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Whizzer and Marvin lie entwined, bathed in the glow of both the early-morning sun and their newly-mended relationship. They're asleep, Whizzer's head nestled into marvin's neck and marvin's back against Whizzer's chest. The only sound is the soft chirp of birds outside the window.
Whizzer wakes first, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and planting a kiss on the top of Marvin's head. Marvin stirs with a small noise and immediately rolls over and buries his face in Whizzer's chest. It's funny. Marvin always used to fight for dominance like a terrier, puffing his chest up and picking fights with him over the silliest things just to feel like a man. Now, though, he's a little spoon, curling up into Whizzer and letting himself be held.
Whizzer presses another kiss to the top of his head, soft brown curls tickling his nose. “We should probably get up,” he murmurs, but he feels Marvin shake his head without moving apart from him.
“Five more minutes.”
“Alright,” Whizzer chuckles softly, and wraps his arms around his lover.
Marvin's t-shirt is lifted slightly, exposing a strip of stomach. Whizzer traces circles across the skin, silently worshipping the soft pudge that Marvin often bemoans in the mirror. It will forever be a mystery why Marvin thinks he's plain, why he stares at his dark circles and says 'I should get more sleep', or why he traces his wrinkles with sorrow on his face. All Whizzer sees is perfection.
After a few minutes pass, Whizzer concedes that it's probably time to put his foot down. “Okay, you really have to get up,” he says softly. “You're gonna be late for work.” Marvin groans, but extricates himself from Whizzer and stretches. As he's half out of the bed, he stops to take Whizzer's face in his hands and kiss him. “Love you,” he says as he pulls away.
“I love you too,” Whizzer replies, and when Marvin leaves he rolls over into the indent left and breathes in deep, committing the scent to memory. The breath doesn't come quite as easily as it should, and Whizzer sits up as a sudden and pathetic coughing fit wracks his body. Christ, he's out of shape. He really should get back into racquetball.