With a finger in his ear and his head cocked to the side to shake out the water from his shower, he leaned against the sliding door, watching me. His eyes were the colour of the ocean after a storm, the green making his skin glow like the day fighting the night for one more hour. His towel clung onto a stomach I had only ever dreamt of until the night before, where I had lingered and known with the enthusiasm of a child with his first Meccano set. The morning cupped the droplets that rolled slowly off his chest until the rising heat kissed them off, and my peripheral noted that all the neighbours were still in bed. He grinned when he caught me looking at him and, in cheeky response, adjusted himself.
"So what do you rate it?"
“Overall? I’d say a 9. Hilarious, decent, and dead sexy. Yep, you're not too shabby, Love.”
He chuckled and walked over, holding my face in his hamburger hands. My stomach fluttered as I felt him brush against my leg. He kissed me, one hand tilting my chin upwards to help me melt into him.
There was still time for one more.
“Thanks, Love. That makes me very happy, but I meant the cigarette.”
I felt my face flush, kicking myself for assuming that he was secretly a tossbag who floated around for me to commend him on his sexual prowess. I bit my bottom lip and grinned, looking past him and hoping that he was looking somewhere else because if he looked into my eyes he’d know I was lost. I wanted to crawl back into bed with him and start again, but the sunrise drew a sad curtain that signalled the end. It always does.
“Yeah, breakfast fag’s always better after some sugar."
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