Work Text:
Thomas is lying down on a couch in the Holy Father's office. They're scheduled to have a meeting for the next 45 minutes but all Thomas can think about is how little sleep he'd gotten last night. He's been rushing around all morning between meetings and appointments. And Father Wozniak had the audacity to ask him to take a memo to Cardinal Sabbadin whom Thomas found seconds later in the adjoining room. All to say, he's been very busy this morning. And if Vincent took one look at the shadows beneath his eyes and gently persuaded him to lie down for a few minutes instead of talking about whatever they had planned, how could he refuse?
Vincent clacks away at his keyboard. The desk is a few feet away from where Thomas' head lies on the couch. Close enough to provide comfort but far enough to not be instrusive. As if His Holiness' presence could ever be instrusive. And even then, only in a good way, at least to Thomas.
Despite the cozy atmosphere, Thomas is not falling asleep. The quietness is comforting but every task he needs to get done today is running through his head like ticker tape. His insomnia and anxiety has been getting to him the last few weeks. He has no regrets about the new Holy Father, and certain things within the church are better than they have been in years. Yet, it has also been incredibly stressful. Thomas doesn't mind so much. He knows how good Vincent will be for the church and it's mission. He finally feels that his position has purpose by Vincent's side. The work is still exhausting.
The typing stops and Thomas can hear Vincent breathing for a few moments before the chair scrapes and he pads over to the couch. Thomas' eyes haven't opened yet but his shadow casts a cooler light than the sun from outside.
"I trust you are resting well," Vincent says.
Thomas opens his eyes to see that he's right, Vincent is standing over him glowing with the afternoon light. He resists sheilding his eyes and face despite the blush that's definitely spreading across his cheeks.
"Better than my own bed," He says sarcastically. Vincent's eyes go a little sad at that.
Vincent reaches a hand out to help Thomas sit up and adjust to being vertical again. He's about to prepare himself to stand up fully when Vincent instead sits down where his head had just been.
"Oh, are we not—?" Thomas begins, but Vincent is laying a hand on his far shoulder, guiding him to lay back down again. His head lands in Vincent's lap, pillowed by the white cassock and his thighs. Thomas' stomach swoops a little as Vincent adjusts his position, his muscles contracting beneath his clothes.
"Is this better?"
"Yes, but-"
"Thomas. You already do plenty. Let me worry about my work," Vincent says. "And I need to take a break from looking at screens," he adds.
Thomas relents, finally releasing the tension in his body. Vincent brings his fingers to trace the contours of Thomas' face. He still anticipates the constant flow of thoughts as he closes his eyes. But, for once, it is blissfully quiet. Fractions of items and anxieties rise to the surface but most are submerged, turned down to a low simmer by Vincent's touch and the soft shifting of frabic. A sound of content escapes Thomas' chest and he waits for sleep to take him.