#chiara.writes

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Thomas let out a small smile and moved closer to Alastair. He wrapped his arms around him, resting his hands on Alastair’s lean stomach. Alastair nuzzled his head into Thomas’ shoulder, placing his hands on top of Thomas’. “Better?” Thomas whispered. “Better,” Alastair whispered back.

“Better,” Alastair whispered back.

Thomas was drifting to sleep when Alastair shifted again to give him a peck on the nose. “I love you,” he whispered.

Thomas smiled and kissed his nose back. “I love you too, Esfandiyār. Now go to sleep.” Alastair turned back around and Thomas hugged him close and gradually both feel asleep.

——

They woke up some hours later to the sound of Alastair’s alarm. Thomas groaned softly and untangled an arm from the sheets to reach his hand over and turn it off. He then pulled the blanket back over them, pressing his face into Alastair’s neck. “Your alarm’s too early,” he mumbled.

Alastair let out a little yawn that made Thomas smile against his neck. “I have a class at nine,” Alastair said unenthusiastically.

“My first is at 10.” Thomas sat up in the bed, much to Alastair’s dismay, who exclaimed and reached for the blankets. Thomas laughed when Alastair took the blankets back. “You have to get up.”

Alastair’s voice was muffled by the blankets, which he had pulled over his head. “It’s warm here though.” He squawked at Thomas attempt to take the blanket.

“I am concerned about how you usually get up, considering you don’t have someone to wake you every morning.”

“Multiple alarms,” came Alastair’s reply from beneath the blanket. As if to prove his point an alarm went off on his phone, which Thomas turned off. “And if those don’t work then relying on Kamala to call me at 7:30 as she periodically does for no reason.” Thomas laughed, and Alastair poked his head out, a smile on his face. “If you want me to get up you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Thomas let out a fondly exasperated noise. “Am I supposed to carry you to your class?” Alastair shrugged. “Might work.”

But when Thomas went to pick Alastair up he stiffened his body to make it difficult for him. After five minutes of struggles for Thomas and laughter from Alastair Thomas managed to get Alastair off the bed and standing up. “Asshole,” Thomas said once they were standing. He passed Alastair his shirt. “Now go shower and change so we can go to breakfast and you can get to your class on time.” Alastair made a face at him but put on his shirt and went to get his shower things.

He stopped at the door when he realized Thomas was sitting on the bed. “You’re not coming to shower?”

“You’re the one with the early class,” Thomas said. He stretched out on the bed. “I’ll wait for you here.” Alastair made another face at him and closed the door to the dorm, heading for the shared showers down the hall.

A little while later Alastair pushed open the door to his room again, shivering and drying his hair. “I hate shared showers,” he announced happily.

Thomas, sitting on the now-fixed bed, lifted his eyes from the textbook he'd been skimming, and just barley stopped a noise from escaping his throat. Alastair had his back turned to him, searching for clothes in his closet, only wearing a towel around his waist, and Thomas blushed slightly at the sight of his lean dancer's body. "Um," he said, his voice coming out for the most part normal. "Most people just change in the shower areas, to avoid the awkward walking-through-halls-in-our-towels part of it, you know."

"True," Alastair allowed as he stepped behind his open closet door to change. Thomas looked away, even though Alastair was blocked by the door. "But one, I forgot my clothes, and two, I didn't think people would actually, you know, be up."

Thomas chuckled. "Of course not."

“What are you reading?” Alastair asked as he finished changing. His damp curls stuck to his head, water splashing onto Thomas as Alastair sat and leaned towards him. “Oh.” He adopted a monotonous voice: “Molecular Neuropharmacology: A Foundation for Clinical Neuroscience.”

Thomas let out a chuckle. “Is that what you’re going to go to med school for? To become a neuroscience?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Alastair took the book and started flipping through it. “I’d liked to. Or a psychiatrist. From what I understand from the class, my classmates understand the science of it all, but not much else.” He looked down at the book. “Like, all of them are so caught up in the biological part of it. And yes, disorders like PTSD and schizophrenia and bipolar disease do have with chemicals in the brain and all, but not just that. I mean, these people live with these disorders. You can’t just treat them like a bunch of neuron receptors giving off messed up signals. They're not there for you to study.” He closed the book.

