Long fic: Filling in the Blanks (10/?) Tom/Bill, R
Title: Filling in the Blanks
Author: littlemrstom
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult content, Drug Use, Twincest
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; I own nothing but the plot.
Summary: After discovering a potentially dangerous problem following a traumatic car crash, Bill Trumper is left with only one option; a blood transfusion. Unfortunately for him, only a handful of people in the country have the same blood type, one of those people being his twin.
His twin who... doesn’t even know he exists.
Author's notes: Everyone give cookies to hysterichotel for helping me with the summary, and to ninaelisabeth for giving me the beautiful banner <3 I also promise that this fic is not gross or based around medical things, and no one is permanently hurt.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
The atmosphere in the car as Simone drives them all home from the hospital is something that Bill can only describe as “almost unbearable”. His mother is in the driver’s seat, singing to herself quietly as the radio plays the top ten songs of the week, and he and Tom are in the back thanks to a suggestion from his mother because she thought they both looked exhausted from the day.
“Why don’t you boys go in the backseats?” she’d proposed. “That way if you fall asleep on the way home you’ll be much comfier. Use each other as a pillow or something.”
Bill had wanted to decline, had wanted to say that he would be much more comfortable in the front seat where Tom was not, but of course he couldn’t. Instead, he’d nodded his head and climbed in, making sure to keep himself to himself, leaning against the car door in a false pretence of being comfortable.
However that isn’t even what Bill would say was making the journey unbearable. It’s the butterflies in his stomach that haven’t once let up since Tom’s lips met with his cheek earlier on in the waiting room, which are making it unbearable. His hands clutch at his abdomen tightly, his excuse for his actions being a stomach ache, as if he’s trying to will them away and failing miserably. His stares out the window, elbow rested against the ledge, and tries to ignore the tension he can feel, although he’s pretty sure it’s only he and Tom that are aware of it, because if his mother’s off key warbling is anything to go by, she’s more or less oblivious.
The trip from the hospital back to Bill’s house isn’t particularly long, but today it seems to take forever. Everything around Bill seems amplified, not just his perception of time; the sound of Tom’s slow breathing across from him sounds like cymbals being crashed together next to his ear; the sound of Tom’s fingers tapping against his knee sounds like a hammer in the back of his mind; the sound of the wheels turning beneath him like an earthquake.
Bill curls his hands into fists and suppresses a sigh, closing his eyes and letting it out as a long exhale instead, tilting his head until it rests against the window, and he’s out like a light in seconds.
--
“Bill, honey? We’re home.” Simone’s voice breaks through Bill’s post-sleep haze as he blinks his eyes open to find that he’s in the car, parked up outside his house, and it’s dim outside, the sun setting somewhere in the far distance. “Hey, sweetie. I ordered a takeout for dinner and it just got here, are you hungry?”
“Dinner?” Bill asks, sitting forward, only to be jarred backwards by his seatbelt that’s still fasted across his torso. “Damnit,” he mutters, unfastening it and slowly climbing out of the car. “It’s dinner time?”
Simone chuckles, reaching forward to ruffle Bill’s hair as it’s stuck to his cheek. “Mhmm. You fell asleep on the way home. Tom said you didn’t sleep very well last night so we thought it best to let you sleep for a little bit.”
Bill falters. “Oh.”
“So are you hungry?”
As if on cue, Bill’s stomach rumbles and he clutches it again, finally noticing that the butterflies have calmed slightly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” his mother adds, nudging Bill with her elbow and gently moving him out of the way so she can lock up the car. “Come on then, else it’ll get cold.”
When Bill enters the front room he notices that his seat has already been designated; Simone and Gordon are on one sofa, their slipper-covered feet propped up ungracefully on the coffee table in the middle of the room, and he and Tom are on the other. A full container of Chow Mein sits in front of the empty space beside Tom and his mouth waters instantly, in turn waking up the butterflies that had previously settled as he spies Tom, noodles hanging out of his mouth and soy sauce smudged on his chin, looking as solemn as ever as he watches Bill enter the room. Tom gives him a wary, noodle-y smile, which Bill can barely return, before scooting over to give Bill the extra space he knows he will need.
Thankful, Bill takes his seat beside Tom and picks up his meal, taking the first bite and almost moaning at the satisfaction of eating something so unbelievably unhealthy.
