#veson

Vera swipes away the sweat and the damp bangs stuck to his forehead, pushes them back only for them to flop back down a second later, and he groans wearily; whoever said that summer is the season must be a masochist because this is nothing short of torture.

32° degrees and counting, scorching glory of late July. If he's being honest, biting a bullet sounds more fucking appealing by now than enduring another day like this.

(But it is pretty outside, that he can't deny, obscured by the gray trail of the cigarette smoke though his vision might be. The trees are bright green. The flowerbeds are abundant and vibrant. The people faring better under the burning sunlight are smiling, happy.

He can't be mad about that. So, admittedly, there are good sides to the season too.)

Another one being: the familiar presence emerging at his back. Mason's hand grasps Vera's hip, gently moving him aside to make room for himself by the open window. Vera offers him the cigarette half-smoked, but Mason turns it down with a shake of his head.

"Got bored of the dark bedroom?" Vera asks.

Mason kisses his teeth, a sharp but subtle sound. "Not much to do in there without you."

No smirk or grin follows. Just the simple statement, at which Vera nods.

"Did the cold shower help?" He nods at the dark, still wet waves descending down Mason's shoulders, the few drops of water running from them.

"Bit, yeah," a tired huff, and then nothing.

Vera leans against him, and whether it is a conscious decision or not, Mason lets his head loll to the side enough for his cheek to rest against the top of his head.

"S'fucking hot," Vera mutters after a moment. Mason scoffs a laugh, deep and a little rough, worn.

"Don't have to tell me."

They both chuckle weakly. After two more drags, Vera puts out the cigarette.

"It's pretty though."

"Sure."

Another faint wind rustles the leaves of the trees nearby. Somewhere below them, on the street, someone laughs.

"Wanna go back to bed?" Vera asks, turning his face up to nuzzle against Mason's cheek, presses one light kiss there. His skin feels much cooler, fresher, compared to his own. Must be the shower.

Mason hums quietly, leaning down more to reach Vera's lips. Licks the lower one lazily between his own, guiding them into a languid, feeble kiss that tastes of salt and smoke.