Caleb is surprised that he wakes first, and then he isn't. He knows he was asleep a little over eight hours, but as tired as he'd been, Yussa was really worn out. By him. In a very enjoyable way. That memory brings a sleepy smile to his lips and a warm spark to other places. Stretched out languidly in his lover's bed with the man himself still curled in comfortable sleep against his chest, he is content for a blissful span of roughly a minute and a half.
Then he remembers.
Fuck. He is a fucking idiot.
He wasn't thinking. His tongue got ahead of his brain, and of course he had to give away one of the few things with the potential to upset this whole arrangement--something he desperately does not want to lose. Why can't he just be grateful that he gets to have mornings like this at all? It's greedy, this desire for more. Why is he never satisfied?
After successfully avoiding the subject of his blunder in favor of several rounds of very enjoyable and creative sex, he'd had some hope that maybe they were past it. But Yussa had referenced it again, drowsy and addled. Not just once, but twice. He didn't forget. Perhaps he'd even meant it, in some way. The bittersweet ache Caleb is so familiar with constricts his lungs as he remembers the soft murmur of Yussa's voice telling him to stay.
As the light of a clear coastal morning brightens the archmage's bedroom, Caleb stares at the ceiling and thinks. He should apologize. If he gets it out of the way and reassures Yussa that he knows it was silly, perhaps they can avoid a longer conversation they would both find uncomfortable, and move on to forgetting it ever happened. That seems reasonable.
He's able to spend more than twenty minutes dissecting this problem from every angle before he feels Yussa begin to stir against him with the first signs of wakefulness. Despite a swirl of conflicting emotions, Caleb can't help but be captured by the ordinary beauty of a moment like this. How lucky he is that some days, he gets to watch the man he loves wake up in his arms. Looking on fondly, his hand rubs slow and soothing up and down Yussa's back, and he tips his chin down to kiss the top of his head in a silent greeting, knowing the elf will be too groggy for words for a few minutes yet. When one rarely sleeps, he would guess that waking up must be a uniquely disorienting experience.
no subject
Then he remembers.
Fuck. He is a fucking idiot.
He wasn't thinking. His tongue got ahead of his brain, and of course he had to give away one of the few things with the potential to upset this whole arrangement--something he desperately does not want to lose. Why can't he just be grateful that he gets to have mornings like this at all? It's greedy, this desire for more. Why is he never satisfied?
After successfully avoiding the subject of his blunder in favor of several rounds of very enjoyable and creative sex, he'd had some hope that maybe they were past it. But Yussa had referenced it again, drowsy and addled. Not just once, but twice. He didn't forget. Perhaps he'd even meant it, in some way. The bittersweet ache Caleb is so familiar with constricts his lungs as he remembers the soft murmur of Yussa's voice telling him to stay.
As the light of a clear coastal morning brightens the archmage's bedroom, Caleb stares at the ceiling and thinks. He should apologize. If he gets it out of the way and reassures Yussa that he knows it was silly, perhaps they can avoid a longer conversation they would both find uncomfortable, and move on to forgetting it ever happened. That seems reasonable.
He's able to spend more than twenty minutes dissecting this problem from every angle before he feels Yussa begin to stir against him with the first signs of wakefulness. Despite a swirl of conflicting emotions, Caleb can't help but be captured by the ordinary beauty of a moment like this. How lucky he is that some days, he gets to watch the man he loves wake up in his arms. Looking on fondly, his hand rubs slow and soothing up and down Yussa's back, and he tips his chin down to kiss the top of his head in a silent greeting, knowing the elf will be too groggy for words for a few minutes yet. When one rarely sleeps, he would guess that waking up must be a uniquely disorienting experience.