After a night of ravenous love-making. (Ignore the title. I am so tired.)
"Mm, wha?" Andrew mumbles. The last few seconds of a car horn trickle into his ear, undeniably the source of his rude awakening. Andrew brings his eyelids closed in an attempt to block the steady flow of light streaming through a familiar window.
He rolls over--appreciating the feel of the taut cotton sheets on his bare torso--until he is properly on his side and able to face the figure lying next to him. Still asleep, Jesse's brow is furrowed and his chapped lips slightly parted. His diaphragm moves up and down, slowly and rhythmically. Andrew could set a watch to that boy's breathing patterns.
Still groggy, Andrew habitually runs a hand through his hair, matted and tangled. Memories of the previous night begin to surface. A tiny, not totally unrelated smile begins to emerge on Andrew's face.
Jesse mutters consistently in his sleep. But this one Andrew knows as his about-to-wake-up-and-then-blink-rapidly-in-confusion-before-finally realizing-what-happened-eight-hours-ago-expression.
"Hello," the newly awakened one yawns, thrusting his wrists in the air in a strange imitation of a stretch. Andrew doesn't blink.
Jesse proceeds to somehow get out of the ever so comfortable bed and make his way to the doorway. The light filters through the window, dancing on his bare shoulders. Andrew's gaze never falters. "Do you want me to pour you some cereal?" Jesse asks, turning around slightly to lean on the frame of the door.
Andrew props his head on his bent wrist and looks up at Jesse. "No," he says, raising a playful eyebrow. Jesse looks hesitant, weighing his level of hunger and his urge to appease Andrew.
With a resigned shrug Jesse begins to chassé over to the bed. A cat nested on the floor interrupts his ironic dance attempts, precipitating a trip and stumble onto the bed followed by a groan.
"Stop grinning," Jesse orders, reorganizing his limbs into a sitting position that is quickly ruined by Andrew's outstretched arms.
"C'mere," Andrew says, his eyes closed and his voice still scratchy from grogginess. This shouldn't be so appealing to Jesse, but it is. And so he allows himself to be enveloped into Andrew's arms, his especially outlined muscles, skin against skin in an embrace that feels more natural than breathing. These are the purely perfect mornings, the ones that are made so not despite his clumsiness but rather because Andrew tolerates it, encourages it, appreciates it. The mornings when the two can just appreciate each other's existence, putting the questions aside for the afternoon.
"I love you, you know," Andrew murmurs into Jesse's unruly curls. Jesse can feel a playful smile pressing onto his forehead.
"You're half asleep," Jesse replies, ever the realist. He adjusts his feet so that they can nestle under the red comforter at the foot of the bed.
"That doesn't change anything," Andrew counters, taking Jesse's fingers and entwining them with his own.
