So totally and completely not dead yet - tomorrow could be different however
Subconsciously, he knew the moment he stepped out of the shower even before the other man -his other half- turned the water off. Fifteen minutes passed since the alarm blared none too subtly. Vigorous rubbing of a towel, the dark blue Egyptian cotton one he preferred, over hair preceded his better half's entrance. The light would not be turned on out of deference to those who were not on the schedule today. Although both knew the other was awake and neither would go back to sleep; both for obvious reasons. He felt the vibrations of feet on the carpet; the snick of the closet door opening.
"Sorry," came the muffled apology over clanking hangers. It was a ritual they both knew and practiced often. The clanking halted but the fabric rubbing together as the clothes slowly swayed still tumbled out into the bedroom. No other words spilled out of the closet merely the slide and pull of shirts, pants - armor for the day's business. Regardless of who did it, it always seemed like they weren't so much getting dressed as they were putting on their other selves and climbing into someone else's skin. Not literally possible of course; but, that was how he had come to view things.
Yet, here in this bed, this home of their creation, they could be themselves without artifice. Both could scream or let their weariness overwhelm them without repercussion. They could also love. He was free to kiss his lover, his partner, his everything, as sweetly as desired. Or it could be the kind of open mouthed, desperate, tongue fucking where he tried to crawl inside the other as hot hands skimmed flushed skin pinching, grabbing, fondling, and fingering anywhere and everywhere. His partner in crime could be equally as demonstrative feeling free to surprise him naked with lube in hand. Few places existed in their houses where they hadn't been intimate. The end of the kitchen counters were where he had licked every inch of sweat glistening skin one hot night when the air conditioning seemed to do little to assuage the oppressive heat. He had taken his love's cock into his mouth slowly and deeply letting his tongue run over the head with every thrust of his love's hips. Looking up, seeing chest heaving, head thrown back against the upper cupboard, and one hand caressing his own cheek sent him over the edge without a touch. It was something his beautiful significant other had found and still finds endearing and more than a little hot. Of course, he's still partial to the unexpected moment he was ambushed upon walking in the door, pants unzipped and shoved to his knees. Nimble fingers didn't have much to do to get him hard before guiding him into a hot, already prepared body. Hard, quick thrusts had his man moaning in time to the snap of their skin together. His name had been on the other man's lips and choked off into a full body groan as he came. The list of places they hadn't kissed was even shorter and no less hot in deed and memory.
Slightly cooler air rushed across his legs, arm, and torso upon throwing off the covers. The bathroom door snicked closed as he crossed the threshold to the hall. Now would the bathroom light be turned on while his admittedly better-looking half brushed and styled his hair. Neither had to be quiet now; thirty-seven minutes after their wakeup call. There was no compulsion to close the cupboards with as little sound as possible. Both were awake for the day so to speak even if only one was heading for work. He cursed at singeing fingers on hot toast yet again - another ritual known well by both. The scalded fingers were met with a press to cool lips and a small if still sleep-tinged smile. With more care, he poured the coffee, aroma wafting up to dance in his nostrils. Three cups; two mugs and one to-go thermal cup with the sugar already added as he had placed the toast on the table.
Neither had to say anything as he quietly munched away on the now warm bread. His wakened lover alternately sipping coffee and deeply breathing in the aroma of the expensive but thoroughly delicious brew - no cheap coffee here. Across the table, warm eyes caught his and crinkled at the edges from a full, sweet smile. Still chewing small pieces of wheat toast, a soft, bare brush of lips grazed his forehead. Mug clinking against the granite countertop, his partner, lover, everything traded it for the to-go mug.
The soft "see you later" mingled with his "be careful." He watched his partner - no, Greg - disappear into the fading sunlight. He couldn't go with him all the time; couldn't always protect him as he was want to do. The alternating shifts, the rotating partners on different scenes, the implicit command to work together as little as possible per the powers that be were a price. Yet, a price Nick was willing to pay if it meant they had and kept each other; kept their relationship. The years they had so far and those to come were worth not working together much if at all. The alternative was unthinkable and not feasible in either one's estimation. Each day they performed the rituals alternating roles or simultaneously, it didn't matter. It was the cost of their life and nature of things.
