Firsts and Other Numbers - MM_CB - Rivers of London (2024)

Mine and Thomas' first kiss was... way too short for my liking, but that's what you get for initiating a kiss in a room with an uncomfortable hardwood floor and no couch, bed, or at least air mattress inside. Luckily an alternative presented itself in the form of an armchair in the smoking room (or non-smoking room these days), where we happily snogged some more until someone whacked me on the head with what turned out to be a feather duster.

"Oi!" I complained, glaring at the culprit. Unfortunately that culprit was Molly, who is way better at this glaring business than I'll ever be and was decidedly unimpressed by my poor attempt. She shooed me and Thomas out of the room with a combination of glares and hand gestures, then got a small notepad and pen from her apron pocket and sharply motioned for us to stay put.

So we did, watching Molly write a note and push the finished product into my hand. I smoothed it out and held it so that Thomas could read the neat copperplate as well.

I am very happy for you two, Molly had written. So do not worry, there shall be no cold tea or oversalted food following this.

"Well that's a relief," I said. Molly made a 'shh' sign and motioned for me to read on.

However, please refrain from kissing in these armchairs, or the ones in the libraries for that matter. They are not meant for more than one person.

"Okay, fair enough. Thanks Molly."

"Thank you," Thomas agreed. "You being so accepting of this new development means a lot to me."

Molly waved us away so she could continue dusting, but I did catch the fond smile on her face as I turned to leave.

"Thomas?"

No reaction. He remained snuggled against my side, his head on my shoulder and his breathing slow and deep.

"Yeah, so much for 'I'm really looking forward to watching that rugby game'," I commented to myself - quietly, so as not to wake up my... boyfriend? lover? partner? We hadn't really put a label on our new relationship; maybe we didn't have to? But that was a conversation for another time.

I don't think I fell completely asleep, but I did drift in and out of a light doze, aided by the soothing rhythms of my couchmate's breathing and the rain lightly pattering on the tech cave's roof. It was... really nice, for lack of a better term.

Thomas woke up at the end-of-the-game whistle, stretched a little, and looked at me from the side. "It seems I was more tired than I thought," he commented, voice still thick with sleep. "Did you see who won the game?"

"Er, no, sorry," I said. "I fell asleep, too."

"Oh well," he said, shrugging. "That's what that internet website you showed me last week is for, isn't it?"

I reached up to smooth back a strand of hair that had fallen over Thomas' forehead in his sleep. "Internet website is a bit redundant; just call it a website," I said. "But yes, that one I showed you is for tracking rugby scores."

In response he gave me one of his schoolboy grins, which I couldn't help but kiss. That one kiss quite predictably escalated into a lenghty snogging session, and I spared a brief thought for the tech cave sofa beneath us before deciding that the 'not meant for multiple people' rule only applied to armchairs and not sofas.

Our first fight - relationship fight, not magic boxing practice fight - occurred in the tech cave as well.

Thomas had accidentally dropped the TV remote to the floor, and crouched down to retrieve it along with a crumpled piece of paper that took me half a second too long to recognise. Which meant I could do nothing but watch in horror as Thomas un-crumpled the note, read my words, and then looked at me with a carefully neutral expression.

"Peter, what's this?" His tone was carefully neutral, too.

"A list," I stated the obvious. "Which I made long before you and I got together."

He nodded, somewhat absentmindedly, and looked at the list again. "Is Gary on this list the same Gary we met during the silver necklace case?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," I blurted out, cringing as soon as the words had left my mouth.

"I see," Nightingale said coolly, and yes, in that moment he was clearly DCI Nightingale my boss, not Thomas my boyfriend. "I'm going to take Toby for his evening walk."

And with that he left the tech cave, leaving me alone with my thoughts (that went something like sh*t sh*t sh*t f*cking hell) and the urge to bang my forehead against the coffee table in frustration. I managed to refrain from that - Dr Walid would probably be pleased I wasn't putting my brain at risk any more than I already was by practicing magic.

