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Summary
Even if he can’t appreciate the view, Edward still tilts his head back and fills his lungs, allowing the soft wind to run through his curls while Thomas lays out the blanket he’s brought, along with the spread from the kitchen and a flask of filched of whiskey — not the best, but certainly enough to get the job done when one needs to take the edge of, as he suspects Lieutenant Courtenay rather does. When he looks up from what he’s doing, he finds the other man dressing down, shucking off his jacket and dropping it carelessly in the grass as he lets his braces fall to hang from his hips, rolling his shoulders out while a relieved noise tips off his lips and melts straight down Thomas’ spine.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he sighs. “We’re out of sight, aren’t we?”
“We are,” Thomas manages, throat gone dry. “I don’t mind at all.”
Edward asks if he can feel what Thomas looks like and ends up taking some liberties.
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