Work Text:
Seven in the morning comes far too soon with a buzz of the smartwatch on his wrist trembling about to rouse him from sleep.
William can only groan in disappointment when the motion jerks him from that lovely REM phase, but it is time to get up all the same. The time spent running down fields and scoring points has thrust upon him a need for routine, so even on this Sunday morning, he sits up when the sun is soft and warm, popping out the stiffness that settled in his spine during what was a seemingly restful sleep. The former athlete is quiet, lips pressed together to stave off the yawn wanting to bellow from his throat in a lion’s roar of welcoming the blessed morning. However, when he peers down to his bedmate, he is thankful to learn how to be silent at the best times.
His lover of three—no, perhaps even five years now as time drifts as swift as a crow’s flight—snoozes lightly in a makeshift cradle of cotton pillows and a carrot plush toy. William’s breath hitches deep in his lungs, stays there, lingers as the sight is one of beauty surreal despite…
Those thin lips twitch, brandishing forth the obvious scars still dug deeps in the corners. Bravery has always flocked away whenever William thought to inquire as to where this man asleep received them, knowing what little his lover has proffered is enough to deduct that it was not a fond memory.
What little sleep the once soldier might get will be gifted this morning when William slowly unfolds from the sheets to shuffle his feet into his house shoes to start this gray, lazy morning.
With the scuffle about, the tall man supposes there is nothing that could be out of the ordinary: he goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth after tying his locks back to wash off his face. From there, he picks up his phone from the charger, responds to a few notifications or reads the top headlines for the games to be broadcasted later on until his stomach growls with an incessant quiver to demand sustenance that wandering into the kitchen can only provide.
It is normal, quaint and redundant, and William would admit in his younger years of practice and sweating off injuries that such a life sounded boring as hell and most assuredly be a death sentence. Then, he met Naib some random night at his favorite pub, and life transcended into a lustrous whirlwind of being as simple as possible.
Love makes fools of everyone, and if he is to be a fool, William Ellis intends to be the most foolish fool to ever foolwhich obviously must start with an attempt of breakfast in bed.
Then again, foolishness has a way to striking him down with the vehemence of a viper’s strike when halfway into a sauté of sweet peppers and onions, he hears the click of the electric kettle behind him thus flinging all thoughts of a romantic breakfast in bed out the window of their modest condominium.
Naib is awake.
“G’morning, love,” he purrs with tilt of his head over the broadness of his shoulder, taking in the sight of the other staring deadpan at the gooseneck kettle in anticipation of the water to boil. Poor man must still be half asleep when he finally looks over to the chef of the morning, bags dragging purpled shadows beneath those pretty blue eyes as he grunts some semblance of a return.
“One of those nights, babe?” William gently asks, and the nod is enough and that is that. At least he can be grateful for the lack of night terrors, the ones that grip at throats with spindly fingers of icy hauntings to choke a scream from Naib during the horrid witching hour. They are not plentiful, rare if anything since he started attending Martha’s veterans meetings, but the worse of the matter must be when blue eyes stare up at the ceiling while the man next to him dreams of golden trophies and confetti rain.
A beat of nothing more than the sizzle of ingredients. “… Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please; instant is fine,” the once athlete answers, hiding his chuckle best he can when he hears the usual cursing of ‘fucking too tall cabinets’ while the clink of porcelain chimes about. In the days prior, when their relationship budded into the first few weeks of moving in together and learning to be symbiotic, Naib would literally growl at the prospect of his lover, who stands as tall ‘as a fucking giraffe.’ It took months to revel in the epiphany that Naib—who presumably had never even been in a relationship where love glowed between interwoven fingers and the spaces between their lips—simply had a sense of humor that would intimidate anyone else.
An echo of a laugh rings in his skull, a smirk sly and omniscient from his dear best friend Ganji thrown his way over the bar top while the World Cup plays on the television screens of George and the Green Dragon. “You’re already whipped, Ellis?”
‘Being helpessly hopeless in love’ was a far better description of what William Ellis was in comparison. Nonetheless, despite the rocky riptides of their first days together, not one shade of doubt casts its paltry veil upon them, especially when there shifting about behind him and it does not take long for the spark to slap him on the back of the head.
“Babe, instant is just fine,” William grouses because that is definitely the works of hand dripped coffee being brewed by a man who once probably killed an entire room of people with a Swiss Army Knife on a bet. It also does not aid the situation that he notes that Naib is wearing one of his hooded sweaters and damn, if that does not rile the blood a little too early this morn.
“Are you cooking a full breakfast?” the shorter male counters with a quirk of his brow.
“Well, yes, but—.”
“Then you’re not getting shitty instant coffee since this is the only thing you allow me to do in the kitchen, Mister Food Extraordinaire.”