Around 10 p.m. on the day of our first fight, there was a soft knock on my bedroom door. I marked my page in Feet of Clay, put the book on my bedside table and went to open the door.

Thomas stood in the corridor wearing silky pyjamas, a dressing gown, tartan slippers, and a somewhat contrite expression. "Peter," he nodded at me. "May I come in?"

I stepped aside to let him into the room and sat on the edge of my bed, looking up at him expectantly.

"I've come to apologise to you," he announced, standing up near military level straight. "I let my insecurities get the better of me. I had no right to be jealous of Gary, and whatever 'thing' you did with him."

"And I had no right to shut you out like that," I said. "Come here?"

He did so willingly, and we sealed the end of our argument with a nice big hug. Thomas felt comfortably warm against me even through the cool, silky fabric of his nightclothes, his hair tickled against my cheek, and I happily soaked up that mown grass-pine tree-soap scent that was maybe his physical smell, maybe his magical vestigium, or some combination of both.

Eventually Thomas pulled back a bit - leaning halfway over a sitting person to hug them must have put some strain on his back - and regarded me curiously. "You don't have to answer this, but what exactly did you do with Gary?"

I hesitated for a moment, then told him the story of how me and Gary had just talked at first, then bumped into each other thanks to some drunk woman stumbling into Gary, and how this had led to him pulling me off and me reaching down to return the favour, only to find out my help was no longer necessary. (I silently apologised to Gary for divulging that particularly embarrassing piece of information.)

Thomas didn't seem all too interested in that, though, instead focusing on my side of the story. "I'm rather interested to learn what you look like when you... finish," he said delicately, a slight flush to his pale cheeks. "May I try and find out, please?"

I beamed at him, let myself fall back on the bed and pulled Thomas on top of me. "That means 'hell yes', in case you were wondering."

Afterwards we lay on our sides facing each other, the blanket pulled up around our shoulders because the air in my room was quite cold on sweaty skin. "Sooo, did I live up to your list?" Thomas asked playfully, lips quirking up into a smile.

"Huh?" I said eloquently - if he expected me to be any more coherent than that right after sex, he was sadly in for a disappointment.

"He's probably fantastic in bed, having actual decades of sexual experience," Thomas quoted, then winced when I boxed him in the upper arm. "Stop fishing for compliments."

"Sorry," said he, still smiling and not sounding sorry at all.

"Anyway, yes, it was great. Don't let it go to your head." I felt my dick twitch at the memory of Thomas rolling onto his back so I was on top of him, wrapping both our co*cks in his lube-slick right hand, and encouraging me to "just do what feels good" in a flatteringly breathless voice. Barely a few minutes later things had come to their natural end, leaving streaks of sticky-hot evidence all over Thomas' upper body.

The man in question interrupted my happy thoughts first by saying "I agree, it did feel good," and then by yawning.

"You can sleep in here, if you like," I offered. "On one condition."

"Hmm?" he hummed, eyes already slipping shut.

"You have to teach me that handy little 'clean up people and bedsheets after sex' spell."

"Hmm, deal."

The next morning I had to go to Belgravia nick and ran into Sahra Guleed, who gave me a mightily suspicious once-over. "You look awfully cheery for a Friday morning."

"Well, it's Friday," I pointed out. "Almost the weekend!"

Guleed looked around, then pulled me into a hidden corner behind a large potted plant (thankfully not the yucca palm from my dream the other night). "I meant cheery as in 'I got laid', genius."

"Oh, you as well?" I joked, realising too late what I'd just admitted to.

Sahra grinned like a hijabi cat that got the cream and lowered her voice to an excited whisper: "Anyone I know?"

"Yep."

"...your boss?!"

"Yep-oof!" She'd flung her arms around me, muffling a very un-Guleed-like squeal against my jacket.

"Sahra? Kind of hard to breathe, here," I wheezed, tapping her on the shoulder with my free hand.

