Chapter Text
"Jesus, it's getting cold already."
John pulls his arm behind their back so that Arthur can shrug them out of their coat, then he lifts their hat and hangs it on the coat stand by the door, just as Arthur drops the coat on its hook. It's a smooth, practiced motion by now. John feels a twinge of pride for how well-coordinated they've become together. His fingertips are already tingling in expectation of the next part.
"Wouldn't be surprised if we got snow soon."
"We can put the kettle on and have some tea," John suggests, voice soft and even. He nudges them one step to the side so he can see them in the small mirror hung by the door for him.
"Oh, that sounds lovely."
Doesn't it just, John thinks as Arthur expectantly holds out his hand. The leather glove covering it shines in the light, snug as a corset. He pinches and pulls at each of Arthur's long fingers like loosening laces, and holds tight to the leather so that Arthur can slip free of the garment, baring himself to John's eyes in the privacy of their home.
He drops the glove on the small doorside table. Then he holds out his own hand in the same position, waves of heat flickering up his wrist.
Arthur is rougher, tugging impatiently at the fingers of the glove. It yanks against him in a way that feels distinctly disheveling. It jostles the roots of his pinky finger nestled deep in his tendons.
"And there's still some soup left," Arthur adds brightly.
John holds his breath. He raises his half-dressed hand to Arthur's mouth, lips still pink from the chill, and watches with rapt attention as Arthur bites down on the tip of the glove. His teeth divot the leather, the skin, pinning it in place as John pulls himself free.
"Good," John murmurs.