It’s only a couple of hour later, when the film that had been playing across the communal television finishes, that Simone and Gordon announce they’re going to head up to bed. Bill lifts his chin from where it’s perched against his chest to glance at the clock. “Already?” he asks, sitting up fully. “It’s only just gone ten.”
“It’s been a long day,” Gordon offers as an explanation, and Bill takes it, trying not to think about how they’re unknowingly leaving him with Tom.
It both terrifies and excites him.
“Goodnight,” Tom offers from his position beside Bill, and his gentle sentiment is returned by both the adults ascending the stairs.
For a moment, there is silence, save for the squeaking of the floorboards as Simone and Gordon disappear, but then there’s absolutely nothing and all Bill can hear is the pulsing of his heartbeat in his ears. Hypersensitive, he can feel Tom’s body heat radiating onto his, creating an aura around them that Bill finds oddly comforting. He squirms, able to feel Tom’s gaze on him though he’s not actually looking at Tom. As much as he thinks he wants to, he can’t bring himself to turn his head and physically do it.
He can tell that Tom is holding back, if his body language is anything to go by. He’s sat forward, Bill can see out of the corner of his eye, his arms resting on his knees, head hanging down, lip pursed in a tight line.
Something inside Bill clenches at the sight and he feels sick, though he doesn’t think it’s from the food he’s just eaten.
“Why is this happening,” he mumbles as he flops back against the sofa, curling his feet in to sit cross-legged and dropping his hands to rest in his lap as he closes his eyes. He can feel Tom’s eyes swivel to watch him, and then the sofa dips slightly next to him as Tom shuffles.
“Bill?” he says cautiously, questioningly. Bill blinks a single eye open to find himself staring straight into Tom’s eyes and his stomach erupts. Tom’s face holds all the fragility that Bill feels, all the nerves that Bill is too afraid to be seen showing, all the honesty that Bill wants to know Tom possesses.
“I’m sorry,” Bill can’t help but blurt out, both of his eyes opening now. “I’m tired, I didn’t mean that.”
A flash of disappointment passes over Tom’s face, but Bill can see him shake it off almost before he has chance to catch it. “You going to bed then?”
Bill bites his bottom lip, debating. He feels himself being drawn towards Tom, like the butterflies in his stomach are flying against the walls of his insides, pushing him across the small gap that Tom had gracefully created between them. Unrelenting, Bill finds himself giving into them and he moves across, towards Tom; just the smallest of moves. He shakes his head and finally allows himself to look at Tom properly for the first time since the incident.
“No?” Tom questions. “If you’re tired…”
“I need to talk to you,” Bill cuts him off, his face stiff, though his voice wavers. He watches Tom’s eyes widen and then he nods, allowing Bill the space to continue. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
Tom’s eyes widen further. “You want a bucket?” he asks, frantic, but Bill lets out the faintest of laughs and Tom’s brow creases. “No?”
“I think it’s a good thing,” Bill states. “You do it to me.”
“I make you feel sick?” Tom clarifies, and Bill nods. “And that’s a good thing?” Bill nods again. “Um.”
That same faint laugh escapes Bill’s lips a second time. “Why do I feel like this? Every time I see you my stomach goes crazy,” Bill murmurs, bowing his head to let his hair fall across his face, masking the blush that he’s sure is crossing his cheeks as he speaks.
The sofa dips beneath Bill again and he can sense Tom sliding that little bit closer, and then he feels fingers against his calf, so tentative and barely touching that Bill gasps softly when he realises they’re there. His head snaps up to look at Tom, whose eyes have darkened and become serious.
“Is it wrong?”
Tom blinks at Bill’s question. “No,” he says immediately, his fingers pressing more weight against Bill’s calf as if to emphasize his point. “No,” he repeats, “it’s not. Don’t think that, Bill, okay?”
Bill presses his lips together, sceptical in the way he nods his head.
“It is not wrong,” Tom tells him, sliding closer until his thigh brushes past Bill’s and Tom leaves it there, their bodies finally aligned with the others and their faces the closest they’ve been since the kiss. “I feel it too.” Tom smiles a little. “We can’t both be wrong, can we?”
