Work Text:
It was late, far later than Llewelyn had expected to be awake. But he was working, and finally had hit that point where his hands and mind and body just went on autopilot, and everything was making sense, and he was connecting dots that even Murdoch hadn’t connected fully yet.
It was calming, the steady scratching of his pen on the paper, trying to write out a timeline for the events. Jack’s soft breathing from the other side of the bedroom, he was surely fast asleep, as Llewelyn should have been, but he couldn’t stop going.
It could have been hours, days, months, staring at those papers, trying to mark any fallacies in the alibis, but to Llewelyn it felt like seconds--which was why, when a steady hand clasped his shoulder, Llewelyn jumped.
“It’s just me.”
The “just me” in question was one Jack Walker, rubbing his eyes in the dim candlelight. He looked exhausted, his hair tousled, eyes heavy, blinking just a bit too slow each time they shut. His thin nightshirt looked too light for the temperature in the room, and Llewelyn opened his mouth to voice his concerns, before a finger was pressed to his lips. “Come to bed.”
“I can’t,” he whispered back, lips parting against Jack’s finger, and Llewelyn hadn’t even registered how low and hoarse his voice was. He cleared his throat, and flexed his fingers a few times. “I’ve got work to do.”
Jack’s hand moved to cup his face, tilting his chin up to look him in the eye. “Please?”
“Jack…”
“It’s cold without you.” He brushed his thumb over Llewelyn’s cheekbone, then down against his stubble, then to his lips. “Come to bed, Lew, please...” His words tapered off into a yawn, and he raised his hand to his lips, covering his mouth.
He sighed, leaning into the ghost of the touch, and his mind went a comfortable sort of fuzzy when Jack’s hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing deep, strong, and solidly against them. He leaned back, pressing his head to Jack’s chest, and finally set down his pen. “...I suppose I could be tempted.”