breaths of the man he loves.