Passion and Porridge
The sunrise streams into the room from the wrong direction and it takes me a few moments to realise that this is because I am lying on the sofa in the front room and not curled up in my bed, with a weight in my arms that is both unfamiliar and yet totally natural.
Billy shifts, pressing his nose into the crook of my neck and tightening his arms around my waist, his eyes clenched shut as he mumbled curses against the light disturbing his sleep. I watch him for a moment, gauging how awake he really is; the line between his eyebrows deepens as a cloud drifts across the sky and the light falling across his face brightens.
He opens one eye, glaring at the window then tilts his head up to smile at me, his voice hoarse as he mutters a slurred ‘Good morning’. I don’t even give myself enough time to think before leaning forward and pressing my lips against his in reply, his hum of approval easing the tension in my shoulders that I hadn’t noticed was there until it was gone; after all, half-drunk is still, self evidently, half-drunk and the lines of our friendship have always been a little blurred, but Billy’s insistent mouth on my neck is more than enough to dismiss those thoughts outright.
I settle back into the soft cushions beneath me, feeling Billy adjust his own position minutely so that he is draped comfortably across my body, our legs intertwined somehow and his elbows pressing into the sofa either side of my chest.
The warm silence of Billy’s careful exploration of my collarbone with his lips is interrupted by the hollow grumbling of his stomach and he raises his head again, catching my eye as he chuckles; I can feel the low sound vibrating through his chest and into mine and can’t prevent the grin that spreads over my face.
There’s a strange feel to the air as we drag ourselves off the sofa and into the kitchen, the normalcy of us preparing breakfast together jarring with the memory of last night’s trembling, urgent passion, as we brought each other to climax and collapsed into sleep amidst fevered touches and kisses.
I glance at Billy as he pours out two tall glasses of orange juice and struggle briefly to put my thoughts into words, but then he presses a cold glass into my hand, drops a kiss on my forehead then turns back to the pan of porridge bubbling on the stove and suddenly it all seems to fit.
.