A retort lies bittersweet on his tongue, but it is all silly banter between them so William mutters it all the same: “You melted one of my favorite pots boiling water, which, I might add, I have still yet to figure out how you accomplished that.”
A snort, too cute coming from someone covered head to toe in scars as though to present a heady warning to never judge one based on their short stature and skinny waist. “That pot sucked anyway. You deserved better kitchenware than that.”
Such a statement from Naib is evidenced by the fact that when they first moved across the Atlantic from the dreary streets of bustling London, the only splurge permitted offhand was a new set of quality cookware that has definitively not melted since first use. Stunning to believe that someone who could pinch a penny until it screamed bloody mercy would even breathe the idea, but there it was, a full twenty-four piece set randomly sitting on the kitchen counter one autumn dawn, innocently placed to behold.
“And I am grateful every single day that the love of my life thought so,” he teases, pulling off the pot of beans from the gas stove so he can lean down to kiss a no-longer sallow cheek, “though he sometimes forgets knives do not go into the dishwasher.”
There it is, that roll of blues with the slightest of huffs accompanying the motion. It is far too easy to tease the retired mercenary and run away with it. “I sharpened them, didn’t I?”
A hum of rumbling agreement coupled with another chaste kiss. William really cannot help his desire to as he takes in the scent of mint and loose tobacco. The scent is intoxicating, luring him to trail further across the planes of sun-kissed skin to find those thin lips with his own.
“May I kiss you?”
It is a hot breath request begotten from the poison that he let drip, drip, drip into his veins with pinprick nips along the pulp of his heart the moment his gaze set on a broody man sitting at the corner of the pub. It is benign as much as it is arduous, a thoughtful gesture to presume that William is a man comprised of sinew and lust when really, this is important, so devastatingly so, as those stitch-like scabs at the corner of Naib’s mouth are a testament to life lived brutally.
“Why haven’t you yet?”
Ah, he does then, trailing closer to find his lover’s lips and it is all worth it, more than worth it all, siren call along salted sands hauntingly effervescent on his tongue. It will never be enough, not enough to tear off rippling strands of Naib’s strife to sew it onto his own tapestry of burden.
But there is a smile, quaint and quick, and then gone when the part, and maybe that there is more than William could ever plead for.
“Will,” resounds his name with a trace of a tease and a nudge, “food. Burning.”
And, well, shit, William nearly forgot that the skillet was still going, downright squawking after one sniff determines that, yes, the onions might be a little bit darker on the plate than he would prefer. Behind him there is nothing less of a chuckle before a nice steaming cup of black coffee is set next to the stove and breakfast melts into a comfortablealbeit quiet affair.
Sunday breakfasts are always grandiose considering that weekdays usually concerns work schedules and volunteer hours, William especially shoving down a quick helping of eggs and bacon before running off to the clinic to put in at least nine hours of intensive physiotherapy with his clients. Naib is less involved, but nothing that Martha Behamfil herself will not fix, knowing full well that the smaller of the two would burrow away into a corner of the house to read all day if allowed.
Whoever would have thought that those two would have made a pair of friends, but more often than not, Martha is over when William arrives home, chatting away about how this drab little nook of theirs here and there needs some decoration, some kind of color and no, she will not humor a sports memorabilia wall.
Even now as Naib sits at the table in his ‘stolen’ baggy sweater to read the sales flyers for their weekly grocery trip, Martha’s personal touch sits in a neutral tinted vase, a resplendent show of hydrangeas she cut right from her lovely neighbor’s garden. Hell, even the notepad where their items are listed was from their friend, a silly packet of paper where birds flock in nests and daisies sway.
“It’s a gift,” Naib had remarked once to William over dinner, traces of fondness apparent despite the deadpan overlay of tone, “and she has already threatened to kill me after I mixed colors with whites.”
“Anything good today, babe?” he asks as he sets down their plates on a set table, utensils and napkins out in some semblance of order while the other hums in thanks over a sip of his chai which more or less just cream and sugar with a dash of tea. It is yet another quirk that William hides away in his little hidden book of things that make his heart still pitter patter between his ribs and will probably take to his grave if he is ever so fortunate.
“You’re getting bananas and pears this week,” warns Naib with a scrunch of his nose, picking up a piece of beans and toast before chomping right down to chew, “blueberries are fuckin’ outrageous.”
“And you?”
It befuddles the mind the thought that is given to the flyers found in their Sunday newspaper as they are far from broke, living more than comfortably in this one bedroom, one bath condominium with more than enough open space for the both of them. Each Sunday is a grueling endeavor to determine not only which store will earn their patronage, but also what produce and meat they will eat off for the week—or, rather, what William will have to work with in the kitchen. Maybe it is just Naib’s strange need to have a task as it seems he has made an archenemy out of inflation and rising cost of living, but it always comes across in a complexity more akin to a game of chess.
