Chapter Text
Tom didn't so much lie down as collapse.
The mattress dipped beneath him with a miserable sigh, face pressed into the pillow, one arm dangling over the edge as though gravity had finally won. His shoulders were knotted high enough to nearly touch his ears, every small movement followed by an involuntary hiss.
Sam stood in the doorway for a moment, watching.
"You've been carrying all that around all day?"
"I'm fine," Tom muttered into the pillow.
"You sound like an eighty-year-old deck chair."
"I'm a perfectly functional deck chair."
Sam laughed quietly, "functional people don't groan because they rolled over."
"I groaned because... because physics."
"Mhm."
A minute later Tom heard the familiar sound of a drawer opening, "...Sam?"
No answer.
Then the unmistakable click of a bottle. Tom lifted his head just enough to see Sam returning with a small bottle of massage oil and a towel draped over one shoulder.
"...Absolutely not."
"Oh, absolutely yes."
"I'll survive."
"You've said 'ow' seventeen times since lunch."
"I have not."
"I counted."
Tom buried his face again, "...traitor."
"You'll have to take your shirt off."
Tom grumbled something completely unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"I said..." Another dramatic sigh. "...you're insufferable."
"I'll take that as cooperation."
It took another full minute of theatrical complaining before Tom finally sat up, carefully peeling his shirt over his head. Even that simple movement made him pause halfway, shoulders tightening as another ache caught him.
Sam noticed immediately, "easy."
"I'm trying."
Once Tom settled onto the bed again, Sam poured a little oil into his palms, rubbing his hands together until they were warm.
Luke had taught him years ago that cold hands ruined a massage before it even started. Tom flinched ever so slightly at the first touch, more from surprise than discomfort.
"Cold?"
"No."
"Too much pressure?"
"...No."
Sam waited another heartbeat before beginning. His thumbs worked slowly along either side of Tom's spine instead of directly on it, feeling the rigid muscles beneath his palms. It was like trying to knead bread dough that had been left out overnight.
"...Bloody hell," Sam murmured.
"Told you I was fine."
"This is what you call fine?"
Tom made a noncommittal grunt, Sam wasn't in a hurry.
Luke had always insisted that rushing just made people tense again. Slow pressure. Let the muscles realize they were safe enough to stop fighting. So he worked patiently.
Broad circles across Tom's shoulders. Gentle pressure beneath the shoulder blades. Firm thumbs following long, tight bands of muscle until he felt them slowly begin to soften. The room grew quieter.
Tom's breathing, which had been shallow and uneven, gradually deepened. A tiny, involuntary gasp escaped him as Sam found a particularly stubborn knot beside his left shoulder blade.
"There it is."
"Oh—"
Tom bit the rest of the sound off, cheeks already warming.
Sam smiled, "Found one?"
"...Maybe."
Another careful pass. Another knot released. This time Tom couldn't suppress the quiet sound that escaped him.
"Hh..."
Not loud.
Just the sort of breath someone made when pain finally decided to leave.
"There we go," Sam said softly.
Tom's forehead rested against his folded arms again. Every few minutes another little sound slipped out. A shaky exhale. A relieved hum.
A breathy gasp when Sam's thumbs unravelled another impossibly tight muscle.
"Oh... God..."
Sam chuckled, "that good?"
"I hate admitting it."
"I noticed."
Tom's shoulders, once almost rock solid, now yielded easily beneath Sam's hands. The rigid line of his back slowly flattened, his neck stopped craning upward.
Even his jaw unclenched. By the time Sam reached the lower part of his back, Tom had become wonderfully, hopelessly heavy. His entire body seemed to melt into the mattress.
One final pass, one last lingering stretch across his shoulders. Then Sam rested both hands gently against Tom's back.
"How's that?"
Tom didn't answer immediately. When he finally did, his voice sounded sleep-heavy.
"...I think my skeleton's dissolved."
"I'll count that as an improvement."
"...Mhm."
Sam helped him wipe away the remaining oil before Tom tugged a clean shirt over his head with considerably less complaint than before. The second they climbed into bed, Tom rolled straight toward him.
No hesitation. No pretending.
He simply wrapped both arms around Sam's middle and tucked his face beneath Sam's chin like someone who had completely run out of energy. Sam smiled, automatically draping an arm around his shoulders, "...comfortable?"
