Sasquatch to the Moon

32: Morning

MILOŠ

I wake up intermittently, sometimes blinking awake for a few seconds just to roll over and cocoon back up with him, sometimes for a little longer, rubbing my hands over his back, breathing against his chest. Sometimes I wake up thrown over his body, his arm around my back, sometimes he's got his head on my chest. This is how I wake up on days where I don't have to be up. I wake, then fall asleep, then wake, then fall asleep. It's even better to do it with him.

Eventually, I blink my eyes open, more permanently back in the land of the living than before. The first thing I notice is the lack of a heavy body next to me, no warmth right here other than my own. He's up for the day.

I rub my hand over my eyes, pinching my nose and trying to get the spots out. I blink a few times, looking down my body, just to find him sitting in the middle of the bed, leaning back on his forearms, staring out the window.

I prop myself up as quietly and slowly as I can, careful not to catch his attention.

I wasn't lying when I said he looked like a forest spirit. Like he's not human. Håkon Rex isn't beautiful by standards, his nose has been broken several times, there's cuts through his lip, a scar above his eyebrow, but he's stunning.

Leaning back against his arms is making his shoulders pitch up toward the ceiling, his chest caved down, the line of his body in an arc, legs folded over the side of the bed. I stare, he's thinner because it's still the morning, he lost water weight at night, digestion does that. His abs are poking out, the most prominent in the mornings than they are at any other time. He's pale, pale pale pale all over. I stare at him, the shallow scruff of his beard, the way the few hairs over his chest are catching the sunlight, the hair over his lower stomach doing the same thing, then on his thighs, all white hair.

I stare like I can't get enough because it's true. He'll never be exactly this ever again, he'll still be Håkon but he'll never be Håkon now again. It's slightly mournful but I'm in love. In love in love in love.

I sit up, the sheets folding around my hips, and I move toward him. His eyes flicker to me and I watch as his abs tense, shoulders too, as he pulls himself up to seated. I let one of my legs land around his back, the other laying next to his on the bed, at a right angle against his body.

I settle against him, touching my lips to his shoulder. His spine pokes out of his skin at the top, the little rises begging me to run a finger over them so I do, his skin is so soft against my fingertips that I do the motion again, remembering for the millionth time that this man, every inch of him, is a comfort texture.

"Morning," he mumbles, kissing my head.

"Morning," I respond, mouth moving against his shoulder. I press another kiss there, then run my fingers up and over the little teeth shaped bruises on his shoulder. I feel bad about them, I wasn't planning on biting down that hard, that peak just hit me like a freight train going down a hill.

"When you want to," he breathes. "We need to head back to my parents, we're cleaning up a little today, tonight, really. They were letting everyone sleep in."

I nod. "Much needed."

"Clearly," he brushes his hand over my hair. "You seem like you're gonna fall asleep again right now, against my shoulder."

"I might," I mumble. "I love you, truly."

"I love you too." He responds. "Might need an Advil, but I love you."

"Why would you need an Advil?" I ask, a little out of it. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm sore," he lets out a soft laugh. "You're quite strong and as it is we haven't been keeping up well with summer workouts."