"Sorry," came the muffled apology over clanking hangers. It was a ritual they both knew and practiced often. The clanking halted but the fabric rubbing together as the clothes slowly swayed still tumbled out into the bedroom. No other words spilled out of the closet merely the slide and pull of shirts, pants - armor for the day's business. Regardless of who did it, it always seemed like they weren't so much getting dressed as they were putting on their other selves and climbing into someone else's skin. Not literally possible of course; but, that was how he had come to view things.
Yet, here in this bed, this home of their creation, they could be themselves without artifice. Both could scream or let their weariness overwhelm them without repercussion. They could also love. He was free to kiss his lover, his partner, his everything, as sweetly as desired. Or it could be the kind of open mouthed, desperate, tongue fucking where he tried to crawl inside the other as hot hands skimmed flushed skin pinching, grabbing, fondling, and fingering anywhere and everywhere. His partner in crime could be equally as demonstrative feeling free to surprise him naked with lube in hand. Few places existed in their houses where they hadn't been intimate. The end of the kitchen counters were where he had licked every inch of sweat glistening skin one hot night when the air conditioning seemed to do little to assuage the oppressive heat. He had taken his love's cock into his mouth slowly and deeply letting his tongue run over the head with every thrust of his love's hips. Looking up, seeing chest heaving, head thrown back against the upper cupboard, and one hand caressing his own cheek sent him over the edge without a touch. It was something his beautiful significant other had found and still finds endearing and more than a little hot. Of course, he's still partial to the unexpected moment he was ambushed upon walking in the door, pants unzipped and shoved to his knees. Nimble fingers didn't have much to do to get him hard before guiding him into a hot, already prepared body. Hard, quick thrusts had his man moaning in time to the snap of their skin together. His name had been on the other man's lips and choked off into a full body groan as he came. The list of places they hadn't kissed was even shorter and no less hot in deed and memory.
Slightly cooler air rushed across his legs, arm, and torso upon throwing off the covers. The bathroom door snicked closed as he crossed the threshold to the hall. Now would the bathroom light be turned on while his admittedly better-looking half brushed and styled his hair. Neither had to be quiet now; thirty-seven minutes after their wakeup call. There was no compulsion to close the cupboards with as little sound as possible. Both were awake for the day so to speak even if only one was heading for work. He cursed at singeing fingers on hot toast yet again - another ritual known well by both. The scalded fingers were met with a press to cool lips and a small if still sleep-tinged smile. With more care, he poured the coffee, aroma wafting up to dance in his nostrils. Three cups; two mugs and one to-go thermal cup with the sugar already added as he had placed the toast on the table.
Neither had to say anything as he quietly munched away on the now warm bread. His wakened lover alternately sipping coffee and deeply breathing in the aroma of the expensive but thoroughly delicious brew - no cheap coffee here. Across the table, warm eyes caught his and crinkled at the edges from a full, sweet smile. Still chewing small pieces of wheat toast, a soft, bare brush of lips grazed his forehead. Mug clinking against the granite countertop, his partner, lover, everything traded it for the to-go mug.
The soft "see you later" mingled with his "be careful." He watched his partner - no, Greg - disappear into the fading sunlight. He couldn't go with him all the time; couldn't always protect him as he was want to do. The alternating shifts, the rotating partners on different scenes, the implicit command to work together as little as possible per the powers that be were a price. Yet, a price Nick was willing to pay if it meant they had and kept each other; kept their relationship. The years they had so far and those to come were worth not working together much if at all. The alternative was unthinkable and not feasible in either one's estimation. Each day they performed the rituals alternating roles or simultaneously, it didn't matter. It was the cost of their life and nature of things.