“Not excited about pears, but looks like steaks are marked down.”
“We can splurge on a few packs of steaks. I promise.”
And just like that, breakfast is eaten with a murmur of light chatter about the audacity of food prices and other little necessities they need for their home when William pauses mid-chew of his eggs to tap on the vibrantly marketed flyer laid between them. “Ice cream is buy one, get one free, yeah?”
The poor spoon shoveling mushrooms and onions to Naib’s mouth stops in the air, blue eyes suddenly transfixed on the man next to him like he has been offered the prophetic golden goose. “What?”
“Ice cream. Buy one, get one free.”
Sometimes, he forgets how old of a soul Naib is, older than the dirt of Martha’s neighbor’s garden, older than stone and smite, all mangled into knots of gnarled burlap and just left to fester. It makes it all the more prominent that glint of innocent desire that flickers in those eyes that have seen cruel, chilling images that would leave the coldest of hearts pulsing with bleeding welts.
Maybe one day, proffering up the idea that they can have sugar-laced, empty-calorie goodness without some sentiment of permission will feel less like being a commanding officer offering scraps of gruel to a cadet; today is just a step closer.
Ice cream is added to the list with tentative but steady script as though somehow the orders will be rescinded and whatever hope there was for indulgence is hopelessly floating about dismally disappointed. “Which flavor?”
“Your choice since, y’know, I am destined to eat protein powder and frozen spinach for the rest of my life,” and he softens his voice after the joke upon his own self, taking his knuckle to lightly trace over a smooth patch of skin on the back of Naib’s hand, “but I do like cookie dough.”
Naib adds cookie dough in parentheses, nodding just enough to show he hears, then mutters, “I’d like that, too.”
-
What should be an unspoken rule was in fact a conclusion from a plethora of terse well meanings debated over the first box of their few wares when first moving into their home: Naib cleans if William cooks.
The British native would be the first on the list to admit his own cleaning skills are just arbitrary attempts in keeping the space half-decent, but it is also fair to say while Naib had discipline beat into his spine and his shoulders day in and day out, he is not spectacular at the chores. Then again, the shelves are free of dust, the floors are kept swept and mopped, and most thankfully, the bathroom never smells smell off. All of such are accomplished without the aid of any electronic whirring floor demon that Naib swore he would dismantle and burn if William even had the audacity to even humor the purchase.
“I will break it into pieces in front of you, Ellis . No warranty is going to cover what I will do to it.”
Later on, when he was finally done pouting after trying to be a helpful boyfriend, it would hit him with a force of anylon sack of twenty bricks that such threats were brewed from an acrid idea of paranoia, that the demons that hiss and dance about in fanciful bonfire jigs in Naib’s head might be right in their clamoring concessions that yes, they are still there, waiting, waiting patiently for him to slip and fall and get someone he loves hurt.
Sighing away the memory, William spits out his toothpaste to gargle mouthwash, cleaning away the taste of eggs and pan-seared tomatoes before setting about to finish getting ready. The task is simple enough; it is summer, a lovely heat glowing golden hues along the cheeks and arms of all who waltz about to bask in her presence, so a light t-shirt and pants will do. With that decided, he opens up the closet and—.
“Damn it—how the hell do you always do that?”
Apparently, the kitchen is deemed cleaned with the dishes washed, dried, and tucked away in their proper places as Naib is slipping on a pair of jeans without any sort of thought to announce his presence prior. He even managed to walk into the closet, open the door then shut it to put on his clothes and, well… chalk it up to yet another moment William photographs away in his reasons his boyfriend is actually a cat.
“Better to surprise you than to surprise me.”
Accurate; the taller of them learned mighty fast to make a good bit of noise as to assure the other of his presence after the lamp incident which is in confidential lockdown and to never be discussed at any time ever. William will accept this statement and just sighs, patting his own chest to calm his racing heart, the battering against his lungs still slightly aching.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” he exhales with defeat soaked deep into his warning, rifling for his clothes. “You and all your quiet, sneaky ways.”
A singsong hum follows; a sly shift of coy blues cut over to him, lacking all the barbed wire and steel utilized to protect himself, “I thought you liked my quiet, sneaky ways.”
He is caught there as he most certainly does and the laugh that erupts is assuring and low and holds all the budding blooms of love that never seem to wilt or to ashen. “The ways that don’t send me to an early grave. Keep those, please?”
