baguette time

Adam Wiles is large. Made of muscle as if built for strength and endurance. Stands broad and tall like some sort of powerful deity. He's a work of art, an idealized figure of myth. Looks as if he's been carefully carved from marble, painstakingly shaped into perfection.

Adam towers well over Dillon Francis, big and strong and confident, makes Dill feel small and so very weak. Makes Dillon feel even smaller when they pull one another into an embrace. An embrace that should make Dillon feel like Adam could squeeze the life out of him then and there.

It's gentle instead. A stark contrast to the strength of rigid muscle and broad shoulders. Adam is surprisingly soft. Like he's afraid that he'll break Dillon if he holds him any tighter. Dillon holds onto Adam for dear life, latches to him like it's the last chance he'll have, enough that it hurts Adam, causes him to laugh. Dillon pulls away with a sheepish smile, but Adam still brings him back closer, cups Dill's head with a large, steady hand, holds his boyfriend flush against his chest and kisses him on the forehead.

It's different when they kiss, though. Really kiss. When their lips join and their teeth clash and Dillon finds himself breathless right underneath Adam. Adam's hands keep him grounded, grip strong at Dillon's hip, fingers soft at Dillon's jaw, and Dillon thanks every higher power he can think of, otherwise he knows he would drift away with the feeling.

Adam's hands are powerful, big, purposeful. He touches Dillon like he was made to do it, loves him like no other.

Every single time feels like the first.

Adam takes his time and Dillon waits patiently, laps up every bit of attention Adam gives him no matter how slow or gradual. Dillon pulls Adam close when they kiss, holds his face in his hands, cards his fingertips through the coarse hair of Adam's beard. Adam's lips are hot on his, breaths quick and deep to match. Their mouths glide and Adam slips his tongue out to push past Dill's lips, prompts for them to deepen the kiss even further.

Dillon opens his mouth slightly, grants Adam permission to kiss him deeper, more passionately, groans softly when Adam's hand leaves his hip, slips under the fabric of his shirt for a moment. Adam lifts it high enough to expose Dillon's stomach, shifts his attention to undoing the button and zipper on Dillon's jeans. He manages to undo the fly, slips a warm, steady hand under the waistband of Dillon's underwear, takes a hold of his boyfriend, moves his hand as much as the constricting fabric will allow. Dillon breaks the kiss with a soft sigh and a quiet curse of, "Fuck, oh my god."

Adam smirks, pauses the motion of his hand as he speaks low and gravelly, "You're an angel."

And Dillon does look like one. Soft, although slightly disheveled, he lies against the fabric of the bedspread, eyes clear and bright in the daylight spilling through the high glass windows. Dillon focuses his sight on Adam, their faces still stuck close enough to breathe the same air. Dill moves a hand from Adam's face to Adam's neck, stops to feel the quick pulse against his fingers before he goes to rest his hand on Adam's shoulder. Adam is solid under his touch and, for a second, Dill is tempted to run his hand lower to feel the firm of Adam's chest.

Dillon laughs, breathless, "Fuck. Take me?"

Adam doesn't need to be told twice or even reminded. He moves quicker than Dillon expects, gentle and fluid and oh so graceful. He takes a hold of the hem of Dillon's soft shirt, helps hoist his boyfriend upright enough to swiftly pull the fabric off over his head.

Adam is still between his legs when Dillon lies back down. They slot together perfectly even as Dillon attempts to prop himself up, tries to pull his jeans down the distance that the position will allow. Adam removes his own shirt in one sweeping motion, throws it aside before he helps Dillon peel his jeans off. Dillon aids Adam as much as possible, but he lies back once Adam gets the fabric down past his knees. Adam rids him of it altogether, kisses at Dillon's tattooed calf before he tosses the last of Dill's clothing aside.

Dillon Francis lies still, completely nude underneath his lover. His breaths are shaky, quick, heartbeat loud in his ears and strong against his rib cage. His voice breaks when he asks, "Did you bring lube?"

Adam runs his large, warm hands down Dillon's legs and replies as he moves away to get it, "Of course I did, love."

"Oh good. We ran out after last time and I forgot to go out and buy some..." Dillon smiles sheepishly, voice drifting off softly as he watches Adam make a beeline towards his luggage.

Adam crouches down to search through his bag, locates the tube, and straightens back up. He turns back around, tosses the small container onto the bed next to his lover, watches Dillon with adoring eyes for just a moment. Adam pads his way back to the bed, undoes his slacks, lets them pool around his ankles and on the floor before he crawls back onto the bed to join Dill.

Dillon exhales a shaky breath, feels his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears, recalls the same longing he felt the first time. He shifts his position so he's comfortable, licks his lips, closes his eyes for a moment or two in an attempt to cool down a bit.

Adam's smile makes its way into his voice when he asks, "You okay, doll?"

Dillon snaps his eyes open, laughs a little as his fingertips chase the small container while he speaks, "Yeah! Just trying to get more comfortable."

Dillon hands the tube over to his lover, places it gently in Adam's outstretched hand. Adam's long fingers close around the tube, brush briefly against Dillon's before he goes to open it.

Adam nudges at Dillon's thigh and Dillon follows the lead, opens his legs wider for Adam to place himself between. He swallows hard when Adam snaps open the small container, inhales abruptly when Adam squeezes some of the lube out into his palm.

Adam is quick, but thorough about it, the way he coats his fingers careful, yet with an underlying impatience. He leans in closer, nearly close enough for him to easily kiss Dillon, murmurs gruff and breathy, "Touch yourself for me, love."

Dillon nods, knows he couldn't deny Adam that at all if he tried. He looks Adam in the eye and leads a hand down to wrap around himself. Dillon grips his dick firmly, softly runs his thumb up and down his length, teases himself as Adam watches. Dill pumps himself once, twice, sets a start to a slow, lazy rhythm.

"Good," Adam murmurs softly. "Just relax."

Dillon closes his eyes, gasps when he feels a slick finger press to his hole. Adam rubs at it carefully, waits until Dillon's tension subsides before he pushes his finger in. Dillon exhales shakily when Adam's finger is fully in him, shakes when he rolls his hips against Adam's hand.

Adam raises an eyebrow, crooks his finger just enough to draw a soft sound from Dillon's lips. He does it again, watches how the rhythm of Dill's hand stutters around his own dick. Adam continues, draws his finger in and out of Dillon, follows the pace of Dill's hand for a little.

Carefully, Adam adds a second finger, presses it in slower than he did the first. Dillon sighs, licks his lips, lets go of his dick for a minute or two just to watch Adam prep him. Adam is just as gentle as before, pauses when his two fingers are their deepest in Dillon. He bends them upward, draws them out, presses them back in until Dillon whines and goes to wrap his hand around his dick again.

Adam follows Dillon's lead for a while, just long enough for Dillon to fall into relaxation. He enjoys the sight of his lover, nude before him as he takes Adam's fingers with ease. It's only a few more moments before Adam seeks out the small tube once again. He flips it open, with his free hand, pours it directly onto his hand without so much as bothering to pull his fingers out from Dill.

"Can you handle another, babe?" Adam's voice is low, rough with lust and want.

"Uh-huh..." Dill groans with a nod.

Adam smirks and it makes Dillon's breath momentarily catch in his throat. Gradually, Adam adds a third finger along with the other two, opens Dillon up just a bit more. Adam keeps steady, inches his fingers in, pauses again when he reaches Dillon's deepest.

Adam bends low, presses a soft kiss to Dillon's hip with a quiet, "You're doing so well, love."

Dillon hardly hears it with how loud his own heart is, but he shivers, whines when Adam comes up to kiss him on the lips. Adam's fingers fill him, gentle, firm. He feels the pressure against his prostate, feels the way Adam strokes at it softly, easily pulls those sounds from Dillon's mouth and swallows them down.

And suddenly it's all too hot, too much for Dillon to handle at once. He pauses his own hand, grips tightly at the base of his dick. He knows he's clenching around Adam's fingers from the laugh against his lips, but it's the one thing that stops Dillon from cumming right then.

Adam's fingers don't stop, though. He slows them, pulls them away, presses them back into Dillon softly. Dill's body tenses and he laughs louder than he expects, gasps when Adam's fingertips massage at his prostate again. Adam only pulls away just enough to be able to speak, "Like how that feels?"

Dillon chokes on a laugh, tightens the grip of his fingers around his own dick, "Yeah, if you're already trying to make me cum..."

Adam kisses him again, carefully pulls his fingers from Dillon, smiles against Dill's mouth as he speaks, "Wouldn't want that, hmm?"

Dill pants breathless and loud, whimpers when he's left with an empty feeling, "Nuh-uh. Need you."

Adam doesn't waste time, swiftly goes to take a hold of the container of lube again. Quickly, he flips it open, pours plenty of the liquid into the palm of his hand. Adam slicks himself carefully, but without hesitation.

Dillon whines as Adam comes closer to him, "Please?"

"Hang on, love." Adam smirks and wraps his arm around Dill's thigh, adjusts it just enough to better fit between his lover's legs.

Adam breathes deep and low, groans as he strokes himself, fingers wrapped around his own dick just tight enough. He closes his eyes, enjoys it for a few moments, savors the feeling before returning to his lover lying nude before him.

Dillon watches intently, blue eyes glazed over with desire, mouth hanging open to draw in breath after shaky breath. He licks his lips, feels them dry with his quick breathing. His pulse speeds up, grows louder in his ears as Adam approaches, finally presses the tip of his dick to Dill's ass.

Adam holds himself still and the pressure is firm right against Dillon's hole. Slowly and steadily, Adam leans forward, hopes the stretch isn't too much for Dill when it happens.

Dillon gasps when his ass finally gives way, groans as Adam begins to inch into him. It's gradual, but still enough to leave Dill slightly breathless. The ache is present, although dulled by the slickness of the lube, and suddenly Dillon's thankful for the amount of time Adam's put into prepping him.

Dillon groans, soft and airy, and Adam can't help but pause and murmur close enough for their lips to brush, "Feeling alright?"

Dill clamps his eyes shut, nods as he exhales a shaky breath. He reaches forward, rests his hands on the back of Adam's neck. Their mouths move together when Dillon speaks trembling and desperate, "Babe? Please move."

Adam inches forward, gets about halfway into Dillon before he replies with a little smirk, "Be patient, doll."

Dillon feels increasingly full the more Adam pushes into him, feels Adam deep, thick, the friction tugging hot and tight. Dillon bites down on his lower lip, closes his eyes, holds Adam close.

After several moments, Adam finally bottoms out. At his deepest in Dillon, Adam kisses at his lover's mouth, gives Dillon the attention he craves. Dillon whines into the kiss, opens his mouth further when Adam's tongue licks across his lower lip.

