sixthiterationlogs | Just to break my own fall

WHO: Bodhi and Jude
WHERE: Jude's house
WHEN: After the holiday party
OPEN TO: Closed to Jude Sullivan
WARNINGS: Sappy bullshit

Bodhi's not usually quite this stupid over Jude, partly because he restrains himself, partly because even he's not this ridiculously romantic. Their banter at the party wasn't even that out of the ordinary, even if Jude taking his hand in public was a bit beyond the usual. They both fed each other's nonsense until they were completely twitterpated, and it feels fantastic, if distantly kind of foolish. Too hard to care through Jude carefully (and unnecessarily) helping him into his robe and scarves, through the snow-shimmering walk hand in hand, the cold bringing a little extra color to Jude's cheeks (and probably his, but what does he care). Impossible to think about anything else as they finally wend their way toward the house and Bodhi's hand tightens on Jude's through their gloves and looks away just to give himself a break from grinning so hard. Spending nights with Jude has ceased to be a big deal and of course his damage is still a wall between them, but he's the good kind of nervous anyway. This feels like it could almost be normal, a real, regular date with a functional person like Jude deserves. The faint swirl of soft, pretty nothingness lets him collect himself a bit as they head up the steps.

Then there's hurrying through the door as a practical matter. No reason to let the house get colder. But that's as practical as he feels like being, and as soon as the door is closed he turns, catches Jude's shoulders, and steals a kiss. A quick one. He knows they have to deal with the fire and coats and bullshit, but he's been waiting on that for what feels like a very long time.

Threaded | Flat

No stranger to the house being cold when coming in out of it--both in the village and the trailer park--Jude can't help but let Bodhi waylay them at the door. There's a difference between cold and empty, after a long walk home through nicer parts of town, and this. Drinking hot tea in the glittering air, being crowded against something by company, and kissed like it couldn't wait.

Why should it?

Practicality aside, Jude sets his cup on a small table by the door, where he usually leaves gloves and shoes and other necessities to leaving. His gloves do follow, freeing his hands to hover at the edge of Bodhi's hair, then gently run the tips through to dislodge or simply melt fat flakes of snow caught within. He wants to draw him back in, and the compromise is just--leaning against the door, looking at him, in the hopes that Bodhi will know he can do that again--

If he wants to.

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