There’s a moment of silence as Bill contemplates Tom’s last statement, and then his lips quirk upwards into the smallest of smiles that has Tom releasing a sigh of relief instantly. “I don’t understand it,” Bill says slowly, after he’s bravely lifted a hand to Tom’s shoulder. Tom tips his head down to skim his chin against the backs of Bill’s fingers, making Bill tingle where they connect, skin on skin. “I don’t, but…”
“Bill?”
Bill averts his gaze from where he is staring at Tom’s chin and looks up to meet his eyes, so close he could count the lashes around Tom’s eyes if he wanted to.
“Yeah?”
Tom offers Bill a smile and then leans in cautiously, his eyes seeking out Bill’s reactions until he’s too close to tell, and their lips meet a second time, though on this occasion Bill lets out a little gasp and his eyelids flutter shut as he allows Tom to hold their lips together. It’s soft and gentle and slow, but it makes the butterflies in Bill’s belly go wild, their wings battering him from the inside out, until Tom adds that little bit more pressure which seems to placate them.
“Is this okay?” Tom checks, pulling back just enough to get the words out, but it’s Bill who presses his mouth back to Tom’s in a silent wanting yes.
Bill’s head is spinning all the while as he’s kissing Tom; his lips feel loose and it’s as if his ears have stopped working momentarily, capturing him in a sound proofed bubble where only he and Tom are present. He smiles gingerly into the kiss and Tom instantly returns it, pressing forward a bit more, though it’s just that little bit too much and it has Bill pulling back and disengaging himself.
“Tom…”
“It’s okay,” Tom says, speaking before Bill can get a word in edgeways, just in case, and Bill smiles, calming both his own nerves and Tom’s. “Good, good.” Tom tentatively strokes down Bill’s back and Bill nearly purrs, falling forwards until he’s leaning against Tom, his eyelids drooping. “Tired?” Tom asks, humoured, as he locks his arms around Bill’s back.
“Hmm,” Bill mumbles in assent. “Sleep now.”
“Come on, don’t fall asleep down here. You’ll ache enough in the morning from sleeping like you did in the car earlier.”
At that, Bill’s eyes flutter open and he catches Tom’s gaze. “Oh,” he says, remembering. “Thank you for that. For letting me sleep, you know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tom returns, and slowly disentangles himself from Bill, pulling them both to their feet. “But come on, upstairs.”
Tom fumbles for the television remote and switches the box off, flicking the light switches off as they pass them and together they traipse up the stairs, Tom’s palm flat against the small of Bill’s back the whole way. Bill is sure the area where Tom is touching him is burning, a delicious burn through the thickness of his sweater, and in no time at all they’re at the top of the stairs, standing outside Bill’s room.
“You good from here?” Tom asks quietly, not wanting to wake Simone or Gordon if they’re asleep.
“I’m scared,” Bill admits instead of the ‘yes’ Tom was expecting. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we don’t match? What if-”
“Bill,” Tom hushes, pushing open Bill’s door and leading them both inside so he can plant the smallest of kisses to Bill’s lips without the chance of being caught through gaps caused by door hinges. “We’re identical twins; we match in every way there is to match.”
“I know, I know,” Bill relents, dropping down to sit on his bed, holding out his hand as a sign that Tom should do the same. “Would it be too much to ask…” he murmurs, suddenly nervous.
“What is it, Bill?”
“Stay with me tonight? Just… sleep beside me,” he says, his voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible. “I always sleep best when you’re near, I don’t know why.”
“You don’t have to explain it,” Tom offers, moving towards Bill, sat on the mattress. “Sure I will. Let me just go get sorted, okay?”
Bill nods and watches as Tom slips out of his room and across the hall. He’s only gone for a few moments, but Bill feels like something is missing until Tom returns, wearing far too large sweats and a baggy t-shirt, and climbs into Bill’s bed beside him, his warm chest pressing up against Bill’s equally warm back. Bill sighs into the embrace, his entire body feeling on fire in the best way possible, and he closes his eyes as his head drops to the pillow. He doesn’t care if he’s still in his clothes from the day, nor does he care that he’s not brushed his hair or his teeth, or that he’s still wearing today’s make up. He has Tom’s strong arms around him, holding him tightly against him, and that thought alone is enough to lull Bill into the most satisfying sleep since he can remember.
