Work Text:
Richard may be standing there, all suave, leaning against the fence like nobody’s business, feet crossed and tipping his hat, a handsome smile on his face - but Thomas can see the very tip of his tail quivering, belying nerves. There’s a basket with a bottle and some parcels wrapped in brown paper on the ground, and a soft-looking blanket hangs on the fence. It looks large enough for four mice, let alone two. Thomas feels momentarily unprepared, but then he was told to bring nothing but sunshine and himself, a task at which he seems to have succeeded if the blue sky is anything to go by.
”Richard,” he greets, coming to a stop a little ways a way. He's not sure why he’s stopped, exactly, but his heart is pounding and his belly is full of butterflies. He turns his hat around in his hands restlessly. ”Lovely to see you again,” he says, attempting to sound normal.
”Likewise, dearest,” says Richard, and doesn’t that low voice make Thomas’ heart beat even faster. How he’s longed to hear it again, imagined it murmured close to his ear while Richard nuzzled his neck.
Richard uncrosses his feet, and they meet in the middle of the soft earth path, surrounded by grass and green rolling hills. A bird chirps in the distance, singing of his love. Thomas offers a hand, half out of reflex and half out of nerves; Richard takes it, gently, and uses it to pull him close.
The embrace goes right into Thomas’ head, it feels like. His whole world narrows down to the way the whole of Richard’s body is pressed against him, the heat of him, his hands splayed wide and confidently on Thomas’ back. He couldn’t stop his tail from trembling if he tried, nor can he stop the little sounds of pleasure and joy escaping his mouth. Taking courage from the way Richard is holding him - clinging to him, even - he nuzzles Richard’s cheek, the silky, wavy fur just as soft as he remembered.
”You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you,” Richard murmurs into the small space between their snouts as they hold one another.
Thomas flushes, thinking of Richard’s letters as well as his own endless pining and evenings spent fiddling with the watch fob.
”Think I’ve got an inkling, actually.”