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"Do you hear that? It's raining again."
"Hmm?" Alex yawned and turned to look up at Miles, who grunted in mild annoyance. "Look back at the telly, would ya? You wouldn't believe how calming it is for me to stroke me hand through your hair, and it feels pretty good. I know it feels good to you, too. Well, then?"
Alex snorted and turned to look at the screen, where two bobble headed blokes were nattering about something or other that he couldn't care less about.
Miles was right. The feel of his fingers as they passed through his hair sent a rush of pleasure through him, nearly as much as when Miles had handled him down there. Something in his mind switched off when Miles touched him in a sexual way, but Alex was glad that the pleasure receptors in his brain kept awake and alert.
"I said, 'it's raining again.' Awfully dreary weather we've had lately. It sure doesn't help dispel the stereotype that it rains all the time in the UK."
Alex sighed. "It's only drizzling," he murmured. His heart beat dully in his ears. He moaned and reached up to touch Miles's hand. "Keep that up, and I'll nod off on your lap. You'll 'ave to carry me to the bedroom, 'cause I'll be out cold."
Miles chuckled and pressed his lips to Alex's temple. "Tha' wouldn't be a problem, love. You can't weigh no more than 10 stone, if tha'."
Alex mewled contentedly. "Your accent's gettin' thicker. And you talk pretty proper Scouse already. Droppin' your t's and the like. Now c'mon, Mr Kane, you can't expect to reach an international audience talkin' like you're straight out of the Wirral, can you?"
Miles smirked. "You're one to talk about having a thick accent, Mr Turner. Besides, for all your pretences, you think my accent's sexy. Admit it."
Alex grumbled and crossed his arms, his mouth set in a firm line. Miles slid his fingers under Alex's shirt and tickled his ribs until he yelped with laughter and a gob of snot shot out of his nose.
"Ugh! Bloody hell, Miles, 'm sorry. I s'pose. It really is all your fault, though. You know better than to do that. You know how ticklish I am."
Miles nodded and grunted in affirmation. "That doesn't make it any less humourous, Alexander. Here." Miles used the edge of his sleeve to wipe the snot off of Alex's nose.
Alex gagged. "Blech! Why'd you do that? Way to ruin a perfectly clean shirt." His eyes scanned the cotton cloth closely. "And hold on, that's the polo I bought for you in Sheffield last week! For fuck's sake, Mi."
Miles laughed, somewhat tremulously. In spite of Alex's reluctance to label this 'thing,' whatever it was, between them, he still loved him. Alex responded to his touch, laughed at his jokes, got him gifts. Like his shirt, he feared that their 'thing' wouldn't last; that he'd better enjoy it while it lasted, before it inevitably frayed.