Impractical Jokers: [Joker]x[Joker] Collection

Cold Feet (Q/Murr)

      They come back from their punishment - a trial involving a three-legged ski-race which had resulted in them crashing into a huge pile of snow - with shivering limbs and an urge to strip off in front of the fire. Joe and Sal had wreaked havoc on them and they're crazy if they think that Q and Murr aren't planning something in response. After all, this is what they do: constantly fuck one another over.

"Damnnn," James hisses as he peels off his snow-ridden coat and lets it drop to the floor. Snow falls everywhere and he's left in a powdery white mess that has Q cringing. "It's freezing out there!" he cries unceremoniously, rubbing exaggeratedly at his thin arms and letting his teeth chatter together as he gets in front of the fire in the log cabin they'd filmed at. Brian snorts, removes his coat more carefully and hangs it up on the provided coat rack to dry off.

"Like you're making it any better, trailing your shit everywhere. Jesus Christ, Murray, look at the mess you've made."

"Yeah, yeah," Murr replies, rolling his eyes as he works shivering hands beneath his armpits and tries his best to warm up. There's an amount of skepticism in Brian's face as he strips of as many layers as possible without being nude before coming to stand beside the other Joker with his arms similarly folded. It isn't working much, the chill having seeped straight through to his bones, but the warmth of the other's body offers him condolence enough. "What a rough one..."

"You're telling me," Q grunts, rubbing at his arms. He's unimpressed with the way Murr suddenly flings his arms around him and holds on tight; tries to squirm free with his hands pushing at his forearms as a means of escape. He's not irritated, per se, just surprised - and he's never liked that. "James, what the fuck– get off–"

"Shut up, man. C'mon. Survival 101: huddle to keep warm."

"You're really pulling that cliche shit on me...?"

He's in disbelief as he stands there in James' firm grip, even more so that he feels his defenses weakening in response to it. It actually feels kind of nice, being coiled around, knowing he's the source of comfort for the other as he attempts desperately to climb up from his lowered temperature. He needs this much, so he wraps an arm around the other man's shoulders and invites him closer.

For a short while, all they do is stand there in front of the fire, trying to shuffle in as close as possible without making it awkward. James has never had a sense of personal space, but Q– Q loves the stuff, lives off of it, feeds off of it– it'd be detrimental to step into it and shatter it.

Through the silence, the smaller man's voice comes out strong: "We got something to change into?"

Deliberation. Surely the guys will have left them something; he could have sworn he'd seen Sal carrying a plastic bag earlier that contained clothes, though whether they were for them was questionable. He certainly hoped so - it was the least those two fuckers could provide after sending them on a spiralling descent into painful failure. His leg still aches from landing hard on it, James' additional weight putting unwanted pressure onto the muscle. The shared ski had made it difficult to fall any degree of safely.

Q glances around the room, spots the same bag in the corner. With a squeeze to his shoulder, he departs from Murr's side to check it. Holy God, a change of clothes - and thick ones too. Thick bottoms with a compact shirt and a tight jacket and all Quinn can think is warmth, warmth, warmth–

Dragging the bag to the two of them, they turn their backs to one another and dress as quickly as possible. Once clad in warm, dry clothing, Q releases something akin to a groan - which in turn makes Murr laugh as he sinks to the floor, cross-legged and holding his hands in front of the flame, encouraging the heat to lick at what he's certain is the beginnings of frostbite (and he'll allow himself the drama after being subjected to such a punishment). Skin soon warms, simmering lightly like chocolate does a cake when it is first spread. Domestic.

"Holy fuck..." Q mutters as he sinks to sit beside James, holding his now bare feet up to the fire and hoping to God that the soles of them being heated up will help his body to flood with warmth. He hates being cold; even something as tiny as his ears being chilly puts him in a worse mood (part of the reason he sports a hat so often) and so when he feels sensation seeping back into his toes he lets out another sound of tangible relief.

"Do you have to be so noisy?" Murr titters from beside him, head cocked against his shoulder as he leans back similarly to his friend. Feet all but pushed into the flame, James supports himself on his elbows and grins. "It's like you're getting off."

Q snickers. What a bizarre thing to say - and yet, so completely Murray that he doesn't find himself even the slightest bit offended. "Like you'd mind."

"What the hell does that mean?" James all but splutters in response, a foot shifting to nudge at Q's bare ankle. Immediately he hisses, and for a moment James worries whether he's hurt the other man; they'd fallen hard in the snow, it wouldn't have taken much to make an injury flare up. However, the words that follow, chastising him, make him more relieved than ever.

"Your feet are cold, bro."

Whatever compels him to do what he does, he doesn't know - Murr just knows that he likes messing with the other man. He shuffles closer discreetly, feigning a shift towards the fire as he 'repositions' his body, before he locks his freezing feet around the Joker's shin, works his toes inside of his pant leg and lets them drag upwards and to his lower inner thigh, where the fabric tightens somewhat.

"Fuck!" Q cries, attempting to wriggle away. His body won't cooperate due to the shocking chill that strikes through his body like lightning, and with Murr's foot stuck in his pant leg it's hard for him to gain any kind of momentum. "You idiot, get off!"

Then comes that adorable giggle. Murr is completely amused, head tipping back against the floor as Brian eventually kicks himself free, sending the other man rolling onto his side. He's laughing too hard to t get up, to move, to care– and that's the way Q often makes him feel: so happy he doesn't mind about he gets it out.

With a sour face, Q readjusts his pant leg firmly down to his ankle and sits in front of the fire once more.

"That's the last time we huddle, man."