Dillon's eyes are glazed over with pleasure and lust, hazy and lidded. He absently kisses Adam back, groans when Adam rolls his hips, pulls away momentarily, pushes against his ass again. Adam sets the start to an achingly slow rhythm, a pace of slight push and pull.

It only takes a few thrusts, nice and slow before Dillon feels the tightness in his lower stomach start to build. He clenches around Adam, cries out, "Ah fuck!"

Adam chuckles, slows to a complete stop, strokes Dillon's cheek lovingly, "Are you good?"

Dillon nods, pulls down on the back of Adam's neck, demands a kiss as he wraps his legs tight around Adam's body, solid and strong. He laughs, knows it's not going to take him much to climax. Dill chuckles breathlessly as he and Adam kiss, "Fuck, not gonna last..."

The corners of Adam's eyes crinkle when he smiles, replies to Dillon low and soft between kisses, "That's alright, doll. You've been doing so well."

Dillon whimpers, trembles when Adam is at his deepest again, drops his head back, convulses slightly with an unexpected laugh, "Ah, there!"

Adam still moves slowly, but with the same intense focus as ever, aims for the right spot, kisses at Dillon's exposed throat, mouths along the vibrations of Dill's satisfied moaning of "Oh, thank you..."

Adam is thick, hot, slick, just deep enough to make Dillon's eyes roll back involuntarily. His body is muscle, solid and steady weight as he presses to the backs of Dillon's thighs, crashes strong hips against Dillon's ass. Still, Adam remains loving and kind, far from the rough aggression his size should suggest. Strong hands grip at Dillon's legs, maneuver him until Dillon's ankles rest at Adam's shoulders.

Adam puts only a couple of thrusts into Dillon before Dill clenches his eyes shut, whines quietly, "Ohh fuck..."

"You're beautiful," Adam smiles. "D'you think you can hold on just a while longer, doll?"

Dillon nods desperately, musters out a thin little, "Ah. Anything for you."

Adam's hands are firm and hot where they rest and squeeze at Dillon's thighs. Adam rolls his hips, kisses at Dillon's shin softly before he presses forward again.

Dillon's breath trembles when he feels Adam's hands strong at the backs of his knees. The air leaves Dillon's lungs so suddenly only a small cry escapes when Adam pins him down even further. Dill's thighs rest against his own chest now and it's like Adam's the deepest in him as he's ever been. Dillon holds his breath, focuses his efforts on keeping himself together like he'd promised to do.

Adam continues with shallow thrusts, watches fondly as Dillon visibly struggles to hold his orgasm off a little longer. He softly groans, "You're such a good boy for me, love."

Dillon nearly falls apart when he hears those words, knows he has to fight just a bit longer even though Adam's making it awfully difficult with each thrust.

Adam keeps his steady pace going, aims to thrust into that spot he knows will make Dillon see stars. He feels the tension low in his core, warm and taut, hears Dill whine with a soft pulse, tight around Adam's dick. Adam puts a quick thrust into Dill, leans back to watch him writhe for a moment.

Dillon tips his head back with a low moan, arches his back when the head of Adam's cock continues to rub gently against his prostate.

"Oh my g-" Dillon blindly grips at the sheets, whispers breathy. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you too, "Adam smirks. "Getting close?"

Dillon pants loudly, "Ugh, fuck yeah. Are you?"

"Getting there, yeah," Adam breathes.

Dillon arches his back, rocks his hips just enough to meet Adam's thrusts. He goes slowly, takes Adam as deep as he'll go, and it feels so good Dill's eyes roll back with the feeling.

"Mmm give it to me," Dill hums, breathlessly tries to pull Adam closer.

Adam nods, realizes too late that Dillon can't see it with his eyes clamped shut, expression pained and pleased all at once. Adam loosens his grip on the backs of Dillon's thighs, allows for Dill's legs to fall back to a resting position. Dillon sighs in relief, wraps his legs around the strength of Adam's hips, weakly pulls him closer with each thrust.

The tight warm feeling sits low in Dillon's abdomen, slowly grows into something stronger. Adam's thrusts hit that sweet spot over and over until it forces a slow, steady stream of precum onto Dillon's stomach. It rests hot, almost as hot as the feeling inside him. Dill feels a pulse or two of his dick, a warning from his body on the verge of climax. He scrambles to kiss Adam, pulls him closer, presses their mouths together like their lives depend on it.

The warmth still lies low in his torso, pulls some soft, high sounds from his mouth with each plunge of Adam's cock.

"Oh my... god," Dillon chokes out soft, shaky, desperate against Adam's mouth. "Ahh, 'm gonna cum."

Determined, Adam sets a faster, constant rhythm. He thrusts harder into Dill, aims to pull those lovely sounds from his lover again and again.

Adam grunts, low and rough between kisses and stronger thrusts, "Alright, cum for me, darling."

Dillon tightens around Adam, pulses a few times before he curses, whines under his breath, "Ah! Fuckfuckfuck..."

Adam is thick and deep inside him when Dillon feels his resolve break almost completely. Their hips collide harder and louder each time, the tip of Adam's dick slides past Dill's prostate and the combined feeling is almost enough for Dillon to let go. Adam breaks the harsh pattern of his hips, slows so he can aim at the perfect angle and make love to Dillon like he deserves.

Dillon whines, too far gone to think about anything other than pulling Adam in and holding him close. He trembles, feels a chill wash over him head to toe. Adam thrusts into him again, deep and slow, and suddenly the tense heat in his abdomen becomes too much to bear.

"Oh, fuck!" Dillon cries out, defeated and spent. "Adam... right there."

Adam grunts in response, aims each thrust into the spot that makes Dill whine over and over again. Quietly, Adam breathes, "Cum for me, love."

"Oh my god. Fuck..." Dillon moans and throws his head back. He pulls Adam closer, arches his back, feels the tension in his body suddenly snap as he starts to paint his own stomach with his release.

Dill whines, squeezes impossibly hot and tight around Adam, rides the high of his orgasm until he's out of breath and so sensitive that Adam has to slow down almost entirely. Adam's last thrusts are fluid, just shallow enough that he hardly moves from where he is at Dillon's deepest. Dillon holds him close still, desires the hot friction of Adam keeping him stretched to his limit.

Adam pushes into Dill again, slow and dirty, just a few more times before he's shaking above his lover. Dillon pulls him down for a kiss, whimpers in surprise when Adam places his final thrust into him, deep and strong. Adam groans, breaths broken as he spills into Dillon. Each spurt is steady and hot and Dill rolls his hips against the sensation only until Adam puffs out a breathy laugh against his mouth.

They stay like that for a bit, only long enough for them to allow the unadulterated joy to build in between them. Adam seeks out Dillon's lips for a kiss, soft and breathless and just enough to leave Dill wanting more. Adam unsticks his body from Dillon's underneath him, pulls away and leaves Dillon feeling empty. Adam gives Dill that attention he's craving, leaves a trail of fluttering kisses down the front of his boyfriend's body. Dillon sighs when Adam's tongue darts out, laps up some of Dillon's cum, sticky and warm on his stomach. He continues lower, further, licks a quick stripe along the underside of Dill's still too sensitive dick.

"Oh my god!" Dillon jumps, laughs loud in response to the feeling of overstimulation.

"'M'sorry, love," Adam's voice comes low and gravelly with a kiss at the joint of Dill's thigh to his hip.

It happens too quickly for Dillon to register it, the way Adam slinks his hands to the backs of his thighs, pushes them up until Dillon's bent in half and left feeling exposed. It leaves Dill breathless and with Adam's name like a prayer on his lips.

Adam dips down lower, breathes hotly against Dillon's hole before he presses the flat of his tongue against it. Dill whines, writhes under Adam's strong, vice-like hands, sighs shakily when Adam licks at him. Dillon writhes a bit when Adam's facial hair tickles at his overly sensitive skin. Adam's tongue works in circles, hot and wet at Dill's entrance, before he finally presses in. Dillon moans, fingers making their way into short, dirty blond hair. He pulls when he feels the heat of Adam's mouth, tongue slick and strong, licking into him.

Adam pulls away for a second, peppers stray kisses along Dill's ass before he presses his tongue flat against Dillon's hole again. He tastes himself on his lover, laps up some of his cum as it slowly leaks from Dillon. Dill's fingers tighten in his hair, tug a little too hard when he writhes and curses softly, incoherent. Adam groans in protest, lazy and open-mouthed, still works his tongue until Dillon's hand is too shaky to hold at his hair.

Adam retreats slowly, leaves a trail of wet kisses on Dillon's skin as he goes. Dill sighs, lets his hand fall away from Adam's hair, follows the trail of Adam's beard with his fingertips. He lies there, well-fucked, sated and glowing, and Adam's sure he's never seen a sight so beautiful. Dill's face is brushed soft pink, eyes clear and watery, lips bright and sore. Dillon's tongue flicks out quickly, moistens the bitten red of his mouth, and it tempts Adam, makes him want to make Dillon fall apart to his touch again.

"Kiss me," Dillon breathes softly.

Adam gives in almost immediately, makes his way up to Dillon's mouth a lot quicker than he intends to, grants him one kiss after the next. Dill's hands are soft, gentle caresses at the sides of his face, his sounds low and quiet with each kiss Adam places on his lips.

"I'm so madly in love with you," Adam murmurs when they break apart to catch their breath.

Things are new and exciting.

Porter Robinson and Anton Zaslavski find themselves stuck closely together more often than not. Summer is sweltering, but it doesn't stop them. The heat in each new city differs vastly from the previous one, and that's really all that changes. It doesn't change that they're still piled together on the couch between long stretches of road or cramped into the same bunk spaces. It doesn't change that they still find themselves in small greenroom bathrooms or any tiny space in the venue that grants them a bit of privacy.

They're pressed close in the single person bathroom, Porter pressed against the back of the door. Anton with his thigh slotted between Porter's legs, his mouth at Porter's neck. Porter grips at Anton's ass, pulls him closer, moans softly at the friction, sighs at the feeling of Anton's lips on his skin. The neckline of Porter's shirt dips ridiculously low and Anton continues to chase new, unkissed skin, follows it lower before Porter whines and makes Anton pause.

Porter exhales, "Holy fuck, Zedd."

Anton pulls away from Porter's neck, sheepish smile on his face. Porter breathes loud, closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the door. Porter knows he's flushed from his chest all the way up to his ears, he can feel it warm on his skin.

"Are you okay?" Anton chuckles, moves the thigh between Porter's legs just slightly.