Author: littlemrstom
Pairing(s): Tom/Bill
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult content, Drug Use, Twincest
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; I own nothing but the plot.
Summary: After discovering a potentially dangerous problem following a traumatic car crash, Bill Trumper is left with only one option; a blood transfusion. Unfortunately for him, only a handful of people in the country have the same blood type, one of those people being his twin.
His twin who... doesn’t even know he exists.
Author's notes: Everyone give cookies to hysterichotel for helping me with the summary, and to ninaelisabeth for giving me the beautiful banner <3 I also promise that this fic is not gross or based around medical things, and no one is permanently hurt.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
The atmosphere in the car as Simone drives them all home from the hospital is something that Bill can only describe as “almost unbearable”. His mother is in the driver’s seat, singing to herself quietly as the radio plays the top ten songs of the week, and he and Tom are in the back thanks to a suggestion from his mother because she thought they both looked exhausted from the day.
“Why don’t you boys go in the backseats?” she’d proposed. “That way if you fall asleep on the way home you’ll be much comfier. Use each other as a pillow or something.”
Bill had wanted to decline, had wanted to say that he would be much more comfortable in the front seat where Tom was not, but of course he couldn’t. Instead, he’d nodded his head and climbed in, making sure to keep himself to himself, leaning against the car door in a false pretence of being comfortable.
However that isn’t even what Bill would say was making the journey unbearable. It’s the butterflies in his stomach that haven’t once let up since Tom’s lips met with his cheek earlier on in the waiting room, which are making it unbearable. His hands clutch at his abdomen tightly, his excuse for his actions being a stomach ache, as if he’s trying to will them away and failing miserably. His stares out the window, elbow rested against the ledge, and tries to ignore the tension he can feel, although he’s pretty sure it’s only he and Tom that are aware of it, because if his mother’s off key warbling is anything to go by, she’s more or less oblivious.
The trip from the hospital back to Bill’s house isn’t particularly long, but today it seems to take forever. Everything around Bill seems amplified, not just his perception of time; the sound of Tom’s slow breathing across from him sounds like cymbals being crashed together next to his ear; the sound of Tom’s fingers tapping against his knee sounds like a hammer in the back of his mind; the sound of the wheels turning beneath him like an earthquake.
Bill curls his hands into fists and suppresses a sigh, closing his eyes and letting it out as a long exhale instead, tilting his head until it rests against the window, and he’s out like a light in seconds.
--
“Bill, honey? We’re home.” Simone’s voice breaks through Bill’s post-sleep haze as he blinks his eyes open to find that he’s in the car, parked up outside his house, and it’s dim outside, the sun setting somewhere in the far distance. “Hey, sweetie. I ordered a takeout for dinner and it just got here, are you hungry?”
“Dinner?” Bill asks, sitting forward, only to be jarred backwards by his seatbelt that’s still fasted across his torso. “Damnit,” he mutters, unfastening it and slowly climbing out of the car. “It’s dinner time?”
Simone chuckles, reaching forward to ruffle Bill’s hair as it’s stuck to his cheek. “Mhmm. You fell asleep on the way home. Tom said you didn’t sleep very well last night so we thought it best to let you sleep for a little bit.”
Bill falters. “Oh.”
“So are you hungry?”
As if on cue, Bill’s stomach rumbles and he clutches it again, finally noticing that the butterflies have calmed slightly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” his mother adds, nudging Bill with her elbow and gently moving him out of the way so she can lock up the car. “Come on then, else it’ll get cold.”
When Bill enters the front room he notices that his seat has already been designated; Simone and Gordon are on one sofa, their slipper-covered feet propped up ungracefully on the coffee table in the middle of the room, and he and Tom are on the other. A full container of Chow Mein sits in front of the empty space beside Tom and his mouth waters instantly, in turn waking up the butterflies that had previously settled as he spies Tom, noodles hanging out of his mouth and soy sauce smudged on his chin, looking as solemn as ever as he watches Bill enter the room. Tom gives him a wary, noodle-y smile, which Bill can barely return, before scooting over to give Bill the extra space he knows he will need.
Thankful, Bill takes his seat beside Tom and picks up his meal, taking the first bite and almost moaning at the satisfaction of eating something so unbelievably unhealthy.
