TW: Blood Mention, Urban Magic Yogs

3:30AM. Trott groans softly and covers his face with his hands. Over an hour lying in the dark, willing himself to get to sleep. His eyes ache. His head hurts. Trott lets his arms drop back down onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Outside, the rain patters and rings off their metal balcony railings, but the open window does nothing to cool their tiny bedroom. The air is heavy and humid, and Trott feels clammy with sweat.
Beside him, Smith sleeps, face pressed into the pillows. Trott reaches out, pushes Smith's hair back off his face. Smith murmurs and shifts, batting at his hand and turning away, pulling the pillow to him. Trott rolls his eyes, sits up, and swings his legs out of bed.

He makes his way to the living room, beelining for the kitchenette. Trott fetches a glass and stands for a moment with the freezer door open, luxuriating in the cold air around his legs, before kneeling and filling his glass to the top with ice. He tops the glass up with water from the tap and leans against the counter.
The street lamp outside fills their living room with an orange glow. Trott watches the rain fall through the beam of light. Condensation forms around the glass in his hand, cold water drops rolling over Trott's fingers. The tap drips into the half full sink, the sound mixing with the rain from outside. Trott sips his water, closes his eyes.
It's not often Trott misses the ocean, certainly doesn't miss the people there, but what he wouldn't give to be underwater now. To be resting on the sea bed, watching the ripples of the rain on the surface. To not be so hot that the back of his neck is damp with sweat. Smith had grumbled all day, had snapped at him when Trott had told him (very politely) that if he had to strip off the moment they got home, to at least not leave his clothes on the hallway floor. They neither of them were made for this heat. Trott sips his water again, crunches on a sliver of ice. He remembers being rocked by the waves, being cocooned by icy northern waters.

Trott barely has time to register the flash of light through closed eyelids before the thunder booms out. Trott startles and the glass slips from his hand, shattering on the floor.

"Shit!" Trott sighs and crouches down, trying to gather up the pieces of broken glass. In the gloom of the kitchen, it's hard to tell what's ice and what's glass. At least his feet are cooling down.

"Trott?" Smith stands in the doorway, rubbing his neck sleepily. "What broke?"

"A glass, it's fine," Trott gets to his feet carefully, "Go back to bed." Smith takes a couple of steps forward to help but Trott shoos him with his free hand. "There's bits on the floor, you'll cut your feet."

The room is illuminated briefly, and the thunder makes Trott jump as he dumps the glass into the sink. A shard of glass catches the pad of his thumb, cutting the skin.

"Fuck's sake!"

Smith's by him quickly, cradling his hand and frowning at the cut. He meets Trott's gaze, slowly bringing his thumb up and kissing away the bead of blood, dragging his tongue over Trott's skin. Trott cups Smith's chin, gently pressing his thumb into Smith's mouth, smiling as Smith sucks on it gently. Trott draws his hand back after a moment, pulling Smith's bottom lip down.

"All better?" Smith asks quietly.

"All better."

Lightning flashes again, the thunder closer behind it this time, and Trott flinches. Smith grins, taking Trott's hand.

"C'mon, come back to bed. I'll protect you from the scary storm."

"Fuck off, Smith. I'm not scared, alright?"

Trott lets Smith lead him back to the bed and crawls onto the mattress. The bedroom's not as humid now, cool wind making the thin curtain flutter. Trott sprawls out on his back and Smith settles next to him, curled on his side so he can reach out and walk his fingers over Trott's collarbone.

"I'd like to be..." Smith sings softly, "Under the sea..."

"I told you, Smith, I'm not-" Smith puts his hand gently over Trott's mouth, smiling at him fondly.

"In an octopus' garden near a cave..." Smith sings on, "We would be warm, below the storm, knowing we're happy and we're safe..."

"S'not how it goes." Trott says. Smith prods his chest.

"I'd like to be, under the sea, in an octopus' garden with you..." Smith kisses Trott's shoulder, "in an octopus' garden with you..." Trott turns his head and kisses Smith.

"In an octopus' garden with you." Trott finishes, kissing Smith again, letting his eyes close. The room is quiet. Peaceful.

"Storm's gone." Trott whispers. When Smith doesn't reply, Trott opens his eyes and snorts. Smith's asleep. Trott lets himself curl closer to Smith, tucking himself against Smith's chest. Morning light starts to filter through the curtain, and Trott finally falls asleep.

Credit to LauranicusPond on Ao3