[Fic] stormy nights (The Attic - A. M. Burrage)
- Fandom: The Attic - A. M. Burrage
- Pairing: Stanley Forbes/Derek Wilson
- Tags: Stormy Nights
- Word-Count: 356
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2024-01-31
- Disclaimer: I do not own The Attic - A. M. Burrage and make no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Notes:
Written for 3 Sentence Ficathon 2024.
Prompt: any, any, stormy night
Work Text:
The winds churned quite fiercely outside, beating upon the windows with rage unknown, and the smattering of the rain hitting upon the house in all its glory joined the sounds soon enough, engulfing the existence of the entire world for a moment—indeed, Forbes sat comfortably in the sitting room, flames glowing in the fireplace and a book in hand, gazing out at the world beyond; the tracks of water upon the glass was ever changing, the shadows of the night every moving, and when Derek emerged from the bathroom and padded into the room to join him, Forbes smiled and tilted his head in obvious invitation, reaching to hold Derek's hand when the younger man was close enough.
"'ello," Derek murmured quietly, his eyes already slipping shut again; it was late at night and Derek was usually already well in bed by this point, his sleepiness still clinging to him like vines, and he curled into Forbes on the couch with nary another word, Forbes moving to accommodate his presence without dislodging his book, and he gazed down at Derek silently, not wanting to disturb his impending sleep as Derek's breathing predictably slowed, Forbes smiling slightly.
Pressing a soft kiss to the top of Derek's head, Forbes did then rest his own head upon Derek's for a moment—perhaps not the most comfortable of positions, true, but the warmth coursing through his body was in stark difference to the storm raging outside, the constant push and pull of the the wind and the water, the dark shadows of the bare autumn trees, and Forbes found himself nevertheless quite content with one arm around Derek; he leaned further back against the couch, adjusted his position a tiny bit more, and settled in for the long haul, fire crackling and rain pattering; it was warm, and he was joined by a dearly loved one, and the darkness of the night was but the background of a quite comfortable moment, the rhythmic beating against the house very nearly a song onto its own—a night like this was a rare one, indeed, and he intended to treasure it.