Porter shakes when he replies and goes to look at Anton again, "Yeah, I'm. fucking fantastic."

Porter shifts a little, laughs, groans under his breath when he makes contact with Anton's thigh. Anton can feel how hard Porter is even through the couple of layers of denim between them. He licks his lips and listens to Porter's already ragged breathing.

Anton smiles, speaks so gentle, quiet enough it almost gets lost in the sound of Sonny's soundcheck in the distance. His accent is prominent even when he murmurs softly, "Can I touch you?"

Porter's heart is loud in his ears, loud enough he has trouble hearing Anton's question. Porter hums, "Huh?"

Anton feels his face heat up as his fingers wander along the waistband of Porter's jeans. He clears his throat, asks again shakily, "Is it okay if I touch you?"

They both wake much earlier than they intend to. Warm, comfortable, and slow, Ryan stirs sleepily, yawns quietly. He smiles when he feels the warmth of Hugo's body in his bed, pressed flush against his back.

"Are you awake?" Hugo whispers and his lips brush against the back of Ryan's neck.

Ryan shifts slightly, feels Hugo's arm tighten around his torso, Hugo's hand as it goes lower. Hugo places a hot kiss on Ryan's nape, presses their bodies closer. Ryan can feel Hugo firm, hard against his ass and he releases a shaky sigh.

Ryan whispers through a shy little smirk, "Good morning..."

Hugo presses his nose against the soft skin between Ryan's shoulders, smiles as he dips a warm hand into the waistband of Ryan's underwear, "Good morning, chou."

-

Ryan's still sore from the previous night, muscles achy and throat raw. Hugo's gentle with him, handles him like he's fragile, holds him tender and close. Hugo caresses him, touches softly and with purpose, kisses lazily at his skin while he briefly preps him. Ryan exhales shakily, groans when Hugo's two fingers brush that spot just slightly.

Hugo murmurs, groggily sweet against the shell of Ryan's ear, "Are you alright?"

Ryan whines low, tries to push his hips back against Hugo's hand, "Isn't that enough?"

Hugo chuckles, "It feel good?"

Ryan nods, eyes closed with the combined feeling of sleep and pleasure. Hugo presses another kiss to his shoulder before he leaves Ryan with the sensation of sudden emptiness. Hugo's touch is back a few moments later when he adjusts the angle of Ryan's leg and makes access easier for them both.

The side of Ryan's face is pressed to his fluffy pillow, the right side of his body flush against the bed. The inside of his left thigh brushes against the sheets when Hugo puts some of his weight on the hand now at Ryan's hip. The weight of Hugo's body is against his back now and it's just enough to feel surrounded and safe.

Hugo takes a hold of himself and presses his tip to Ryan's hole. Ryan exhales, reaches back until he feels Hugo's messy curls against his fingertips. It takes hardly any pressure and only a moment or two before Hugo's gradually inching into him. Ryan trembles, shuts his eyes tight with the sudden fullness of Hugo in him, feels the words spill from his lips the same he feels the precum slip from his tip, "Hugo, oh my g-god..."

-

Hugo moves slowly, holds Ryan to ground him. Ryan shudders when Hugo bottoms out. They stay like that for a moment, connected together in body and soul.

Ryan's tight and hot around Hugo, perfect and beautiful. Hugo makes Ryan feel full and happy; enough that Ryan reaches back, puts his free hand on the back of Hugo's thigh, attempts to pull him even closer.

Hugo keeps a rhythm, sleepy, unhurried. He rolls his hips, hardly pulls away from Ryan before he thrusts back into him. He kisses at Ryan's neck, presses his hand flat against the center of Ryan's chest and Ryan sighs at the contact of Hugo's thumb against his nipple.

Ryan whines, turns his head, tries to glance back at his boyfriend. He hopes Hugo will follow his cue, kiss him like he desires. Hugo pauses his hips, stays still at Ryan's deepest, and leans in to meet Ryan's lips with his. Ryan's breathing is past broken, labored. His cheeks hot and tinted pink, lips slick and red when they pull away from the kiss.

Hugo holds him tighter, palm pressed over Ryan's heart. Ryan joins Hugo's hand with his, warm and solid over long and elegant. Ryan's pulse is fast and steady under their combined touch and Hugo smiles at the feeling.

They're hardly awake, they move on slow, drowsy instinct. Hugo's voice is still somewhat thick with sleep when he murmurs from behind Ryan, "I love you."

Ryan gets full body goose bumps, feels a chill take over his entire body when he feels Hugo's voice in his ear. The fingers of his right hand tighten, tangle themselves further in Hugo's curls. He can feel his orgasm as it approaches, knows Hugo's right there with him by the way Hugo's hips hit his, the way Hugo's breath breaks in his ear.

It takes a couple more stuttered thrusts before Ryan's panting heavy and often, a couple more before he feels himself start to cum. He grips onto Hugo's hand harder, tugs lightly at Hugo's hair.

“You coming over after all?” Brandon’s voice fades away, becomes distant behind the rustle of motion on his end of the line. Brandon’s voice comes back clearer, louder the next time he speaks, “Are you already on the way here?”

Jack sighs, slightly ashamed of them both, “Yeah… That predictable?”

Brandon yawns, “Okay, well you better hurry. I’m getting sleepy.”

Jack steps on the gas, hopes that Brandon doesn’t somehow know, “Almost there.”

Brandon breathes into the microphone, suddenly sounds more awake than he did before, “Alright, just let yourself in. ‘M already in bed.”

Jack replies dryly, “You gave me keys, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Brandon laughs.

“‘Kay. See you in a minute.” Jack tries not to smile, hates himself when he fails.

“One minute. I’ll be pissed if you’re not here in the next sixty seconds. Or maybe asleep. Haven’t decided yet.” Brandon jokes and Jack can almost see the stupid grin forming on Brandon’s round little face.

Jack gets the last word in, “See ya.”

Jack Wagner nervously eyes the clock as he speeds down the rainy Los Angeles streets he’s frequented more than he’d like to admit. He knows Brandon is joking about the time limit, but he finds himself driving much faster than is safe for current conditions. Jack arrives at Brandon’s place in less time than he expects, considers waiting in his car for a few minutes before heading in.

He manages to wait a whopping two minutes before he turns the car off and gets out. He trudges up the steps, Brandon’s keys ready in his hand, still attached to his own. He unlocks the door, steps in quietly to the dim apartment, and stops to make sure to lock the door behind him.

Jack makes his way to Brandon’s room, goes in, finds him buried under a blanket. He startles Brandon when he pushes the creaky door open. The top of Brandon’s head barely emerges out from under the blanket, dark head of hair messy, glasses askew, face thoroughly flushed. It’s a familiar sight to Jack, familiar enough yet it surprises him still.

Brandon’s words are muffled by the blanket, “Got started without you.”

Jack tries not to blush when he realizes exactly what those words mean. He tries to pick his words carefully before he speaks, tries not to sound too eager when he murmurs, “...I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore.

It’s a strange feeling to be back in Brandon’s apartment after a slight drift between them. Jack doesn’t want to be at fault for ruining Brandon’s hand at a monogamous relationship with his girlfriend, doesn’t want to feel the crushing guilt the next time they’re all in the same room together. It should make Jack feel bad that he finds himself in Brandon’s room, especially before 1 AM this time, as odd of an occurrence as it might be.

There’s a long pause, silence where they can only hear each other breathe and it’s then that Jack notices how loud Brandon is actually breathing. Jack feels the words escaping before he can stop them, “Fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Brandon exhales, “Yeah. Are you going to make me do all of this myself?”

For a moment, Jack’s tempted to peel the blanket away and watch. Contemplates how it would be just as satisfying but without the guilt of being involved in this again. Though, desperation gets the better of him when Brandon lets a tiny groan slip from under his blanket and Jack makes his way to the unoccupied side of the bed. He peels his jacket off, tosses it into the nearby chair, blindly tosses the keys onto the bedside drawer where they slide and land with a clink against the champagne sized bottle of Baja Blast. The bottle is another reminder of their history, maybe a warning, but Jack finds he’s too busy to pay it any mind as he removes each article of clothing as quickly as possible.

“Hurry up,” Brandon whines as if Jack isn’t already pulling the covers away and slipping into the bed right beside him.

Jack watches Brandon for a moment, watches as the younger man works himself. Brandon saves him any more trouble when he hands over the bottle of lube with a shaky hand. Jack smirks and whispers, “Alright, quit touching yourself.”

Brandon does it, though reluctant fingers still linger and ghost over the tip of his dick. Jack is already past half-hard, but doesn’t think to touch himself. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he pats Brandon’s upper thigh, squeezes it gently, “Alright, buddy. Turn around.”

Brandon sighs, rolls his eyes, inconvenienced by having to get on all fours. He shivers when he turns around. The cool air makes him feel incredibly exposed for a moment before Jack places a warm hand on his ass and makes him forget. A hot kiss on his lower back surprises him, but it’s enough to hold him over while Jack struggles with the lube bottle.

“God, it’s so slippery!” Jack chuckles from behind him and Brandon can’t help but bow his head between his clasped hands and smile a little.

Brandon listens closely, listens as Jack squeezes the viscous lube into his hand and coats his fingers in it. It’s still too cold when Jack presses a slick finger against his skin, feels it warm as Jack’s thumb rubs circles against his hole. Brandon’s ready to complain, but then Jack finally moves on and carefully presses the tip of his index finger into him.

Brandon whines without meaning to, feels the breath leave his lungs when Jack’s finger gradually goes the deepest it can. Brandon rocks his hips, begs Jack to do something other than just stay still. Jack smirks, pulls his finger out just a tiny bit before he presses it back in. Brandon exhales, impatient as always, “More.”

Jack pulls his finger out, presses two of them back in this time. Brandon tenses up and Jack slows down, keeps his fingers steady until Brandon backs onto his fingers again. Brandon sighs when Jack carefully bends his fingers and lets his fingertips rub at Brandon’s prostate. It feels good, but none of it is enough for Brandon. He wants more so he turns to complain, “C’mon… more.”

Jack’s dark, thick eyebrows rise in surprise and Brandon laughs as he turns back around, rests his head on his hands so his ass remains high in the air.

“Fuck,” Jack whispers under his breath and goes to grab the bottle of lube again. He holds it between his thighs and snaps it open, crudely pours some directly onto the fingers still inside Brandon. Brandon jerks in surprise again, but is too eager to really care or complain.

Jack makes sure his third finger is slick enough before he attempts to press it into Brandon. It’s definitely slick, maybe too slick, and he realizes when his finger easily slips in farther than he means for it to go. Brandon groans, muffles his sound in the pillows under him, smudges his glasses in the process.

