#birdfeeding

Nicer Than the Sunshine

These times were the best. When you and him were off from work the next day. When Peter would come home from hero works late and you were there, waiting for him on the shared apartment’s fire escape. A bottle of cheap champagne and cheaper whiskey ready for the two of you to enjoy.

It would be an absurd time to be drinking, 2:00 am or something close to it. He would see you from a distance and no matter how tired he was, excitement would flood his bones. Making him feel a rush of adrenaline only his boyfriend could give him. Only you could give him. It would make his whole body tremble with excitement and anticipation.

He’d land rather ungracefully on the flight of stairs you were sitting by and practically jump onto you, frantically pressing his lips to yours like a thirsty man to a well. Then you’d put a hand on his chest and gently push him back.

“You know I love you in spandex but go change and shower before someone sees.” You’d chuckle.

And since he’s so goddamn desperate for you he’ll hop through the window and shower as quick as humanly possible. He’ll put on sweatpants and one of your sweatshirts because it’s cold outside and he’ll run back out into your arms.

He’d cup your face gently and kiss your lips like he was committing them to memory. You’d grin, pull the cork off of the champagne bottle and take a swig. Then hold it out for him to drink some; he’d gladly accept. You’d drink again and he’d connect your lips and you’d spit the fizzy intoxicating liquid into his mouth.