"Right, sorry," said she, pulling back. "I won't say I told you so, except I just did. But seriously, I'm happy for you. Both of you."

"Thanks," I said with a smile. "I'm afraid I have an appointment with Seawoll now; d'you want to come to the pub tonight?"

"I'd like that." Guleed smiled back, dark eyes sparkling in a way that clearly showed she was hoping for more juicy new relationship tidbits. Oh boy.

+1 Two Years

"Peter, I believe there's something wrong with your telephone," Thomas told me when I returned from the ensuite next to his bedroom. "It keeps beeping rather incessantly."

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

"See what I mean?"

"Yeah, sorry." I crawled back into the bed next to Thomas, snatched my phone from the bedside table and quickly silenced it. "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning to you, too," said he, looking frankly adorable (not that I'd ever call him that to his face) with his tousled hair and pillow creases imprinted on one cheek. "And happy anniversary, of course!"

"Two years," I agreed with a big grin, pulling Thomas in for a kiss which he enthusiastically returned. "Who would've thought?"

He smiled into the kiss for a moment, then shifted back a bit to better look at me. "Here's to the next two years... at least," he said earnestly. "Now, what's the matter with that telephone of yours?"

I snorted. "Way to be romantic, Thomas."

"I can't help it; I'm a policeman and curiosity is my middle name."

"Oh, fine then," I said, affecting a sigh and reaching for my mobile. The screen informed me that I had a bunch of unread text messages, which was likely where the earlier beeping had come from.

"Happy anniversary, smiley face, heart, two figures holding hands," Thomas read over my shoulder. "Simple and straight to the point; I like that one. Who sent it?"

"Sahra Guleed." I typed a quick thanks! :-) and opened the next message. "Oh goody, Abigail wrote me a poem."

"Roses are read, violets are blue, two years ago you finally got a clue... well that's a bit rude," Thomas commented, frown clearly audible in his voice.

"She's not wrong, though," I said, twisting halfway onto my back to look up at my bed partner. "I did fancy you- oh, pretty much right from that 'Hello, what are you up to?' in Covent Garden."

Thomas gave me a smile and a peck on the lips before shifting a little closer and draping his pyjama-clad right arm across my waist. "If it helps, I originally walked up to you to find out if you were interested in, well, going somewhere more private with me. Then you mentioned you were looking for a ghost, and my thoughts did a rather jerky turn in a completely different direction."

I grinned at the memory of that icy winter night, and the posh bloke in a bespoke suit who I'd thought (correctly, it turned out) was trying to pick me up. "Honestly? I'm glad we got to know each other first and didn't fall into bed together straight away," I confessed. "I mean, a one night stand with you probably would have been great, but in hindsight I'm very happy I got so much more than that."

Thomas hugged me tighter for a moment, giving us both time to process this very un-British display of feelings.

"Anyway," I said after clearing my throat, "here's another text from an unknown number. Just says 'Congrats Peter'."

"Lesley." It wasn't a question.

"Probably, yeah." My thumb hovered over the Delete button for a moment, then pulled up the next message instead. "Oh look, a picture!"

"I don't see it," said Thomas.

"It hasn't finished loading yet."

When the photo had fully loaded about a minute later, Thomas made a pleased noise and pronounced the two people in it "a very handsome couple."

"They are," I agreed, looking at the photo of a smiling Gary and his boss-come-boyfriend in what looked to be a public photo booth. Happy 2 year anniversary from George and me, the caption read. Enjoy your day and don't do anything I wouldn't do :-p.

Thomas, of course, asked what the lowercase P was for and made a very confused face when I put my tongue out in demonstration. Then he shrugged, rolled me fully onto my back, and proceeded to reduce me to incoherent noises in about two minutes flat. Being a polite person I obviously had to reciprocate - thoroughly so - and thus made us horribly late for breakfast.

But you know what? The lukewarm food, cold tea, and angry glares from Molly were totally worth it.