]
The last several days had been exhausting, exhilarating, hopeful, fearful, joyful and about fifty million other words that Scotty didn't know, but could only feel. Most of it spent talking. Some of it spent in that time when words gave way to action, and then it was all frantic heat and sex and marking and gripping and burning. In both ways, he felt like he'd been through some kind of hurricane, where he hadn't always been sure that he would live to see the other side of it.
He leaned on the sink in the morning and eyed himself. Drawn bite marks and sometimes scratches, wild hair that had dried stiff with sweat and he looked so utterly ravished that it made him laugh, a happy laugh, leaning his head forward into it, rested on the cool glass, feeling his arms twinge a protest.
Aye. Perfect.
And it was. He didn't see any uncertainty or fear or sorrow or loss looking back at him. Didn't see the reflection of a soul-deep terror that he hadn't ever truly let himself look at, before these past several days. Just saw himself, loved and wanted and loving and wanting and it was beautiful, and he didn't even care that his skin itched in some places for not taking a shower when it was all over.
It was morning, and Scotty thought he'd go back to sleep. Few hours. It was Christmas Eve, and they'd more than earned it. He pushed back from where his hands were rested on the sink edge, feeling the muscles twinge here or there, a pleasant little edge of an ache that felt likewise earned. He stretched into it, eyes sliding closed, head back some, just smiling and not quite able to stop himself from smiling. No inclination to, either.
He smelled like sex, sweat and Harold, and the only smell he liked as much was Harold smelling like sex, sweat and him. A coursing little thrill, enough of one that he would have sent his fiance off to work, sans-shower, just because he knew that those with heightened senses would smell that on him. Fought for, earned, loved, mine.
Harold's presence, from their bed, to the bathroom was heard, scented, and then felt, a warm hand sliding across the back of his shoulder.
"Mm. Beautiful." And Harold's voice was still rough with sleep, but as warm as his hand.
Scotty managed to pry his eyes open enough to look at them in the mirror. His fiance, looking as ravished as he was. A dark mark across his neck, and smaller ones here or there; wild black hair, sticking in every direction, and edges of red, and it drove Scotty insane just looking at him there. Them, together, contrast and compliment and his own reply was soft. "Aye."
Perfect.
They took a shower then, washing each other clean, temporarily removing that scent of sex and sweat. Drowsy, morning motion, and lazy joy and moments of laughter, and a whole lot of touch. Scotty had always loved soaping his way across Harold's body, and doing it took him back to their shower on the beach, and across all the times that he had. His hands moved with that easy, comfortable familiarity, and sometimes Harold moaned from him hitting a sore muscle, and sometimes Harold moaned for the sensation, and it wound its way through the falling water.
They stayed close, all soap and clean and water. Scotty closed his eyes while Harold washed his hair, massaging strokes across his scalp, and the sheer ease and certainty of it sang through him. Remembered the first time Harold did that, and every time thereafter, and how careful he always was, and how sure he was now.
They washed away the sex and sweat for now, which left simply them again. Another day, to color and flavor however they would. Later, they would courier out the Christmas presents and that, but for now, they were wrapped up in each other. Reconnected. They'd earned this, and it hadn't been easy, and it had been terrifying and then it had been exhilarating, and Scotty felt like he'd gone through a hurricane, in more ways than one. He hadn't been sure he could live to see the other side.
But he did.
They did.
They dried off, and thought they'd sleep a few hours more. But Scotty took one more look in the mirror before that -- them, drying off and clean and contrasting and complimenting, and it was beautiful.
Aye. Perfect.
The last several days had been exhausting, exhilarating, hopeful, fearful, joyful and about fifty million other words that Scotty didn't know, but could only feel. Most of it spent talking. Some of it spent in that time when words gave way to action, and then it was all frantic heat and sex and marking and gripping and burning. In both ways, he felt like he'd been through some kind of hurricane, where he hadn't always been sure that he would live to see the other side of it.
He leaned on the sink in the morning and eyed himself. Drawn bite marks and sometimes scratches, wild hair that had dried stiff with sweat and he looked so utterly ravished that it made him laugh, a happy laugh, leaning his head forward into it, rested on the cool glass, feeling his arms twinge a protest.
Aye. Perfect.
And it was. He didn't see any uncertainty or fear or sorrow or loss looking back at him. Didn't see the reflection of a soul-deep terror that he hadn't ever truly let himself look at, before these past several days. Just saw himself, loved and wanted and loving and wanting and it was beautiful, and he didn't even care that his skin itched in some places for not taking a shower when it was all over.
It was morning, and Scotty thought he'd go back to sleep. Few hours. It was Christmas Eve, and they'd more than earned it. He pushed back from where his hands were rested on the sink edge, feeling the muscles twinge here or there, a pleasant little edge of an ache that felt likewise earned. He stretched into it, eyes sliding closed, head back some, just smiling and not quite able to stop himself from smiling. No inclination to, either.
He smelled like sex, sweat and Harold, and the only smell he liked as much was Harold smelling like sex, sweat and him. A coursing little thrill, enough of one that he would have sent his fiance off to work, sans-shower, just because he knew that those with heightened senses would smell that on him. Fought for, earned, loved, mine.
Harold's presence, from their bed, to the bathroom was heard, scented, and then felt, a warm hand sliding across the back of his shoulder.
"Mm. Beautiful." And Harold's voice was still rough with sleep, but as warm as his hand.
Scotty managed to pry his eyes open enough to look at them in the mirror. His fiance, looking as ravished as he was. A dark mark across his neck, and smaller ones here or there; wild black hair, sticking in every direction, and edges of red, and it drove Scotty insane just looking at him there. Them, together, contrast and compliment and his own reply was soft. "Aye."
Perfect.
They took a shower then, washing each other clean, temporarily removing that scent of sex and sweat. Drowsy, morning motion, and lazy joy and moments of laughter, and a whole lot of touch. Scotty had always loved soaping his way across Harold's body, and doing it took him back to their shower on the beach, and across all the times that he had. His hands moved with that easy, comfortable familiarity, and sometimes Harold moaned from him hitting a sore muscle, and sometimes Harold moaned for the sensation, and it wound its way through the falling water.
They stayed close, all soap and clean and water. Scotty closed his eyes while Harold washed his hair, massaging strokes across his scalp, and the sheer ease and certainty of it sang through him. Remembered the first time Harold did that, and every time thereafter, and how careful he always was, and how sure he was now.
They washed away the sex and sweat for now, which left simply them again. Another day, to color and flavor however they would. Later, they would courier out the Christmas presents and that, but for now, they were wrapped up in each other. Reconnected. They'd earned this, and it hadn't been easy, and it had been terrifying and then it had been exhilarating, and Scotty felt like he'd gone through a hurricane, in more ways than one. He hadn't been sure he could live to see the other side.
But he did.
They did.
They dried off, and thought they'd sleep a few hours more. But Scotty took one more look in the mirror before that -- them, drying off and clean and contrasting and complimenting, and it was beautiful.
Aye. Perfect.