Jack hesitates, “Shit, are you okay?”

Brandon nods wildly in response, doesn’t reply in fear of making another sound that’s too embarrassingly loud.

Brandon feels full, fuller than he has in weeks, maybe longer. It takes him a few moments to get used to the thickness of Jack’s fingers, takes him longer to get used to excessive slickness. Brandon rocks his hips again, hopes Jack remembers how to read his body language. Brandon shivers when Jack pulls his hand away, presses it back closer this time, fingers going the deepest they can. Jack’s fingers rub against his prostate again and Brandon arches his back further.

Jack continues to work Brandon open, occasionally presses kiss against Brandon’s pale skin. Brandon rises from the pillow and whimpers, “That’s enough.”

Jack stops what he’s doing and slowly pulls his fingers out of Brandon. Brandon continues, giggles as his body shakes involuntarily, “This is exhausting. I’m turning around.”

For a second, Jack thinks that maybe Brandon is joking, but he’s stupidly surprised when Brandon ends up on his back and with Jack in between his legs. Jack looks for the bottle of lube again, laughs when he realizes it’s still stuck between his knees. Jack keeps his eye on Brandon, licks his lips, doesn’t realize how dry his mouth is from breathing so hard.

He only looks away from Brandon to fumble with the small bottle and pour more lube into his palm. Jack hisses when he finally wraps his hand around his own dick, the lube much too cool still. He watches his hand for a bit, pumps himself slowly,, teases the head with a softer touch. He glances up and decides he better hurry when he sees Brandon jacking himself off in time with him.

Jack whispers, “You sure? It isn’t too late to stop.” Brandon smirks and Jack rolls his eyes, interrupts the younger man before he can speak, “I swear if you say something about being back on your bullshit, I’ll leave right now.”

Brandon tilts his head back in laughter and Jack feels a little of something he hasn’t felt since before Brandon went and got himself a girlfriend. Jack chuckles, “Seriously!”

Brandon straightens up a little and with a dead serious look on his face says, “Just get in me.”

Jack raises his eyebrows at Brandon for what feels like the hundredth time already, decides it’s best if they just don’t think about it too hard. He crawls closer to Brandon, forces the younger man’s legs farther apart, lifts Brandon so his lower back has support from Jack’s thick, sturdy thighs just long enough to grab a pillow and place it under him.

Brandon breathes heavily, watches Jack pump himself a few times before he holds his dick steady against Brandon’s entrance. He lines himself up with Brandon, presses slowly and carefully as possible. Brandon’s hole gives way, allows the head of Jack’s dick to slip in just enough. Brandon gasps, the stretch is sudden and already more than he remembers. Jack pauses, but Brandon’s hand flies to Jack’s lower stomach, non-verbally requests for Jack to stay still. Brandon closes his eyes, steadies his breathing before his hand drops from Jack’s stomach and moves over to Jack’s hip. Brandon pulls him closer, whines as Jack inches further, lets out a shaky breath when Jack is fully in him and he’s stretched around his friend’s dick, feeling impossibly full.

Brandon wraps his arms around Jack, pulls him down so they’re face to face. He exhales, “Move.”

“Someone’s not getting enough action lately,” Jack laughs, but obliges anyway.

Brandon’s voice trembles when he jokes, “Crissy wouldn’t do this to me.”

They’re pressed close and it’s the first time in a long time that Jack has faced one of his lovers during sex. It’s the first time he’s ever faced Brandon and he’s not sure how to feel, not sure how to feel about how close they are, how to feel about how their foreheads bump or lips touch when Jack starts to put thrust after thrust into Brandon. It’s slow, in the dim light of the room and the orange glow of the streetlamp outside Brandon’s window. It’s more intimate than they want, but they can’t give it up now.

“Hey Jack?” Brandon moans softly and it fuels the hot tension in Jack’s lower abdomen.

Brandon is tight and hot around him, so soft and pliable underneath his hands that Jack nearly forgets to reply. He grunts breathlessly, “Mm?”

Brandon sighs, “Kiss me.”

Jack nearly stills all movement altogether as soon as the words leave Brandon’s mouth, but he does it anyway, too caught up in the heat of the moment to really care. Jack kisses Brandon clumsily, bumps the younger man’s thick-rimmed glasses with his nose. Brandon laughs into the kiss, gasps when Jack hits that sweet spot inside him with the next thrust.

They laugh together, bodies pressed close, lips connected, and it almost feels like old times, only a tad more intimate. Brandon’s glasses fog up halfway into the kiss and he giggles again, pulls them off, tosses them aside next to Jack’s keys on the nightstand.

“There!” Brandon pants softly and Jack is confused for a bit.

However, Brandon clarifies breathlessly, “Ah. Fuck! There…”

Jack pulls away a little, aims his thrusts at the same spot, watches Brandon as he falls apart. Brandon shuts his eyes tightly, dark eyelashes fluttering against rose-dusted cheeks, mouth red and slick repeating curses under his breath.

And then Jack realizes how close Brandon really is. The way he tightens and pulses around Jack’s dick is enough to tell, but Brandon still warns him with a choked up, “Close…”

Brandon’s eyes snap open when Jack wraps his hand around Brandon’s dick. Jack’s hand has a strong, consistent grip, moves in time with Jack’s hips, and Brandon is grateful, so grateful he could cry. He tries to keep his eyes open, tries to keep his eyes on Jack, loves the way Jack watches him with soft blue eyes, pupils blown so wide the color is hardly present anymore. It’s too intense for a moment or two so he shuts his eyes again, lets himself get lost in the friction of the hand surrounding him, the girth of Jack’s dick just deep enough inside him.

And then he cums, feels himself pulsate around Jack’s dick, feels thick, hot stripes fall on his own chest, feels Jack’s hand as it slows with his thrusts, Jack’s thumb as it rubs the underside of the head of Brandon’s dick, careful not to overwhelm him.

Brandon forgets how to breathe for a moment, limp and relaxed and lost completely in post-orgasmic bliss. He snaps into a more aware state when he feels Jack’s hips falter, feels Jack start to pull away. Brandon whines, eyelids heavy, voice tired, arms weak as he struggles to hold on, struggles to pull. His voice is quiet and lazy, “Cum in me.”

Jack lets himself come closer to Brandon again, so they’re pressed together, Brandon’s legs wrapped loosely around him. He buries his face into Brandon’s neck, gently sucks and bites before he has to remind himself not to leave any marks. Brandon cries out, hypersensitive, probably still riding the last few waves of his orgasm. Jack thrusts slower, hardly moves anymore, hyperaware of how much more friction and heat there is now with Brandon still around him.

Jack is deep inside Brandon, buried to the hilt when he cums. He’s silent except for a groan he muffles against Brandon’s neck. He feels himself tremble as he spills into Brandon, feels the quiet, satisfied hum in the base of Brandon’s throat when Jack finally stills.

This is a mess, Jack thinks as he’s still on top of Brandon.

Ryan DeRobertis knows he falls in love far too easily. It’s a fact that makes him feel too vulnerable, but it is a truth he needs to accept whether he likes it or not. By now, it’s happened more times than he can count. He falls headfirst for any person that shows him the right type of affection, loves too hard in return, ends up hurt in the end. It sometimes makes Ryan think he’s too soft, the way he lets people in without them having to work for it. He falls out of love just as easily as he falls in, feels his lovers lose interest in him, decides to end it before he gets hurt again.

He swears it won’t happen again. Swears he won’t let anyone in unless they make an effort, makes a pact with himself to avoid falling for his future friends. His relationship with Love is a complicated one to say the least. Caught between two extremes, loving too much or not at all, it’s a tumultuous back and forth motion. Constant ups and downs in his mood reflect easily in his behavior, some of which becomes rash and impulsive. It scares people away, makes them lose patience with him. He ends up brokenhearted and alone, time and time again. Yeah, it sucks, but it makes for good songwriting.

When Ryan gets news of the tour, learns he’s opening as main support for Madeon, he vows he won’t let it happen. Not this time. Months ahead of the actual tour, he swears it won’t happen the way it has on previous tours. He won’t end up pining or crying alone in his bed late at night. He can’t let it happen. He won’t allow himself to fall.

The start of the new year brings the Pixel Empire tour with it. It brings a mixture of giddy excitement to Ryan when he remembers he’s the only supporting act officially listed on the bill. It pushes him to want to do his best. He wants to make a good impression on Hugo as well as the sold out crowds he knows are scheduled every night.

The west coast dates start just past the middle of January. The tour takes off to a seemingly rocky start, too. Ryan is often unsure of himself when in front of the crowds he knows he has to face each night, crowds which he feels might not receive him with as much eagerness as they do Hugo. He feels his voice crack sometimes, a reminder from the mild winter chill as it takes its toll on the region while they tour through it. He beats himself up for it late at night while the bus moves them from city to city, but occasionally he comes off the stage while feeling extremely insecure.

Every night, as Ryan comes back into the green room after his set, Hugo without fail greets him with a hug, a smile, a sparkle in his eyes, and something sweet along the lines of, “Ryan, that was amazing !” It’s a quite pleasant reminder to Ryan that he is, in fact, only one man and not a very perfect one, at that.

Ryan swears to himself daily that he won’t get attached like he did on tours before this. Swears he won’t let platonic affection and, in this case, French mannerisms sway his decision or the way he feels. Hugo makes it intensely difficult from the moment they meet, though. The way they meet in person leaves a lasting impression. Hugo takes Ryan’s hand, kisses him on both cheeks before they have a chance to really spark a conversation. Hugo makes it so difficult when they’re both up late, sleep deprived, delirious, and half drunk. So much harder when Hugo greets him every afternoon when they both emerge from their bunks. It gets complicated when Ryan feels the warmth creep up on his cheeks and ears after seeing that warm, radiant smile as soon as they awake. Even more complicated when they acquire an acoustic guitar Hugo proceeds to customize with his code alphabet while Ryan holds it steady in his own lap.

Ryan swears he won’t fall, but the ache in his chest warns him only a quarter of the way into the tour. It’s a true challenge when they sit pressed close together in the corner of a space they’re more than free to occupy, a challenge when Ryan plays the guitar softly and feels the hum of Hugo singing quietly as they lean on against one another. It’s worse when they take the late night acoustic sessions a step further. Take it to the people waiting long after the show is over and Hugo’s got his eyes on Ryan the entire time they play songs about longing and romance.

It’s an incredibly odd feeling to fall so suddenly. He knows he shouldn’t let himself fall like this. Knows the tour is only a month long and each day seems to fly by already. He can’t help it, though. Can’t help the way his heart speeds against his rib cage every time Hugo smiles, warm and happy, when Hugo looks directly at him and sings as they are completely alone. Can’t help but feel that maybe they’re both falling instead of just him for once.