“And I know that’s what therapists are for, to deal with the real life issues brought up by these disorders. But therapists don’t make the decisions about what meds are given and all; the pharmacists do that, and the get recommendations from the doctors. Who are like the kids in my classes, and don’t think further than the physical things happening in the patients brain. That’s why I’m thinking about studying it further; I want to understand the scientific part of it, and the social part. And I want others, especially other doctors, to understand that they're both equally important.” He looked up to meet Thomas’ gaze, who after a moment leaned forward and kissed him. Alastair smiled against his lips, bringing a hand up to curl into Thomas’ hair.

Thomas broke apart to gently kiss the soft spot behind Alastair’s ear. “I love you,” he said when he pulled back, looking into Alastair dark eyes. “I need to say that, without the jokes or you saying it first or anything. I love you so much.” Alastair smiled back at him, tucking a strand of Thomas’ hair behind his ear.

Eventually they made their way to the student café nearby, and ordered a pile of pancakes to share, along with coffee. As they ate Thomas looked at their cups of coffee, one a toffee brown and other slightly darker, more the color of earth.

Alastair noticed him looking at the cups. “Let me taste yours,” he said, reaching for the toffee colored cup. He pulled a face once he took a sip. “Too sweet.”

Thomas took the other cup and brought it to his mouth to taste. Then he set it down and made a face, mimicking Alastair. “Too bitter.”

“Coffee’s supposed to be bitter,” Alastair said defensively. Thomas just chuckled.

When they had finished eating Alastair asked, “What time are we going to meet to move all my stuff to Matthew’s?”

“When are you free?” Thomas asked.

“Well, I’ve got the autism class till 10, then from 10:30 to 12 I have another, and at three I have dance, until six, and from six to seven I have another class.”

“You’re schedule's pretty packed,” Thomas observed, “with both your majors to take course for.” Alastair nodded. “There’s not a lot of courses that overlap, but for dance it’s more like a co-op, so it doesn’t need a lot.”

“And work? You only work part-time, right?”

“Yup, only weekends and Thursdays, usually four to five hours a shift.”

“Christ, Alastair,” Thomas said. “Your going to murder yourself.”

Alastair smiled and licked syrup off his fork. “I’ll be fine. So meet at 7:30ish?”

“Yeah.” Thomas called for the bill, and stopped Alastair from taking out his wallet. “On me,” he said, and he took Alastair’s hand. “And try to find a way to lighten your load, okay?”

Alastair rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m fine. It’s just today I’m full.”

Thomas paid and they said goodbye and went their ways, Alastair to his class and Thomas to his dorm to change clothes and get ready for his class.

They day passed, and when Thomas finished his classes he headed to the library to study. He was so immersed in his work that he didn’t notice until he heard a throat being cleared that someone had joined his table.

“Took you long enough,” Alastair said when Thomas looked up.

Thomas pushed his laptop aside and closed his books. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Bumped into James. He told me you usually come here to study.” He tapped Thomas’ book. “What are you working on?”

“Essay for a class.”

“On the Normans?”

“And the ethical issues that come with sacking a whole city and enforcing a new culture on it.” Alastair snorted; Thomas smiled crookedly as he put his things in his messenger bag. “Yes, I know: obvious, basic and boring, but it’ll give me the marks.”

“I didn’t say it was boring,” Alastair said as they walked to James’ apartment. “I just fail to see how there would not be any ethical issues with that.”

“Precisely why I’m arguing affirmative.” They reached James’ apartment and Thomas texted James, who came down to the lobby a few minutes later, the key to Matthew’s place in hand.

“Here,” he said, handing Thomas the key. “And if you find a dead body in his bathtub, I am in no way connected to it.”

“Noted,” Thomas said drily, and Alastair snickered.

There was no body in the bathtub, or any place in Matthew’s flat. It was a nice place, wide open and spacious, and Matthew’s taste was sprinkled everywhere; in the neutral colored throw pillows that littered the couches, in the authentic looking paintings that hung on the wall of both Matthew’s bedroom and the guest bedroom, as well as the walls of the den, where a grand piano sat— Alastair eyed it while they put down the last box of his things. He looked towards Thomas, who chuckled and nodded; a second later the apartment was filled with melodious music.

Thomas carried the boxes with Alastair’s clothes into Matthew’s bedroom, which he put in the closet (Matthew more or less emptied out his whole room), and then Alastair’s textbooks and school things, which he put on top of Matthew’s desk. He left Alastair’s more personal things in the boxes in the living room for him to do with what he liked.

