A shy reference librarian, and a college student who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, meet in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over. What ensues between the...
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There are, of course, some nice things about moving in with him. Aside from my not having to constantly worry about how to make too-short ends meet, there is Magister himself. Every day, he cooks for us (unless I'm taking a turn in the kitchen, which he has me do every few days or so - he wants to get me comfortable working from a cookbook and making meals that don't rely on pouches or boxes of something cheap and preprocessed, for some reason). Every day, we do our tai ch'i together in the living room. Every day, we read to each other. He reads me poetry or short stories (not all of which are erotic in nature) or essays he thinks I might find interesting; I usually read him poetry when I do the reading.
His work schedule generally involves afternoons and evenings, so it's compatible with my own evening shift at the newspaper call center (I've cut my hours at his request - he thought the dark circles under my eyes indicated a lack not just of nutrients, but also rest, and it was his opinion that I ought to get caught up on the rest I've been denying myself, especially if I'm recovering from food insecurity and cold exposure. He was correct in his assessment. Damn him). So, every night, I have him.
Every night, I have him. And every night, when he is done with me, I tie our wrists together before we sleep, our hands entwined, our flesh united by a length of securely fastened black silk.
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The living room stereo plays Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade. We're eating truffles and celebrating Valentine's Day, although it's a week after the official date. The main reason for this is that we like chocolate, but we also like buying said chocolate on clearance. It makes no sense to pay extra money just to celebrate a holiday on time, especially not when the holiday is a commercially hyped celebration of a romantic love that we two celebrate every day that we're together anyway. Chocolate gets celebrated here on a fairly regular basis as well, come to think of it.
"Roses," he murmurs into my ear, as he slides a chocolate cherry truffle into my mouth. "It wouldn't be Valentine's Day without roses."
"It's a bit late to run out to the florist." I lick chocolate from his finger.