One month into the year and halfway into the tour, Ryan DeRobertis is so sure that this is the best thing to ever happen to him. He knows this is the highlight of his life thus far and he’s not exactly sure why yet. He knows it’s too early in the year to tell, but there’s enough reason for him to firmly believe that nothing else will come close to this. No words can describe the way Ryan feels about it, but he knows the time on this tour has somehow put Ryan at ease, in a calm state of mind extremely rare to him before this. He doesn’t mind the feeling in his chest so much anymore, but maybe it’s because he’s grown used to it by now.

The night before Ryan’s birthday is a hotel night in San Antonio. They have two separate rooms, one next door to the other and it’s pointless that their teams to have booked them this way when they know Hugo and Ryan will end up in the same one. They boys are sleepy, tired of traveling, but Hugo insists they should stay up at least late enough to celebrate Ryan’s 23rd birthday.

Without a second thought, Ryan accepts and together they sit on one of the beds in their now shared hotel room with a bottle of vodka and several cans of Red Bull. They don’t even realize it’s past midnight until it’s half an hour past and they have enough alcohol in their systems to leave them with flushed faces and heavy tongues.

Ryan strums the strings of the acoustic guitar, the chords under his fingers form from muscle memory of playing them every night. Hugo hums along, places the melody where it should be. He clears his throat and laughs before he joins Ryan for the chorus, “You’ve got me under your spell. Baby, I couldn’t fall harder…”

Their voices are soft and nearly masked by the sound of the guitar, but still they carry the melody together. Ryan sits cross legged on the bed and hunches over slightly as he plays. He holds the guitar against his body before he decides to lie down flat on his back. Hugo joins him soon after, lies on his front, props his head up, rests his chin in the palm of his hand. He watches Ryan closely in quiet admiration, laughs along when Ryan loses the song on the fretboard.

Ryan chuckles, covers his face with both hands, and groans, “Sorry! I messed that up.”

Hugo exhales with a sheepish grin, “How drunk are you?”

Ryan glances at the clock on the bedside drawer, “More drunk than I should be at 23 years old.”

Ryan rolls over, faces Hugo as Hugo speaks matter of factly, “It could be much worse. You’re fine.”

Ryan drags his hand down the side of his face with a goofy smile, “You think so?”

Hugo nods, comes close enough that Ryan can smell the alcohol on his breath, “Mmhm. Happy Birthday.”

Ryan’s heartbeat returns to his ears so suddenly it momentarily deafens him. He can feel the heat creeping up on his face again and he’s not sure whether it’s the alcohol or the fact that Hugo’s suddenly close enough to kiss. Ryan tries to avoid eye contact as they lie there, but it’s impossible when they’re so close like this. He laughs nervously, intends to say thanks in return, but Hugo’s lips are on his before he can fully process it.

His pulse sounds like thunder, but he still hears the accidental strum of the guitar strings when Hugo carefully takes the instrument from his hands and sets it aside. Hugo climbs onto Ryan and straddles him, much too agile for someone that just polished off an entire bottle of vodka with him.

Ryan’s breaths are too quick, too loud for his own taste, and Hugo doesn’t make it any better. Hugo’s lips are hot when they brush against his, still slick from drinking, breath still sweet with Red Bull and candy from earlier. Ryan doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but the moment is too tempting, too heated to be afraid. Hugo closes the space between their mouths, gives Ryan a tentative kiss, only soft enough for their lips to click when they separate. Ryan slowly allows his hands to roam, one rests on Hugo’s lower back, attempts to be respectful. The other hand goes to the back of Hugo’s neck, tangles its fingers into his long curly hair, begs Hugo to come closer for another kiss.

Hugo draws a shaky breath when Ryan pulls him down a little and Ryan can feel it right against his mouth.

“Can I kiss you again?” Hugo whispers and the feeling sends a tingling sensation through Ryan’s whole body.

Ryan nods too quickly, desperate under Hugo, before he replies, “Please.”

Hugo’s lips come in contact with his again and this time it’s slower, but just as hot as the previous one. Long, passionate, the kiss leaves Ryan breathless. Hugo pulls away, nips and tugs at Ryan’s lower lip in between a series of kisses.

Ryan giggles a breathy, “Happy birthday, me…” before he pulls Hugo back down for more.

The crowd roars and cheers from all around them and the music blares loudly enough they can hardly hear one another over the volume of it all. Sajeeb can feel the bass in his chest, deep and strong and synchronized with the nervous heartbeat in his ears. He still has a knot in his throat from crying earlier, already easily overwhelmed by the entire range of emotions result of witnessing his best friend make his dreams come true to realizing he’s leaving the best year of his life behind. The ache of it all makes it hard to swallow and, for a moment, he feels like he might cry again. He wouldn’t mind it, though; it’s not a bad thing to cry over the good stuff in life.

The cold winter wind is harsh against his face and it forces him out of his mind and back into the scene right before him. The lights from the stage flash, bright pinks accompany softer purples in time with the music, and he can hardly believe he’s here yet another year with some of the people he loves most. He watches his friends with a big smile on his face and he can’t help but keep his eyes on Chris for a moment longer than the rest.

Chris dances in time to the music, black hair messy and trapped under the puffy hood of his jacket, body loose and happy, still on a residual adrenaline rush from his time on stage. Sajeeb watches him closely, feels the unadulterated joy Chris is experiencing when Chris comes over to him and wraps an arm around him. Sajeeb throws his arm across Chris’s shoulders, pulls him close enough for the faux fur on the hood of Chris’s jacket to tickle his nose, close enough to murmur against Chris’s ear, “I’m really proud of you.”

Chris backs away slowly, lets go of Sajeeb to face him instead, wide smile spreading across his face. “Thank you!” Chris shouts over the music with a quick laugh and Sajeeb feels his heart skip a beat.

Chris reaches forward and tries to take hold of Sajeeb’s arm, but only manages to grab at the puffy sleeve of his winter jacket. Chris loses his composure as he bends forward, places his hands on his thighs, and laughs loudly. Sajeeb joins in laughter briefly before Chris straightens up and beckons him forward, “Hey, come here!”

Chris embraces him, dances with him, swaying in the spot they stand together in. He tip toes and pulls Sajeeb down closer and adds, “I’m really proud of you too!”

Chris pulls away yet again, but still remains in front of Sajeeb. They dance together and Sajeeb swears the smile on his own face is the biggest he’s felt in all of 2016. And it makes sense. This weekend is memorable and absolutely amazing to say the least. It’s the stuff of dreams. From drinking together and laughing late into the night and waking up beside each other in the morning (sometimes afternoon), the memories they’re forming are worth the sleep deprivation and hangovers they are very sure to get.

The bite of the cold is harsh, the occasional frigid gust of air hits them surprises them every time it does so. Sajeeb looks up at the sky the next time the wind hits and he stares for a while at the stars, still dancing and smiling like before. He’s sure there’s no other place he’d rather be than in Tahoe and no other company he’d rather have than that of Chris and the rest of their friends. He closes his eyes, lets himself get lost in the moment, allows the happiness to finally overtake him completely. The feeling lasts through a song before someone shakes him to get his attention. Sajeeb slowly opens his eyes and is temporarily blinded by the brightness of the stage visuals. Sajeeb feels a warm hand close around his own cold one and sighs before he’s suddenly pulled forward.

Chris chirps excitedly, “Sajeeb, it’s almost midnight!”

Sajeeb licks his lips and follows the action with a smile, “It is!”

Chris links his arm with Sajeeb’s and it makes them laugh when the cushion of both their jackets prevents them from actually feeling the contact. Chris comes closer, leans against Sajeeb, rests his head on Sajeeb’s shoulder. Chris’s voice is slightly muffled by Sajeeb’s coat as he leans on it, but Sajeeb can still hear him. Chris’s voice is soft, words heartfelt and careful, “Thank you for this year.”

“Twenty! Nineteen… Eighteen…” A nearby group begins to chant in unison. Their voices trail off between numbers and, while it distracts Sajeeb for a few seconds, it isn’t enough to steal his attention from Chris.

Sajeeb replies softly, “Thank you for everything.”

The countdown hits ten and Chris jumps away just slightly. Sajeeb watches Chris as he jumps in time, watches while the crowd counts down the last few seconds of the year along with Odesza on the main stage. Sajeeb joins in and the ridiculous amount of happiness that makes the tears return to his eyes. He joins the countdown when there are five seconds left of the year. Chris reaches for Sajeeb’s hand again, grips it tight as they chant together, “Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The fireworks go off as the countdown hits zero and the clock strikes midnight. Bright flashes spark over their heads accompanied by the sound of one of their favorite songs. Sajeeb allows himself to cry for the second time that night and for the first time this year. Chris pulls on his hand again, points with the other, and cheers, “Sajeeb, look!”

Sajeeb blinks away the tears and sees the brightest smile he’s seen on Chris’s face yet. Chris stares in awe and wonder up at the fireworks, watches them as they rise into the dark gray sky, watches as they bloom in brilliant reds, yellows, blues. Sajeeb watches Chris closely and he swears his heartbeat grows quicker than before. Chris’s face is red from a combination of the cold and excitement and Sajeeb glances between that and the now blurry lights in the sky.

Gently, Sajeeb steps forward and takes Chris’s face in his cold-numbed hands. He softly brushes his thumb against the pink dusted across Chris’s cheek and Chris closes his eyes, leans into the touch. Sajeeb steps as close as he can, so they’re pressed together as much as space will allow, so close they’re breathing the same air.

“Happy New Year.” Sajeeb murmurs against Chris’s lips.

Chris smiles and Sajeeb closes the gap completely, presses his lips to Chris’s and it’s warm and inviting despite the cold weather and snow on the ground. Their lips move together, slow and gentle, and Sajeeb can still taste the sweet smile on Chris’s lips. Chris traps Sajeeb’s lower lip between his and they giggle together, let their lips glide before they break away. Chris wraps his arms around his boyfriend, rests his hands on the small of Sajeeb’s back.

Hugo knows this, though. He knows Porter dislikes being a tad shorter than Hugo is. Hugo even pokes fun at the American, teasing him and daring him to tiptoe just to meet his lips for kisses. Leclercq likes to hold those kisses just out of Porter's reach, only giving in when Porter pouts when he's had enough. 

Other times, Hugo waits just long enough for Porter to get impatient. Impatient to the point where Porter's face is dusted with a light blush from the sheer frustration of it all and those breaths are quiet little huffs of protest. He loves when Porter is so visibly annoyed at himself over that height difference. Porter hates the fact that he can't close that gap even when he stands on his toes.