It’s only a couple of hour later, when the film that had been playing across the communal television finishes, that Simone and Gordon announce they’re going to head up to bed. Bill lifts his chin from where it’s perched against his chest to glance at the clock. “Already?” he asks, sitting up fully. “It’s only just gone ten.”
“It’s been a long day,” Gordon offers as an explanation, and Bill takes it, trying not to think about how they’re unknowingly leaving him with Tom.
It both terrifies and excites him.
“Goodnight,” Tom offers from his position beside Bill, and his gentle sentiment is returned by both the adults ascending the stairs.
For a moment, there is silence, save for the squeaking of the floorboards as Simone and Gordon disappear, but then there’s absolutely nothing and all Bill can hear is the pulsing of his heartbeat in his ears. Hypersensitive, he can feel Tom’s body heat radiating onto his, creating an aura around them that Bill finds oddly comforting. He squirms, able to feel Tom’s gaze on him though he’s not actually looking at Tom. As much as he thinks he wants to, he can’t bring himself to turn his head and physically do it.
He can tell that Tom is holding back, if his body language is anything to go by. He’s sat forward, Bill can see out of the corner of his eye, his arms resting on his knees, head hanging down, lip pursed in a tight line.
Something inside Bill clenches at the sight and he feels sick, though he doesn’t think it’s from the food he’s just eaten.
“Why is this happening,” he mumbles as he flops back against the sofa, curling his feet in to sit cross-legged and dropping his hands to rest in his lap as he closes his eyes. He can feel Tom’s eyes swivel to watch him, and then the sofa dips slightly next to him as Tom shuffles.
“Bill?” he says cautiously, questioningly. Bill blinks a single eye open to find himself staring straight into Tom’s eyes and his stomach erupts. Tom’s face holds all the fragility that Bill feels, all the nerves that Bill is too afraid to be seen showing, all the honesty that Bill wants to know Tom possesses.
“I’m sorry,” Bill can’t help but blurt out, both of his eyes opening now. “I’m tired, I didn’t mean that.”
A flash of disappointment passes over Tom’s face, but Bill can see him shake it off almost before he has chance to catch it. “You going to bed then?”
Bill bites his bottom lip, debating. He feels himself being drawn towards Tom, like the butterflies in his stomach are flying against the walls of his insides, pushing him across the small gap that Tom had gracefully created between them. Unrelenting, Bill finds himself giving into them and he moves across, towards Tom; just the smallest of moves. He shakes his head and finally allows himself to look at Tom properly for the first time since the incident.
“No?” Tom questions. “If you’re tired…”
“I need to talk to you,” Bill cuts him off, his face stiff, though his voice wavers. He watches Tom’s eyes widen and then he nods, allowing Bill the space to continue. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
Tom’s eyes widen further. “You want a bucket?” he asks, frantic, but Bill lets out the faintest of laughs and Tom’s brow creases. “No?”
“I think it’s a good thing,” Bill states. “You do it to me.”
“I make you feel sick?” Tom clarifies, and Bill nods. “And that’s a good thing?” Bill nods again. “Um.”
That same faint laugh escapes Bill’s lips a second time. “Why do I feel like this? Every time I see you my stomach goes crazy,” Bill murmurs, bowing his head to let his hair fall across his face, masking the blush that he’s sure is crossing his cheeks as he speaks.
The sofa dips beneath Bill again and he can sense Tom sliding that little bit closer, and then he feels fingers against his calf, so tentative and barely touching that Bill gasps softly when he realises they’re there. His head snaps up to look at Tom, whose eyes have darkened and become serious.
“Is it wrong?”
Tom blinks at Bill’s question. “No,” he says immediately, his fingers pressing more weight against Bill’s calf as if to emphasize his point. “No,” he repeats, “it’s not. Don’t think that, Bill, okay?”
Bill presses his lips together, sceptical in the way he nods his head.
“It is not wrong,” Tom tells him, sliding closer until his thigh brushes past Bill’s and Tom leaves it there, their bodies finally aligned with the others and their faces the closest they’ve been since the kiss. “I feel it too.” Tom smiles a little. “We can’t both be wrong, can we?”
