Work Text:
A heady scent of newly-bloomed magnolia hangs thick in the air as you observe the verdant beauty of the garden through the open doorway. The plush, high-backed chair in which you were currently ensconced was perfectly positioned for you to be able to stretch your legs out and feel the blissful warmth of the new day’s sun upon your bare feet. A fresh cup of lemon and ginger tea was perched on the cherrywood table by your side, wisps of steam curling upward as they were lifted upon the gentle breeze. All was still, calm, silent apart from the rustling of the leaves and the occasional joyful soaring trill of birdsong.
Until the gentle snoring began.
An unbidden smile graces your lips as you observe him, soft skin seeming to glow golden against the crisp whiteness of the bed linen. He’s tangled in it – resting on his side with one arm and leg exposed with the sheet entwined with his limbs in the facsimile of a toga. A strong, muscled thigh gives way to the small but perfect swell of his backside and desires war within you - to look or to touch? The decision is made when he shifts slightly and the sheet moves with him; different glimpses of his body revealed. The trail of hair under his belly button, an intercostal muscle, the strong sweep of his collarbone across that broad expanse of chest.
Your eyes rake upward, gorging yourself with unbridled gluttony. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, drawing attention to where a small but distinctive red-purple bruise has formed at where his shoulder meets the graceful column of his neck, one of the results of his lavish attentions upon you the previous evening. He hasn’t shaved for a while, and you can see the familiar silvery tinge beginning to emerge to cover the sharpness of his jawline, his lips parted slightly in an inadvertent pout under the thickness of his moustache. Dark waves rest messily tousled against the pillow, dark eyelashes against the tops of his cheeks.
He is captivating, ethereally beautiful in morning’s fresh glow. Even more so when one dark eye opens to regard you blearily.
“Morning, baby,” he mumbles, his voice a thick, honeysweet rumble of sleep and warmth. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”