Even then, it's no use that Porter battles with his balance and tries to be tall on his toes. Hugo easily defeats him once again because his toes take him just a bit higher and just out of Porter's reach once again.

And then, it takes another simple thought and it ends with Porter using his weight to pull Hugo down on top of him just to get that kiss.

-

The first time it happens, it's a total accident. It begins with Hugo teasing Porter, the younger man keeping kisses away from his boyfriend. Hugo gets a kick out of watching Porter struggle with the couple of inches that separate them height wise. Hugo smirks, knowing he has the real advantage and Porter whines because this definitely isn't fair at all. Hugo thinks there's no way that Porter can win (and if he does, it'll only be after a long fight). Porter is rather determined to win after a long day of trying to steal that kiss. 

It's in their bedroom at the end of the day where Porter is still trying his hardest to win that kiss and Hugo is still keeping it well out of Porter's reach. Porter is so close to meeting Hugo's lips with his own.

"Stop smirking at me. This isn't funny," Porter pouts and leans in, coming close but not quite enough.

Hugo laughs and runs his hand through the older man's fluffy locks, "How is it not ? Look at you !"

Porter sighs softly and pretends to give up only long enough to try and catch Hugo off guard. Porter bounces off the ground just slightly, hoping to get the satisfaction of earning that kiss, but Hugo is too quick and dodges him.

"You are the worst boyfriend ever." Porter whines.

Hugo's tongue is quick to reply, "And you are the cutest when you're upset !"

"Can't you just let me have this one for once? You're taller than me now. I get it." Porter complains, stopping everything he's doing.

Hugo stays still and raises an eyebrow at Porter, "Wow. You're giving up so soon ?"

"I don't seem to have another choice, do I?" Porter retorts while crossing his arms.

Hugo gives up and takes a seat at the foot of their bed and replies, "Okay. That's fine."

Porter sits right next to Hugo and exhales loudly. They both remain quiet as they sit next to each other. Though the silence is definitely short-lived.

"Hey, you know I love you, right ?" Hugo asks quietly, staring down at his feet. 

"I do. I love you, too." Porter replies with a small smile.

Silence falls once more and the two are left in it together again. Porter lets his hand wander until it rests on and holds Hugo's. Hugo tries fighting off a smile, but can't help it at all, his doe-eyed gaze meeting Porter's. 

Porter is quick and clever as he blindly takes a hold of the front of Hugo's shirt. With a cocky chuckle and a hushed murmur, Porter speaks right against Hugo's lips, "Gotcha."

Hugo's eyes watch Porter's face as best as he can from such a close distance and his eyelashes tickle his cheeks just slightly when he scans Porter's features up and down. The silly little curls at the ends of his lips make their appearance once again, "Are you sure about that ?"

Porter nods and pulls Hugo just the bit closer to smash their lips together. Hugo holds onto Porter tighter than to life itself and he whispers breathlessly in between kisses, "Very sure ?"

Porter breathes, hot and quick against Hugo's mouth, "Absolutely."

Hugo clicks his tongue in disagreement and stops fighting to stay upright. Instead, he climbs over his boyfriend, using the force with which Porter is pulling in order to conquer him. In a matter of a moment or a few, Porter's back hits the bed and Hugo's voice makes him shiver when he says, "Think again."

-

It's the first time that they switch roles and Porter Robinson is very nervous and afraid. Given, he gets nervous when he's about to be the one in control because he fears he's going to somehow hurt Hugo Leclercq (even if the chances of doing so are slim to none). He really wonders if the French boy is as anxious about it as he is, though by the looks of it, Porter is the only one that's scared.

Hugo tries his best to look as confident as he sounded the moment he took Porter over a little earlier. He hopes it doesn't show, but he is more nervous than he's really letting on. He kisses Porter and acts so sure of himself when doing so. Porter could probably see right through him if he weren't so into it all.

Hugo's touch is much too tentative but Porter enjoys it all the same. He enjoys the kisses, the trickling of fingertips across his skin after an article of clothing comes off, the whispered French phrases right in his ear. He's too busy enjoying it all that he can hardly reciprocate properly. All he can do is run his hands up and down Hugo's back, whisper quietly into each kiss to reply, and tangle his fingers in Hugo's hair. Hugo loves it all the same.

Hugo does really love it. He thinks he could maybe get used to this one day, though that is looking too far into the future. What really matters is what's happening now. The present is what really matters. The present where he has Porter lying underneath him, breathless and blushing and asking for more. The present is what matters and the present is definitely a bit surprising.

"Are you sure this is okay ?" Hugo asks permission of Porter.

Porter only sighs against Hugo's lips, nodding and then taking the younger man's lips in his own. 

Hugo hesitates and asks again to be very sure, "You're very sure ?"

Porter snaps at Hugo, "Hurry up and get to it and get in me before I change my mind."

Hugo can only find it in himself to giggle at Porter's response. "Where did you leave it ?"

Porter raises his eyebrow as he scoots up farther on the bed to make himself comfortable, "Leave what?"

Hugo shakes his head, still laughing softly, "The lube. Where is it ?"

Porter shoves a pillow underneath himself and lies back on it, a few of his bones popping in protest of his new position, "Ah. My side, bottom drawer."

Hugo leans forward and gives Porter a couple of chaste kisses before he reaches over to the nightstand and looks for the little bottle. It doesn't take too long to find it even if the contents of the drawer are a complete mess. Hugo fishes it out of its hiding place and returns to reclaim his position between Porter's legs.

Porter smirks, "I'm not gonna have to walk you through this, am I?"

Hugo pushes Porter's left thigh away and lightly slaps it, "Pft. You do realize I'm the one you do this to, right ?"

"I'm joking. I love you." Porter sits up to steal a kiss.

"I love you too, but shut up." Hugo replies with a smile as he flips open the cap on the bottle.

"Oh, okay." Porter gestures the zipping of his lips and then throws the invisible key away.

Hugo rolls his eyes while he warms the lube between his hands, "Don't start. You need to talk to me."

Porter nods, "I know, but hurry up."

Hugo uses his wrists to signal for Porter to open his legs a little wider, "Alright, now relax."

"Mmhm," Porter nods and relaxes against the pillows, keeping his sight on Hugo the entire time.

Porter stays still when Hugo reaches forward with his left hand and wraps it around Porter's cock. Porter tenses up at the touch and licks his lips to prevent himself from making a sound he deems embarrassing. His boyfriend pumps him once and again, repeating the process until Porter's whole body becomes limp with pleasure and until the older man is trying his hardest not to whine any louder.

Hugo brings himself forward and offers Porter a quick kiss before pulling away and squeezing more lube into the palm of his hand. Porter only watches as the viscous liquid pours, thick and clear, and collects in Hugo's hand. He swallows hard when Hugo puts the bottle aside; he’d be lying if he said he weren’t nervous.

“I’m putting one finger in.” Hugo states.

Porter meets Hugo’s gaze, nods, and watches as Hugo goes on. The first finger feels odd; foreign is a better way to describe it. Hugo presses it in slowly, only going at a pace Porter can handle and stopping when Porter’s body tenses up. The French boy is patient and he utters reassuring words under his breath. It takes a while, but Porter becomes accustomed to the sensation and even whines and asks for more.

Hugo gives him just that. The second finger slips in much easier than the first. Porter’s breath catches in his throat when both fingers reach their deepest in him. It takes a couple of moments before Hugo reacts and pulls them back out a bit, and carefully bends them upward. A shocked little moan escapes Porter’s lips when Hugo’s fingertips stroke across the surface of that sweet spot. Hugo smiles and does it a few more times before pausing and allowing Porter to rest.

Porter lies still with his boyfriend’s fingers resting inside of him and his own dick twitching slightly against his stomach. He feels pathetic being so out of breath so soon, but it feels too right to really complain.

Hugo stays still and watches Porter carefully. Watches as Porter closes his eyes, trembles slightly, and bites down on his lower lip. “Are you okay with another ?”

Porter nods and it’s only a moment later when Hugo reaches for the lube again. There’s hardly enough time for it to warm while it slips from Hugo’s palm down to his fingertips and Porter jumps at the sudden cold.

It’s slick and it’s messy, but the job gets done. Hugo carefully slips the third finger into Porter and it’s the tightest fit yet. Porter’s mouth hangs open the entire time and the most beautiful smile spreads onto his face when Hugo’s fingers finally stay still at Porter’s deepest. Porter covers his eyes with his arm and proceeds to sigh and whisper, “Fuck.”

Hugo smiles and questions, “Are you okay?”

Porter’s arm shakes when he pulls it away from his face and it reveals the most adorable blush, too. Porter fights off a sound between a laugh and a moan when he answers, “I’m marvelous…”

It doesn’t take too long before Porter decides that he’s had enough of Hugo’s fingers, though. He languidly beckons Hugo forward until their mouths are within a couple of inches of each other’s. Hugo leans in to complete the kiss and takes the opportunity to brush his fingertips right past Porter’s prostate for the last time tonight.

Hugo carefully pulls his fingers out of Porter, still kissing his boyfriend while doing so. Slowly, he positions himself right at Porter’s entrance. Only quietly he says, “I love you.”

Porter is easily overwhelmed by everything. It’s only until Hugo’s pressing in that Porter replies, “I love you, too.”

Porter holds onto Hugo as tight as he can, holds him close as if both their lives depend on it. He can feel the pressure of Hugo’s erection as it presses against his hole. Porter nearly shouts when he can feel the tightness of himself around Hugo when his entrance finally gives way.

The French boy rests his forehead against Porter’s and he whispers sweet nothings against those plump lips as he continues to inch into his boyfriend. Porter only mumbles strings of breathless curses and the occasional repetition of a hushed “I love you.”

Hugo starts off as slow as he can. He’s careful with the way he moves his hips and he makes sure not to thrust deeper than Porter can actually handle. It takes a couple of thrusts to get into the right rhythm, but he learns quickly.

Hugo learns that slow thrusts make Porter whine and complain and it makes Hugo smile because he absolutely adores the sound of the noises Porter can’t control. Hugo also learns that the quicker thrusts make Porter squeak quietly. Quick thrusts combined with kisses at Porter’s neck cause Porter to blush even harder than before and they make him gasp for air.

And when Hugo nearly comes to a halt from how slow he goes, Porter pulls him in closer, wraps his legs around Hugo, and whimpers because he needs the feeling to be constant, he needs more than just a frozen moment of intimacy.

"How are you feeling ?" Hugo smiles at Porter and runs his hand up and down Porter's torso.