Naib shrugs, line of his shoulders loose as he grunts noncommittal. Yet, the smile is just barely there, and it warms the soul and soothes the mind and, well, William Ellis might fall a little deeper into the incessant pit that is loving and adoring Naib Subedar.
-
Grocery shopping is as mundane to William as it is somewhat terrifying to his lover; what seems so uncomplicated and so frivolous is in fact a warzone in its own right, a chaotic bustle of people using the weekend to stock up on their rations to scarf down around the arduous tasks set forth by the brass of employers who no doubt steal too much time and at times, give back too little for the work.
Whatever good fortune he conjured up for them seems to smile splendorous and merciful on this lofty Sunday and everything hits off so well that William is certain he needs to offer a few prayers heavenwards for it. The crowd of screaming toddlers and fussing parents are fewer than usual, they stay in perfect sync to ensure that no one steps behind Naib to startle him, and everything scribbled out on the list is in stock.
(The latter is the most opportune, and William really does dust off his old Bible study days to whisper a thankful prayer up to God or angels or whomever granted him such a wonder—they must have recalled that the last time the cookie dough ice cream sold out, Naib lowly threatened to slit every ‘colonizing Karen's’ throat found in a twenty-two mile radius for a straight week. Rocky road was conveniently not a viable substitute.)
Naib seems to have taken note of how expedient and well thought out their trip was as he sits cross-legged in the passenger seat with a book from the sparse options available at the kiosk. William pretended not to notice when the obscure mystery novel appeared amongst the cashew milk and bags of fruit, playing dumb and unknowing as he paid.
Of course, like clockwork, he is fairly certain the bills to repay him are tucked away in the fold of wallet.
Radio jam makes up for their lack of talk, but it happens, a sluggish moment that never fails to embolden his heart to soar with finch and sparrow alike when Naib’s hand hesitates once, then twice, then reaches across what seems to be endless emptiness only to touch along William’s wrist.
The grin must split his face as its all teeth and crease and jubilation when he threads their fingers together, pad of his thumb rubbing over one the knuckle’s of the former mercenary’s smaller hand, “did you find a diamond in the rough this time?”
Naib snorts as his eyes rove printed text, those orbs beholding such calculations already crunching about codes of plot twists ahead, “not terrible, not great.”
For all the public affection he could display, for all the kisses and hand holding and honey-dos he could enact as his weak adoring heart would like, it will have to do in the secrecy of the car and the four walls of their house. This little slice of romance will have to make up for all the minutes he could not wash Naib with every physical prospect of being beloved because he is, and as far as the native Brit argues, he always will be.
Everything about the rest of the Sunday time is lazy, sluggish even, from putting away the groceries to dishing out two heaping bowls of cookie dough ice cream only for sit on the couch, William half-mindedly watching a game as his other half still indulges in some hellish embodiment of true crime.
Then, it comes too soon, too obvious when William is scoffing at the overabundant failure of defense to keep a goal from being gorgeously kicked into the net; a weight settles on his shoulder, timid at first, then presses further as a stifled yawn sighs out.
Brown irises, deep and hazel-flaked, marvel in awe at how carelessly gentle his lover’s features are once the feathers of an afternoon nap enwrap him in their down. The temptation snaps, then releases, a simmering desire to wrap around him needing to be satisfied, so he does, slowly looping his arm to draw Naib to his chest while the other makes note of the page open in his book.
William likens himself to any other average man out in the world who has an average home and an average job and nothing out of the ordinary to trifle with all of the normalcy. His struggles through life have been expected considering, but he has laid careful brick by brick the foundation for a future even with the thought that he could not advance to stardom in his beloved sports, even if his knee had lasted after college.
The kicker of it all is how many times he wonders if anyone else out there who had such simple anticipation of their ambitions would look across a pub and see the most beautiful—if not also nettle sharp and danger incarnate—man eating grease-laden bar food alone in a booth and just fall, and fall with no end in sight. It has been nothing short of worrisome whiplash and never ceasing vertigo and, really, despite the contingency plans and the hazardous looks over shoulders because he had to love a former mercenary pockmarked with the every sin and every deed of his past, he would not change even one step of the fated journey.
So, he sinks back into the tweed comfort thrifted couch and lets his fingers trail across the constellations and comet tails of scars mottled along the tempered skin of Naib’s back while basking in the awe that he is allowed to do this. Such a layered soul, lacerated and torn strands that billow tiredly in a dim silver glow only to have been sewn together with cumbersome patchwork, allows the closeness, this simpering intimacy, and what can William say to that? It is a little dreamscape, a pocketful of starlight and sunshine crystalized into effulgent hopes and radiant dreams in which this delicate peace sleeps sacred in the nooks and crannies of a home they made together while dust motes dance in the waning daylight.