Having done that, Thomas went to the den and leaned on the side on the piano and watched Alastair play. “I am woefully behind,” he said when Alastair finished, sliding the lid back in place.

“You just need practice,” Alastair said. He smiled. “Like you do with your Persian.”

“I’ll have you know that just this week I spoke to Cordelia in Persian and she didn’t laugh at me like she did last time, which clearly shows I have improved.”

“Or she took pity on you,” Alastair said, a crooked smile on his face. Thomas blew a raspberry at him; Alastair laughed. “Very mature.”

“Come on,” Thomas said, dragging Alastair off the piano seat and into the kitchen. “It’s dinner time. Let’s see what food Matthew left.”

In text, Matthew had seemed to be graciously giving them an abundance of food but in reality besides a few cans of fruit, chip bags and cookie boxes there wasn’t much. “We can stock up tomorrow,” Thomas said. He was about to close the cupboard when Alastair spotted something in the far corner: he reached his hand in and took out a wallet, which he passed to Thomas.

About 500 dollars in total. Thomas slipped the money into his pocket. “You can’t just take his money,” Alastair protested.

“He said anything in his cupboards.”

“He said any food.”

Thomas shrugged, a grin appearing on his face. “Its fine, he owes me anyway.” Alastair shook his head, but he was smiling. “At least tell him.”

Thomas rolled his eyes but took out his phone. “You and your good heart,” he said while texting Matthew. “He won’t answer right now, it’s probably late in Paris—” He was cut off by a ding of a text, in which Matthew had written I would complain but I guess this is karma. “Never mind. Leave it to Matthew to be up in the dead of night.”

“He was up when you texted him yesterday,” Alastair observed.

“No doubt planning his diabolical schemes.”

Alastair chuckled. “Should we order, then?” He flipped through the restaurant pamphlets that had been left on the island. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” Thomas said.

“Well, we did Persian last time so this time Spanish?” He held up the pamphlet for a local Spanish restaurant and Thomas nodded. After they had picked out a few dishes and ordered they went to the living room to wait for the delivery.

“What about your things?” Alastair asked as he sorted through his boxes, taking out some books and pictures and other things. “Do you need to get your stuff from your dorm?”

“I’ll go by tomorrow and pick up some clothes and my school stuff,” Thomas said. “But if I bring everything they might end my residency there, so, you know. How long will we be staying here, anyways?”

“Until me and Kamala find a place,” Alastair said. “Is Matthew coming back soon?”

“No, not for at least a few months.” Thomas stretched back on the couch. “Take all the time you need.”

When the food arrived they both stood up to get it and then went back to the living room, where, after announcing that there was nothing good to watch, Alastair commenced to make up his own story.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Thomas cut in midway through. “You just said they were attacked by…?”

Alastair bit into a piece of queso frito—fried cheese. “Man eating kangaroos.”

“So then how did those kangaroos turn into spiders?"

“Thomas,” Alastair said. “It’s fiction. It doesn’t have to make sense. Besides, I needed a scarier animal.”

“And you think spiders are scarier than kangaroos?”

“You don’t?”

Thomas laughed. “Of course not!”

“Look at it this way: when you asked people what they are scared of, they are more likely to name a small bug than a kangaroo.”

“That’s only because bugs are more common,” Thomas objected.

“It doesn’t matter why, people are still more afraid of them,” Alastair countered. “Now, will you let me finish the story?”

Thomas laughed again. “Go ahead.” Alastair proceeded to continue his story while they finished the last of their meal.

Thomas looked at the clock. Nine o’clock. “What do you want to do now?” he asked.

“I have a project I need to work on. What?” he added at Thomas’ look.

“Do you need to work on it now?” Thomas asked. “It’s getting late.”

“What time do you go to bed?” Alastair asked.

“Later on, but—” Finding no reason to argue Thomas shook his head and smiled. “You win. I put your school things on top of the desk in Matthew’s room.”

“What are you going to do?” Alastair asked as he went to get his things. “The essay on the Normans.” Thomas replied while moving to get his laptop.

They worked in the living room in silence for an hour or so, until Thomas closed his laptop with a click. “I’m done,” he announced.

Alastair looked up from his laptop. “The essay?”

“No, I’m just done with school for now.” Alastair snickered as Thomas came to sit beside him. “What are you working on?