Porter moves his hands, lightly drags his fingernails up the length of Hugo's back until he can rest his hands on Hugo's shoulders and nods.

Hugo pauses to giggle at Porter's response and murmurs, "You're really enjoying that, aren't you ?"

"K-keep going. Hurry." Porter's words trail off into small little groans.

Hugo chuckles again and picks the pace back up, starting to move his hips just the way he knows Porter will like, "Alright."

Hugo picks up slowly and Porter finds it a little bit too slow for his liking at first. He whines and whimpers and curses under his breath. He's tight around Hugo and the friction is almost unbearable as it is. Hugo hasn't quite met that sweet spot with a thrust yet. Perhaps Hugo hasn't found it yet or maybe he's holding off on purpose. Either way, Porter doesn't quite know. He just lets out a frustrated sigh and then he bites down on his lower lip when his cock gives another twitch.

Hugo watches Porter closely when he gradually speeds up. He watches as Porter's chest and face fill with that darker, rosy hue. He can hear the way Porter's breaths break apart and the way those quiet sounds get caught in his throat. And when he goes noticeably quicker, he can see the way Porter's chest bounces with each thrust and the way his cock leaks precum onto his stomach.

Porter just knows he's stretched almost too tight around Hugo. He knows he's ridiculously hot around him too. His whole body is on fire and Hugo's only fueling the sensation further when he speeds up some more. A look at Hugo's face is enough to tell him he's not alone in feeling as if he's right about to finish.

Hugo doesn't know how Porter handles this on a regular basis. Feeling the tight, hot, slickness that comes with each thrust. Having the sight of a completely wrecked but beautiful boy right beneath him. Hearing the mumbled string of curses and phrases that stop making sense halfway through.

Hugo thinks he can definitely get used to it. He can definitely get used to Porter pulsating around him. To the sound of Porter whimpering and moaning softly. To the feeling of Porter's hands resting at the nape of his neck. He can get used to the sound of his hips hitting Porter's ass on an inward thrust. To Porter's lips, glossy and red from all of the licking and biting. To kissing Porter's wet lips and feeling a strand of saliva connecting them when he pulls away. He can get used to all of it.

Porter pulls Hugo down for another kiss and whines quietly into it, "Fuck. Harder."

Hugo raises his eyebrow at his boyfriend, but obeys his request. Hugo fucks into him a bit quicker and with more force. Oh, the sound that he pulls from Porter in the process... It fills his body with goose bumps like nothing else. And he smiles when he feels Porter's legs wrapping around him and kisses him when he feels Porter's hips rocking slowly to meet Hugo's thrusts.

Hugo whispers throughout the kiss, "You're doing so well, babe."

Porter pulls away and smiles, running his tongue across his lower lip before lifting his hands away from Hugo's shoulders and carding through the French boy's hair. Porter lets his hands fall lower and he uses them to caress Hugo's neck and chest. 

Hugo manages to catch Porter's hand and he keeps it steady in his. He holds it and kisses it gently. And when Porter is least expecting it, Hugo pushes that hand down, brings it over the top of Porter’s head, and pins it against the sheets. Porter releases a tiny suppressed sigh when Hugo does the same with Porter’s other hand.

Porter arches his back and the slight change is enough to alter the angle of Hugo’s thrusts. Hugo’s cock brushes right against Porter’s prostate this time and Porter can’t even prevent a loud, pleased sob from leaving his mouth.

Porter’s whole body trembles and his breaths come out in staccato huffs and puffs. His grip on Hugo’s hands tightens and his stomach and chest rise and fall each time he breathes. He lets his head loll to the side and he rests it on the pillow before letting his mouth fall open with an especially loud moan when Hugo hits that sweet spot a little harder than before.

A few thrusts are all it really takes. Just a few thrusts to bring Porter closer than he’s ever been before. A few thrusts make him leak more precum onto his stomach and a few more thrusts and the arching of his back make it streak across his chest. Porter bites down on his lower lip and tries to stifle the moans getting caught at the back of his throat, though he ultimately fails at doing so.

And Hugo only watches in wonder and brings his hips against Porter’s somewhat harder and faster than before. He can watch Porter blush a bit more and he can groan along with his boyfriend when Porter’s hole tightens around Hugo again and again.

Then, Porter nearly shouts it. Nearly shouts, though the lack of air in his lungs prevents him, so it’s the next best thing, “Close!”

Porter whines and releases a few quiet sobs when Hugo speeds up his movements. He whimpers a bit more when Hugo places a kiss or two on his cheek and another couple on the side of his neck. Hugo whispers just as breathless as his boyfriend, “I’m right here with you.”

Porter sighs, “I know. Ah! I love y-you.”

“I love you too,” Hugo whispers and prepares to quicken the pace of his hips even a bit more.

Hugo can feel the heat rising in both of their bodies and he can feel Porter struggling to keep himself together. He can hardly keep his thrusts in the correct tempo and his motions are erratic instead of precise. Porter pulsates around him and he cries out Hugo’s name. He smiles and lets his mouth fall open as he watches Porter lose control of himself. In that moment, he realizes his name sounds the sweetest when said in the American accent and when it’s punctuated with tiny whimpers and breathless sighs.

A few more moments are all they need. A few more moments to have the time to push Porter right over the edge. It’s a few more moments when they share a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. A few more moments for Porter to let go without even meaning to.

Porter tightens around his boyfriend and falls apart before Hugo’s eyes. One last brush of Hugo’s dick against that sweet spot has Porter whimpering as he spills all over himself. Porter murmurs, repeating himself, “I’m sorry…”

Hugo lets go of Porter’s hands and holds on to Porter’s face, brushes the messy brown locks, and hardly speaks above a whisper, “Shh it’s okay. You’re perfect.”

Porter pulls Hugo close and kisses him, gasping when he feels that foreign heat inside of him. The two hardly have any space between them, but it’s okay because they don’t need it anyway.

They stay like this together and share lazy kisses as they come down. And when their breaths are steady and they manage to come apart, they lie right next to each other and laugh at themselves a bit.

-

He looks forward to the colder months of the year. He looks for the days where the nights grow longer and where the days are shorter. He longs for the lower temperatures in the weather and the company of a certain individual that winter brings to his bed during the holidays. 

He won't admit it, but his favorite thing about the colder part of the year is having more free time than he knows how to spend. The season guarantees them both some time away from their usual environment and provides a much needed break. A break that brings cold weather and calls for sweaters and copious amounts of coffee and other hot drinks to stay warm. The break allows them to be together after so long of being away.

Hugo Leclercq is always the first to wake. Regardless of what time of year or even time of day, it is fact that the French boy wakes first. He has a complicated relationship with the process of sleep. He likes being awake, caffeinated enough to make it through several days without sleep. Sleep, he finds, distracts from his creative cycle; it impedes productivity and renders one useless for eight hours daily. Though forcing himself to stay awake for so long eventually causes him to fall into a sleep long enough to make up for all that he deprived himself of. It never fails. 

And, well, there are other times when creative flow is little to none and productivity is virtually nonexistent. Those times, he lies awake, stuck in thought with a melody in his head to try and work around with everything else. There's that awful reminder when he lies in his single bed in France and he doesn't want to have to sleep in it on his own. Sometimes, that loneliness is what keeps him awake. 

Perhaps he avoids sleep in order to avoid waking up alone in the morning (or whenever it is that his body decides to wake up). 

Sleep. 

It can be a wonderful thing. 

It surprises him when he does succumb to sleep. It surprises him even more when sleep brings good dreams. He’s rather stubborn when it comes to sleep. Though, admittedly, his favorite thing in the world is actually opening his eyes after a restful night and finding his lover lying next to him in bed.

On most mornings, Hugo Leclercq is the first to wake up. This particular morning, Hugo stays true to his habit.  It's a sunny day, but the cold air still nips at his skin. He groans sleepily and releases a happy little sigh as he turns around under the sheets. The sun pours into the room, onto the bed, and brings warm rays of light to his face. He moves around until he finds a comfortable way to lie and he finds he's most comfortable when he's got sight of Porter Robinson.

Hugo watches him with a smile on his face. He thinks Porter is the most precious thing. Porter looks absolutely ridiculous when he sleeps. His hair is a ruffled, tangled mess. His face pressed to the pillow, cheek squished right to the white pillowcase, mouth hanging open just slightly. He doesn't even have to look closer in order to know that Porter's probably got drool all over the side of his face. 

Hugo chuckles under his breath. He knows how much Porter dislikes it when Hugo pays close attention to small details, but he can't help it. Hugo almost wants to get up and take a picture, but knows he probably shouldn't. He figures he'll preserve this memory in his own mind instead.

Hugo watches Porter for a while more. He lies awake under the covers and rests his head on his pillow. He even adjusts himself a couple of times in hopes of falling asleep if for a while longer, but each attempt is in vain. He doesn't mind, though. He's quite enjoying the morning and he's enjoying watching his lovely boyfriend, too.

He watches until the sleep fades away from Porter's face. Until sleepy little groans begin to escape Porter's lips and his eyelashes flutter enough to tickle the skin on his cheeks. Hugo allows him to wake a little bit more, allows sleep to retreat almost fully until it leaves only Porter's disheveled appearance and that husky morning voice.

Hugo smiles when those big brown eyes meet his and he quietly whispers, "Hey."

Porter crinkles his eyes shut and he smiles back before replying with an equally soft spoken, "Hi."

Hugo reaches over with a careful hand and cards his spindly fingers through Porter's messy hair, "Good morning, gorgeous !"

Porter chuckles, tries to hide the blush on his face, and half buries his face into his pillow when he gives a sheepish reply, "Good morning!"

Hugo's hand goes from Porter's hair to his face and then speaks while his eyes wander around and take in the sight. There's a smile hiding behind his voice. It's subtle but it's there, "I can't believe you're actually here."

"Why is that?" Porter murmurs softly.

Hugo hums and then replies, "I'm not so sure, but it's incredible and I'm just really happy you're here."

"I'm happy to be here with you, Hugo."

"This isn't a dream, right ? This is real life ?"

"It's all real."

Hugo smiles, inches in closer, and nuzzles his face into Porter's chest. His favorite thing about this has to be Porter's warmth. Right after that comes Porter's scent, which is a faint combination of Old Spice, a hint of cinnamon, and something else Hugo can't quite figure out. All he knows is that the scent means home. He is safe and sound right where he is and right against Porter's chest.

Porter smiles when he feels Hugo's lips press a kiss against his chest. He wraps his arms around Hugo and pulls him closer and holds him tight. Hugo sighs against Porter's chest and smiles before placing another kiss on Porter's skin.

