Waking up is a slow, warm, languid thing. It's emerging from one dream only to find yourself within another, sighing and stretching and pressing into blissful comfort. It's peace in the truest definition of the word.
Grace's return to consciousness feels like floating in warm syrup. Sensation returns gradually, the slip of sheets against Grace's bare skin and the firmness of a body beneath his. There's an arm wrapped around Grace's waist, firm and fast in its possession as Grace sprawls atop the other man.
Grace sighs, pressing his face into Simon's neck and drawing in a slow breath. His lungs are flooded with the scent of iron and shared shampoo, a clean musk that makes the anxious critter in Grace's mind settle every single time. Not that Grace is anxious right now— Grace can think of little other than the rise and fall of the broad chest beneath his, a calloused hand lazily tracing the knobs of Grace's spine.
Neither of them speak. They're both awake, content to simply luxuriate in the undemanding presence of the other. Their bedroom is lit by a sunrise just as sleepy as the pair, reds and oranges falling over blankets deemed favorite enough to earn a place on their bed.
The hand fluttering over Grace's back disappears, an action that begins to earn a protest before Simon is slipping his hand into Grace's hair. Simon drags his nails along Grace's scalp, twisting through soft strands of gold with a practiced ease that makes Grace purr with contentment.
Simon chuckles as Grace drags his cheek along Simon's collarbone, stubble scraping over soft skin in sleepy delight. Simon continues his ministrations, movements sluggish but no less affectionate as the pair gradually wake with the rising sun.
Grace lets one of his hands wander along the side of Simon's ribcage that he can reach, the tips of Grace's fingers trailing over the thin material of a borrowed shirt and finding the dips and divots where flesh softens between bone. Simon grumbles above him, a half-hearted protest pressed to the top of Grace's head.
Grace giggles sleepily, delighting in the reaction of the other man enough to redouble his efforts. Grace is intentionally light with how he skirts his fingers up Simon's side, grinning into Simon's neck when the man jolts beneath him.
"Quit that." Simon mumbles, voice hoarse with disuse. He sounds far from displeased, more of a fond protest for the sake of protestation as his nails dip to scratch at the nape of Grace's neck.
The placation works easily, Grace dropping his hand and humming as he leans into the gentle touch. Simon makes a small, pleased noise, clearly delighting in how pliable Grace became when lavished with enough affection and Grace is far from complaint.
Simon ducks just enough to press his lips to the top of Grace's head. A smile blooms across Grace's face, a delight so pure and simple and raw with affection that it makes Grace feel like his chest is going to burst.
Grace lifts a hand, blindly flailing as he reaches back until his hand knocks against Simon's own. Simon huffs a laugh as Grace's fingers wriggle in demand, obligingly lacing their hands and giving Grace's a soft squeeze before letting them fall to rest against Grace's back. They sigh in mutual contentment, so little said but everything understood.
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