“A presentation.”

Thomas glanced at the screen. “Too many words I don’t know,” he decided, and stretched out on the couch to lay his head on Alastair’s lap, who shifted to make them more comfortable. “Can you work like this?” Thomas asked, looking up at Alastair.

Alastair looked down at Thomas, then at his laptop, then at Thomas again, and bit his lip. “No,” he said, but he closed his laptop and smiled. “But I think I'm done for now too.”

“You’re being too indecisive,” Alastair told Thomas a moment later as they clicked through channels. “The next one is the one we’re watching.” Alastair changed the channel; they settled in to watch an action movie that had just started. After a few minutes Thomas turned his head to look up at Alastair. “What’s your favourite animal?”

Alastair looked down at Thomas and placed a hand in his hair, pulling it back. “Hedgehog. Yours?”

“Not sure.” Alastair laughed. “See: too indecisive. Pick one.” After a moment Thomas said, “Owl.”

Alastair smiled. “Both woodland creatures.” They went back to watching the Tv, Alastair’s hand still wound in Thomas hair.

“You’re right,” Alastair said after a while. On the Tv men had started to shoot at each other, and it was obvious who would win. “This is boring.”

Thomas sent him a smug look, at which Alastair rolled his eyes. “What do you want to do then?” Thomas said.

Alastair shrugged, and then pulled on Thomas’ hair. “We could make out.”

Shifting so he was on his elbows, Thomas smiled crookedly at Alastair. “No sense of dignity in asked that?”

“How else do you suggest I ask my boyfriend if he wants—” He was cut off by Thomas, who grinned and leaned up to kiss him. “How about like that?”

Instead of answering Alastair gripped Thomas’ chin and tilted it up, deepening their kiss, and Thomas tangled his hands into Alastair’s curls, prompting Alastair to stretch out beside him on the couch.

Alastair’s lips moved down Thomas’ neck, his lips trailing kisses to his collarbone as Thomas’ hands found his own shirt and lifted it up over his head. Alastair made a strangled noise and then moved to straddle Thomas’ hips with his knees as Thomas moved his hands to Alastair and helped him take off his shirt. Thomas reached for Alastair's waist as Alastair leaned forward, placing his hands on Thomas' chest, and then pressing his lips to his.

On the Tv loud gunfire startled them both, so much that Alastair fell off the couch, bringing Thomas down with him. “Ouch,” Alastair said from where he was on the floor, and he sat up to lean his back against the couch.

Thomas let out a little chuckle. “Are you okay?” Alastair nodded. His hair was messy and his cheeks flushed. Thomas shuffled closer and bent his head to kiss Alastair's chest, where his heart was. He could feel it beating fast against his lips, and felt Alastair’s chest expand underneath him.

“Esfandiyār,” he murmured. “Maybe we could go to bed?” He kissed his chest again, and moved his hands to his waist, and heard Alastair’s quick intake of breath; when Thomas raised his head he saw that Alastair’s head was tipped back, resting on the couch, his eyes were half-closed, his eyelashes brushing across the tips of his flushed cheeks. A wave of desire shot through him.

Alastair opened his eyes and took Thomas face in his hands, pulling his face close for a deep kiss. “Yes. That is, if you want to—”

Thomas’ laugh came out low; he cleared his throat and pressed his nose to Alastair’s. “Any chance you will stop being so insufferably nice about our non-existent sex life?”

“I just don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I don’t.” Thomas kissed his neck. “I want you.” Alastair shuddered again, his hands moving restlessly against Thomas. “Well, then?” he said. “What are you waiting for? Help me up.”

Thomas laughed and helped Alastair to his feet. If possible, Alastair looked even hotter standing up, with just his sweatpants on. He opened his mouth to say something but Thomas moved towards him, pressing his lips to him and backing him up to a wall. He gripped Alastair’s legs and slung them around his waist, so his hands were under Alastair’s thighs, holding him up. Alastair’s hands clung to his shoulders, he let out a little sound as Thomas pressed him further into the wall, pressing his body to him. He could feel Alastair against him, hard and wanting, and his head swam, wanting to be as close to Alastair as possible.

“T—Thomas,” Alastair said when he got the chance. “Bed.”

Thomas nodded, and still kissing Alastair, walked them to Matthew’s room.

——

lmk if you want to be added or removed!