Porter thinks that if perfection exists, then this is definitely it. Waking up in bed the next morning and being there with the one he loves.

-

Hugo can say he looks forward to winter for the weather or for the time it grants him away from non-stop touring. He can say he enjoys the cold weather because it gives him an excuse to sleep more than he's used to or because he can drink larger quantities of coffee. He can say it's because of time he can spend with friends and family or the warm baked goods that come out of family gatherings. He can say it's all of the typical reasons to love winter, but he'd be lying if he did. 

He'd be lying because none of those things are his favorite about winter. Not on their own, anyway. 

None of those things are his favorite about winter. None of them at all (save for maybe the warm, freshly baked cookies).

They're only his favorite things when he's got someone to share it all with. 

Waking up late after sleeping in is only his absolute favorite when Porter Robinson is lying next to him when he opens his eyes. 

Cold weather is only fun when he can curl up much closer to Porter and steal from the body heat he provides even when they don't have blankets pulled over them. After all, cold weather is his favorite excuse to avoid using a blanket altogether and find a reason to cuddle up with Porter on the couch.

A winter free of shows is only best when they can spend it together, only good when they can sit around with one another all day and not feel guilt over having accomplished absolutely nothing. 

Winter is utterly bitter sometimes, but only when it comes along all on its own. Outside of that, it's definitely sweet.

It brings about a certain laziness that they can't and won't fight off. It brings all-nighters and hours on end of watching movies and shows, and it brings holiday versions of their favorite drinks and snacks. It brings the need to drink coffee to really warm up and awake in the mornings rather than for the sole purpose of caffeine dosage.

Winter brings sleepy smiles in the morning before that first cup of coffee has even been thought of. It brings even sleepier touches of one’s lips against the other, only nice and slow. It brings a bout of giggles from Hugo Leclercq's lips and right against Porter Robinson's.

Winter has the reputation of being the perfect way to bring an end to things, a coldness that closes the year with loneliness and puts a halt to most of the life in the branches outside of their windows. 

Hugo and Porter find something else in the cold weather of the short winter days. Comfort and warmth away from the rest of the world, shut off from the chill of the wind and the lack of sun in the sky. The season should be depressing, but it's really anything but that.

They find love, warmth, happiness in the free time that this portion of the year brings them. Their present position really brings them joy, but also reminds them of earlier days.

It reminds Leclercq of the temperatures that drop into the lowest parts of the thermometer and the rain trickling down the outside of his bedroom window back in France.

It reminds Robinson of the freezing weather and the occasional snowfall back home. It reminds him of the days spent hiding under his blanket, waiting for Hugo to sign in, waiting for them to talk, if even for a bit.

The cold weather brings memories that they're both quite fond of, though it's the distance of which neither of them were or are keen on.

They're both reminded of a time when they were on two sides of the world, an ocean and several hours’ worth of time zones in between them. They both remember just how impossible everything seemed back then. 

It all seemed so impossible.

Making the right music, finally meeting each other, traveling the world...

It felt impossible, but here they are many years later: defeating the impossible together.

Because nothing else matters. Not the obstacles, anyway. Nothing except for the moment between them. The moment they share at night when sleep is heavy on their eyelids and the moment they share in the morning, tangled in the bed sheets and one another, slowly fighting the sand from their eyes and the lead away from their bodies.

If Hugo has a favorite moment, it's definitely this one. The one where he wakes with a smile and stretches with a quiet little groan. The one where he feels the slight prickle of Porter's facial hair when the older man rests his chin against Hugo’s shoulder, or the moment when he feels Porter's chest against his back. The moment when he yawns and sighs quietly before carefully rolling over until he's nestled comfortably against Porter's chest. But he especially loves that short moment when Porter continues to pretend that he's asleep, the moment when sleep is still heavy in those big, droopy, brown eyes. And the goofy smile that sneaks onto Porter's face when Hugo leans in and surprises him with a kiss to his neck.

And if Porter has a favorite moment, he might as well agree with Hugo. Actually, it's probably a tie. There are three different moments if he has to pick, though any moment he spends with Hugo is just as special to him. 

Porter loves the moment when they both collapse, tangled together in a breathless heap. He loves the moment when Hugo sighs happily and tries to catch his breath before they fall asleep. Porter loves listening to the tiny little whimpers that slip past Hugo's lips and he loves listening to the way Hugo's breaths steady and quiet down into quick, shallow breaths and the occasional snore or two. He loves it when they fall asleep together when they're far too tired to stay awake much longer. He loves pulling Hugo closer, kissing the back of his neck, and smiling at the tiny shiver that shakes Hugo slightly from head to toe. He loves when they fall asleep that way. All of those things are lovely and Porter is glad that he can experience them from time to time and as often as the universe will allow.

But, much like Hugo, his favorite moment is that one in the morning. The one moment where he's awoken by Hugo's squirming. He doesn't even mind it. In fact, he welcomes it and it makes him smile. He often pretends that he's asleep just for a while longer. He knows Hugo grows impatient when he's the first to wake. Porter lies still and listens to the small, sleepy groans and the huffy but content sighs that come from the younger man. It doesn't take long for Porter to break character.

Not too long at all.

When Hugo turns around to bury his face in Porter's chest, it's all over. The soft kiss and a small whisper of a French word or two against his skin is all it takes for Porter to really fall apart. Porter starts to fall apart when he smiles and he tries to keep himself together to maybe trick Hugo for just a bit longer. Though, it's difficult to deceive the French boy. Another gentle kiss on Porter's neck elicits a sound that's between a laugh and a groan and Porter gives up completely.

Sleepy mornings are their favorite.

Sleepy morning kisses.

- It's a cold winter morning when he wakes up to the fragrant scent of coffee creeping on in the air throughout the bunker. He figures that it's probably Sam that's back from his morning run, but he finds out otherwise when he rolls around in bed and finds the other side is empty. Since permanently moving back into the bunker, Cas has been on this whole coffee-making kick. He tries different methods to make it each time until he finds a taste that he enjoys. He tries as many ways as he can think of, but he finds that grinding the beans before brewing them is his preferred approach. He finds that, this way, the flavor comes out best. And this is the way he decides to make it. He perfects his way of coffee making, and masters the art of brewing the perfect cup. He even figures out how Dean takes his coffee and then he memorizes that, too. It's cold winter mornings that wake him early. He knows Dean needs his four hours (although he's sleeping longer now that Cas is back home). Castiel sometimes still has a bit of trouble getting into the routine of needing sleep, though he's better about it now. It's just that the winter air is cold and it wakes him up. Dean says it's because Cas is a morning bird. Cas assures that he's not family to anything of the avian variety. Dean only laughs.

Good ol' Cas. Dean's glad that Cas is able to sleep, though. Even if it does take Castiel a bit to finally succumb to sleep. Cas likes to fight it. Sometimes he forgets that he actually needs sleep, food, water, etc., so it's a good thing that Dean is there to remind him. And Cas gets cold easily, so it's a good thing that Dean is also there to keep him warm. Dean rolls over onto his back and groans when several of his bones pop as he stretches. He lets his arm flop onto the right side of the bed. The warmth left by Cas still lingers behind and Dean knows that Cas hasn't been out of bed too long. Dean finds himself smiling and he figures he'll get out of bed and join Cas in a couple more minutes. He dreads lifting the covers on freezing mornings like these. He wonders how in the hell Cas manages to get used to it so early and, better yet, how he manages to roll out of bed without allowing the cold to creep in and disturb Dean. Dean lifts the covers and a surge of frigid air surrounds him more suddenly than he expects. He hisses at the cold and places his feet into his slippers before trudging off to find his Men of Letters robe. He figures it's too cold and far too early to take a hot shower only to be licked by the frozen air immediately after getting out, so he avoids that trouble for now. He finds his robe and slips it on one arm at a time before he ties the sash around his waist. He yawns and walks lazily down the hallway toward the main room. Dean walks out into the common area and finds that it's empty. He hears noise coming from the kitchen and he only assumes that Cas is in there making coffee. Dean still remembers the last time he interrupted Cas during his morning coffee ritual. Dean can still remember exactly how Cas reacted to an interruption. So, he leaves the man to his coffee because he knows how the ex-angel gets if he starts his day without it. And though the experience is rather funny now, it wasn't so pleasant in that moment, especially not the way Castiel yelled at him. It makes Dean chuckle now, but he knows better than to make the same mistake twice. It takes a while, but Dean understands that Cas needs to take his time, just as Cas knows that Dean sometimes prefers to take his long showers all alone. When Castiel finally emerges from the kitchen, he comes into sight holding two different cups. "Good morning, Dean." Cas' gravelly morning voice echoes softly throughout the open space. Dean clears his throat and replies, "G'morning Cas. Sam not back from his run yet?" "No." Cas answers. "Sam left for his morning activities not much after I awoke." Castiel joins Dean in the next room and takes a seat at the table in the chair next to Dean's. It's not until then that Dean notices Castiel's odd choice in attire. Cas has his own Men of Letters robe, as they all do. It's perfectly comfortable and provides just the right amount of warmth for a cold winter day, yet Cas refrains from wearing it half the time. (It seems that Dean is the only one not unfazed by the idea of wearing a robe that belonged to someone that's long since passed on). However, Cas does decide to wear it when Kevin and or Sam are spending time with them. Though it really is a bit of a strange sight, Dean finds it oddly attractive. When they're at home at the bunker or when they have free time, Castiel layers more articles of clothing than the Winchesters themselves. He gets cold easily; at least that's what he tells Dean, anyway. So the sight of Cas wearing only an oversized sweater is definitely a surprise. Either way, Dean can't keep his eyes off Cas. Winters in Lebanon, Kansas are particularly cold, especially in the early hours of the day and the latest hours of the night. It only surprises Dean seeing just how comfortable Cas looks in so very little when he can feel his own jaw aching to keep the teeth in his mouth from chattering. Yet, Cas sits there quietly sipping away at his mug of coffee and he sits while the drink warms him from the inside out. Dean only drinks along with his ex-angel and watches as Cas closes his eyes and lets the warmth engulf him. Castiel doesn't open his eyes until he's done with his first cup of coffee. Then, Dean offers to bring him more. Dean returns with a cup full of coffee just the way Cas likes it. They don't speak at all while Cas slowly sips away at his second mug of coffee. Dean only watches the ex-angel closely, watches as the warm drink brings comfort to that troubled, scruffy face. Dean rests his free hand on the table and eventually moves it to his own thigh. He watches Cas' lips as they hold the rim of the cup and slowly take more of the hot liquid in. And when Castiel sets his cup down, Dean makes the decision to move his hand elsewhere.