Fic: Early Morning.
“Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful.”
― Milan Kundera
It’s early.
Dust motes dance in the light drifting between the blinds, painting the dingy wall a paler cream. They match the blankets twisted around his legs, the faded but warm sheets beneath his body.
It’s warm, so very warm.
He sighs softly, the sound no louder than the rustling of shifting limbs. This must just be a dream, he thinks, because he’s too content, too warm and everything just feels right. Something nudges the back of his head, buries itself in his hair, and breathes deep.
He can’t help the smile that tugs gently at his lips as a firm arm wraps around his middle.
“Dae..” He murmurs, and his only answer is a low hum -soft, chapped lips brushing the sensitive skin of his ear. He inhales and those full lips draw the cartilage between them, the arm around his waist drawing him back against a firm chest. “It’s early,” They murmur, each breath hot and sending shivers cascading down his spine. It might be a protest, or an invitation.
They’re the only two people in the world.
He’ll never know.
Instead, he slides his hand down to lace his fingers with long slender ones, bringing them up to press a gentle kiss against the boney flesh, tucking them beneath his cheek as he settles in the older boy’s embrace. At least for a few more minutes, he can pretend that this is all that matters.
― Milan Kundera
It’s early.
Dust motes dance in the light drifting between the blinds, painting the dingy wall a paler cream. They match the blankets twisted around his legs, the faded but warm sheets beneath his body.
It’s warm, so very warm.
He sighs softly, the sound no louder than the rustling of shifting limbs. This must just be a dream, he thinks, because he’s too content, too warm and everything just feels right. Something nudges the back of his head, buries itself in his hair, and breathes deep.
He can’t help the smile that tugs gently at his lips as a firm arm wraps around his middle.
“Dae..” He murmurs, and his only answer is a low hum -soft, chapped lips brushing the sensitive skin of his ear. He inhales and those full lips draw the cartilage between them, the arm around his waist drawing him back against a firm chest. “It’s early,” They murmur, each breath hot and sending shivers cascading down his spine. It might be a protest, or an invitation.
They’re the only two people in the world.
He’ll never know.
Instead, he slides his hand down to lace his fingers with long slender ones, bringing them up to press a gentle kiss against the boney flesh, tucking them beneath his cheek as he settles in the older boy’s embrace. At least for a few more minutes, he can pretend that this is all that matters.