There’s a moment of silence as Bill contemplates Tom’s last statement, and then his lips quirk upwards into the smallest of smiles that has Tom releasing a sigh of relief instantly. “I don’t understand it,” Bill says slowly, after he’s bravely lifted a hand to Tom’s shoulder. Tom tips his head down to skim his chin against the backs of Bill’s fingers, making Bill tingle where they connect, skin on skin. “I don’t, but…”
“Bill?”
Bill averts his gaze from where he is staring at Tom’s chin and looks up to meet his eyes, so close he could count the lashes around Tom’s eyes if he wanted to.
“Yeah?”
Tom offers Bill a smile and then leans in cautiously, his eyes seeking out Bill’s reactions until he’s too close to tell, and their lips meet a second time, though on this occasion Bill lets out a little gasp and his eyelids flutter shut as he allows Tom to hold their lips together. It’s soft and gentle and slow, but it makes the butterflies in Bill’s belly go wild, their wings battering him from the inside out, until Tom adds that little bit more pressure which seems to placate them.
“Is this okay?” Tom checks, pulling back just enough to get the words out, but it’s Bill who presses his mouth back to Tom’s in a silent wanting yes.
Bill’s head is spinning all the while as he’s kissing Tom; his lips feel loose and it’s as if his ears have stopped working momentarily, capturing him in a sound proofed bubble where only he and Tom are present. He smiles gingerly into the kiss and Tom instantly returns it, pressing forward a bit more, though it’s just that little bit too much and it has Bill pulling back and disengaging himself.
“Tom…”
“It’s okay,” Tom says, speaking before Bill can get a word in edgeways, just in case, and Bill smiles, calming both his own nerves and Tom’s. “Good, good.” Tom tentatively strokes down Bill’s back and Bill nearly purrs, falling forwards until he’s leaning against Tom, his eyelids drooping. “Tired?” Tom asks, humoured, as he locks his arms around Bill’s back.
“Hmm,” Bill mumbles in assent. “Sleep now.”
“Come on, don’t fall asleep down here. You’ll ache enough in the morning from sleeping like you did in the car earlier.”
At that, Bill’s eyes flutter open and he catches Tom’s gaze. “Oh,” he says, remembering. “Thank you for that. For letting me sleep, you know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tom returns, and slowly disentangles himself from Bill, pulling them both to their feet. “But come on, upstairs.”
Tom fumbles for the television remote and switches the box off, flicking the light switches off as they pass them and together they traipse up the stairs, Tom’s palm flat against the small of Bill’s back the whole way. Bill is sure the area where Tom is touching him is burning, a delicious burn through the thickness of his sweater, and in no time at all they’re at the top of the stairs, standing outside Bill’s room.
“You good from here?” Tom asks quietly, not wanting to wake Simone or Gordon if they’re asleep.
“I’m scared,” Bill admits instead of the ‘yes’ Tom was expecting. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we don’t match? What if-”
“Bill,” Tom hushes, pushing open Bill’s door and leading them both inside so he can plant the smallest of kisses to Bill’s lips without the chance of being caught through gaps caused by door hinges. “We’re identical twins; we match in every way there is to match.”
“I know, I know,” Bill relents, dropping down to sit on his bed, holding out his hand as a sign that Tom should do the same. “Would it be too much to ask…” he murmurs, suddenly nervous.
“What is it, Bill?”
“Stay with me tonight? Just… sleep beside me,” he says, his voice so quiet it’s almost inaudible. “I always sleep best when you’re near, I don’t know why.”
“You don’t have to explain it,” Tom offers, moving towards Bill, sat on the mattress. “Sure I will. Let me just go get sorted, okay?”
Bill nods and watches as Tom slips out of his room and across the hall. He’s only gone for a few moments, but Bill feels like something is missing until Tom returns, wearing far too large sweats and a baggy t-shirt, and climbs into Bill’s bed beside him, his warm chest pressing up against Bill’s equally warm back. Bill sighs into the embrace, his entire body feeling on fire in the best way possible, and he closes his eyes as his head drops to the pillow. He doesn’t care if he’s still in his clothes from the day, nor does he care that he’s not brushed his hair or his teeth, or that he’s still wearing today’s make up. He has Tom’s strong arms around him, holding him tightly against him, and that thought alone is enough to lull Bill into the most satisfying sleep since he can remember.