Tom only made a sleepy noise. He was clinging with surprising determination, as though Sam might evaporate if he loosened his grip.
"You are attached to me," Sam observed.
"You are warm."
"I see."
"And comfortable."
"I also see."
"And..." Tom mumbled, already half asleep, "...you fixed me."
"I didn't fix you."
"You definitely... fixed... at least forty percent..."
His words dissolved into another contented mumble. After a long, comfortable silence, Tom spoke again, "...how'd you even know how to do that?"
Sam looked down at the increasingly dozy man tucked against him, "Luke taught me."
Tom blinked one eye open, "...Luke?"
"Years ago, in university. Said everyone should know how to help someone they're fond of when they're hurting."
Tom considered that for a moment, "...remind me to thank him."
"I think he'd just tell you to stretch more. Or just keep climbing you."
"...Never mind."
Sam laughed quietly, pressing a kiss into Tom's hair. Within minutes Tom was asleep, still holding onto him with both arms, utterly relaxed for the first time all day. Sam didn't mind being used as a human pillow. After all, Luke had also taught him one final thing.
If someone falls asleep because they finally feel safe and comfortable...
...you don't move unless you absolutely have to.
Tom had somehow migrated even closer, Sam wasn't entirely sure how it was physically possible. One minute there had been a respectable few inches between them beneath the duvet. The next, Tom was practically folded into his side, one leg tangled with Sam's, one arm draped lazily across his waist as though gravity only worked in Sam's direction.
His breathing was slow. Even. Content. Calm.
Sam brushed a hand through Tom's hair, smiling when Tom instinctively leaned into the touch without opening his eyes.
"Feeling better?"
"Mmh."
"That's all I get?"
"Mhm."
Sam laughed under his breath, "I see someone's conversational skills have packed up for the evening."
Tom made another sleepy noise that could have meant absolutely anything. His eyes remained closed. Instead of answering properly, he tilted his face upward. A soft kiss landed beneath Sam's jaw.
Then another. Small. Unhurried. Barely more than lingering brushes of his lips.
Sam smiled immediately, "so that's the new communication method?"
Another kiss.
"...I take that as yes."
Tom's lips found the corner of Sam's mouth this time, lingering for just a heartbeat before retreating again. He didn't have the energy for anything more elaborate. No teasing. No grin. No clever remark. Just little affectionate kisses that seemed to happen because he was simply too relaxed not to give them.
Sam returned one to Tom's forehead.
"You've gone all floppy."
A tiny nod.
"Knew it."
Another kiss landed against Sam's cheek.
"You really are tired."
"Mmh."
"And this is all the battery you've got left?"
Tom finally cracked one eye open, "...kisses don't require thinking."
"They don't?"
Tom slowly shook his head, "no."
Another tiny kiss.
"They're... efficient."
Sam snorted, "Efficient?"
"Mhm."
"So you're conserving energy."
"Mhm."
"For what?"
"...More kisses."
Sam couldn't argue with that logic. Tom settled again, nestling closer until his forehead rested beneath Sam's chin. For several quiet minutes neither of them spoke. The room was peaceful.
Just the soft hum of the fan and the occasional rustle of blankets whenever Tom adjusted to get impossibly closer. Every so often he'd lift his head just enough to press another absent-minded kiss somewhere he could reach.
Sam's chin. His cheek. His nose. The corner of his mouth. His jaw. Each one was slow and sleepy, almost as though Tom was kissing him before he drifted off again.
"You know," Sam murmured, "you're very affectionate after you've had your back sorted."
Tom's answer was another kiss.
"I suppose that's confirmation."
Another.
"You've become a very clingy radiator."
Tom huffed a tiny laugh against his neck, "warm..."
"I am."
"...Comfy."
"I know."
"...Boyfriend."
Sam's heart did an embarrassing little somersault, "yeah?"
Tom smiled without opening his eyes, "mine, my boyfriend."
Sam wrapped both arms around him, holding him just a little tighter.
"And you're my very sleepy boyfriend."
Tom gave one last drowsy kiss to Sam's lips before burying his face back into Sam's shoulder, "...love you..."
The words were barely louder than a whisper, already melting into sleep.
Sam kissed the top of his head, "love you too."
That seemed to satisfy Tom completely. Still tucked against Sam's chest, still loosely holding onto his shirt, he was asleep less than a minute later, looking more peaceful than he had all day.