#found that interesting given Benedict is the son of a viscount but I couldn't manage to shoehorn it into this

[in-my-loki-feels]

🧡 for the kiss game! Thomas Sharpe/Benedict Bridgerton if your status as the patron saint of rare pairs is so inspired 😉 but Lokius would be perfect for this too! 🥰

I accept your challenge of writing Thomas Sharpe/Benedict Bridgerton! We are going to manifest this pairing into existence! I just hope I did them justice. 🙈 Also, I do have a not yet filled 🧡 prompt for Lokius, so you'll get that wish granted too (eventually, lol).

(Caveat: it's been a loooong time since I read the Bridgerton books so hopefully my attempt to mimic regency romance prose isn't too awkward.)

🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling

Benedict awoke overwarm and feeling as though he’d been buried during the night, but in the most cozy fashion. It took him a moment to understand what had happened.  Thomas was so often cold, perhaps still recovering from the icy horrors of his home, that in his sleep he often drifted across the center of Benedict’s small bed and ended up wrapped around Benedict. Benedict would not normally mind, except as the weather turned warmer, the added body heat led to waking up sweating. Without any of the fun that normally came along with that. “Thomas,” Benedict said into the pillow his face was smashed against. “Wake up, Thomas.”  Ah, now there was a glorious feeling Benedict could never mind waking up to. Thomas, still draped completely over Benedict’s back, coming to awareness slowly before stretching his long limbs. Benedict could feel Thomas’ muscles tensing and relaxing all along his body. The arm around Benedict’s middle tightened briefly as Thomas nosed into Benedict’s throat and exhaled a sigh.  “What has made you so slothful?” Benedict teased. “Surely it cannot be my influence.”  “Perhaps I have simply found cause to enjoy…taking my time in the mornings.”  Benedict shivered. Thomas had a lovely voice at any hour, but it was an even more delicious rumble when he was just awakening. That sinful pause, paired with the fingers Thomas was trailing just above the waistband of Benedict’s drawers, made it difficult to want to rise and greet the day.  “Well,” Benedict said, “unfortunately for myself, I am meant to breakfast with my family. I cannot be late again, or they will start to ask questions.”  Benedict wasn’t overly worried with his family’s questions. His mother’s attention was diverted by his younger siblings for the moment, though he knew it was only a matter of time before it returned to him. He chose his words for the way they made Thomas squeeze him close again. “We cannot have that,” Thomas murmured in his ear. “Benedict Bridgerton, disappearing every night to who knows where, only to return late every morning. Whatever would Lady Whistledown say?” Thomas finally drew away, rolling onto his back and withdrawing his arm. Benedict missed the heat of him immediately, even if this did allow him to push himself up from the mattress’ clutches. He wriggled around until he could lay on his other side, facing Thomas.  Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet from the blustery bluffs of Cumberland, was a sight for sore eyes indeed this early in the morning. His dark hair, normally neatly swept back from his face, was a mess of curls against the pillow. He’d tucked one hand behind his head, emphasizing the taut lines of muscle beneath the skin of his bicep and chest.  The familial duty that had previously been pulling Benedict from the bed wavered now. Thomas’ sly smile revealed he knew exactly the sort of tempting picture he made. Benedict rolled his eyes but gave in, lowering himself down to meet lips that parted with anticipation.  There was no time of day when it was not enjoyable to kiss Thomas, but first thing in the morning, when Thomas was still loose-limbed and drowsy, that was a real treat. That was a time of slow, leisurely kisses, of Thomas freeing his hand from behind his head to cup it behind Benedict’s, to hold him there as though Benedict had any real desire to leave.  Time did not exist in these moments, only the sweet, gentle movement of their mouths together, and Thomas’ greedy hands reaching for more.  When Benedict pushed himself up, he was unsurprised by the little moue on Thomas’ face.  “I suppose I could be a little late,” Benedict said with a sigh. “Give Lady Whistledown something to write about.”  Thomas’ countenance transformed, brightening with wicked delight as he tightened his hold on Benedict and drew him back down.

From this ask game. Other ficlets here.