Another tidied-up Twitter fic.

(A note about Unkissed fic in general -- I do intend to post the 'verse to AO3 in full eventually but the original 40K fic is still in beta. Once it's edited and ready to be posted in one shot I'll post all these other bits too.)

Fandom: Inception/TDKR RPF
Rating: PG
Pairing: Joe/Tom
Length: 700 words
Summary: It's not like Joe can say 'no' to Tom, not really.

A/N: Set in the Unkissed 'verse. Originally sort of texted in bits because stars_collected wasn't feeling well, and then tweeted in a form closer to fic because it was just so bloody cold out. Winter and illness make me write cuddling, apparently. Title from "Embraceable You". Thanks to stars_collected and lately for looking this over for me.

Tom is flat-out insatiable when it comes to cuddling. When he visits Joe early in the new year — right when Joe is frantically busy with preparations for the Globes, and more importantly, for Sundance — Tom spends a lot of time flopped out on Joe’s couch with his arms stuck up in the air, his whole body (and sometimes his mouth, too) saying come here and hug me.

Joe’s not anti-hug, per se; as and when time permits he’s more than happy to oblige Tom. They get little enough time alone, after all, and Tom’s only here for a few short days before he’s due back in London. Still, there’s stuff that needs doing, calls to be made, meetings to be had, and Joe isn’t used to making important business decisions when lying atop another person.

“They can’t see you,” Tom points out, like he’s being helpful. “They don’t know I’ve got my hand up your shirt.”

Which is true, and funny too, and Joe laughs and agrees and does his best to stay put when his phone rings again two minutes later, but it turns out to be his dad with a question about finances and that’s just too many kinds of weird in one moment. Joe gets up as smoothly and quietly as he can, which is not easy when Tom’s not cooperating.

“Come on, would you talk to your accountant when I’m spooning you?” Joe asks when he hangs up and finds Tom smirking a little.

“Course I would,” says Tom, and yeah, of course he would.

Joe never once thought of himself as being an uptight person; Tom has him in knots now, wondering if he's the only one who has these rules. So Joe goes back over when Tom snags him by the sleeve and pulls a sad face, Joe wedges himself into the gap between Tom and the couch back. Tom worms a hand into Joe's pocket, pulls his phone out, and then stabs at the screen frowning until Joe takes pity and turns it off for him.

"What?" Joe asks, because he knows Tom's faces by now, and Tom isn't actually that smug or content, he's still a bit melancholy, going by the flicker of his lashes, heavy and a little slower than usual. "What's wrong?"

Tom doesn't answer right away, instead poking his bearded chin into the side of Joe's neck, ticklish and warm. He sighs very quietly, bands his arms around Joe, squeezes. Joe makes the requisite oofing sound but doesn't struggle; no point in resisting Tom's affections.

It's not until Tom strokes up over Joe's growing-out post-Blake haircut that it comes together: Joe busy in the Rec Room that morning, the faint but familiar strains coming from the TV here in the living room.

"I told you not to watch it again," Joe grins, squeezing Tom in a rush of fondness.

"I felt like having a laugh," Tom protests somewhat pathetically. "That bit where you eat the brownies, it's," and he breaks into a sigh.

"Yeah, you look like a guy who just enjoyed the hell out of a comedy," Joe teases him. "Tom. I'm fine."

"Course you are," Tom mutters dismissively, like he's not squeezing the breath from Joe's body at this exact moment. "You're brilliant."

Joe should switch his phone back on, try to answer emails and maybe skim the recommended Sundance stuff if he's stuck here anyway. And he does seem to be stuck, truly physically stuck, between Tom's grip on him and the way he's got half his body down the back of the couch.

"I know, you've got to go off and do things," Tom says, because he can hardly avoid feeling Joe's flicker of tension at the thought.

"Well," says Joe, "unless you can think of a way to distract me." Because Tom might be an insatiable cuddler but they're both a bit insatiable about other things and it's hours since they were in bed. Joe can think of worse uses for his time, after all, than trying to work out if the couch is too narrow for fucking.

“Hm, if I must," Tom says, and jams his hand down the front of Joe's jeans, smirking.