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Spring is Reki’s favorite season. He’s always loved the bright green and soft pink, the growth of things new and fresh. The days are warm, not too warm, and they grow longer with each passing day. It is a season of beginnings and endings; spring is adventure, and Reki has always craved adventure.
Reki closes his eyes, letting the warm spring air fill his lungs with oxygen and potential. He never wants this day to end, though he knows tomorrow will come, and he will spend it with Langa, skating until they can’t anymore. He won’t want that day to end either. Reki’s eyes open and find Langa, stretched out and sleeping in the sun like an exceptionally tall cat. Langa can sleep anywhere, Reki thinks, no matter how uncomfortable. The rough concrete of a skate park, his school desk, a moving bus. Langa’s head rests in Reki’s lap now, the weight of it making Reki’s legs twinge and ache. He doesn’t mind.
Langa is relaxed and smooth in sleep, his mouth parted on even breaths. He’s incredible in motion, Reki knows, but he is captivating in a new way in stillness. In the moments when Langa relaxes completely, trusting Reki to keep him safe as he dozes, taking comfort in the cradle of Reki’s legs beneath him.
Langa’s hair is a mess. Reki reaches out with steady fingers to brush the strands away from his closed eyes. The sun is warm, kissing Reki’s exposed skin gently, but Langa’s warmth is closer, glowing more brightly. Concrete bites into Reki’s palm where it rests on the ground behind him, a sharp contrast to the silkiness of Langa’s hair between his fingertips.
It’s an impossibly pale blue, not quite like the hue of the sky above. Like a fresh coat of snow reflecting the periwinkle light of dawn. When the promise of the day is brightest, convincing of the endless possibilities of the hours to come. Comforting and exciting all at once—it’s Reki’s favorite time of day. Langa reminds him of the dawn, in that way. Comforting, exciting.
Reki shivers despite the gentle embrace of the afternoon air. His hand finds a resting place on Langa’s chest, grounding. The steady thrum of Langa’s heartbeat against his palm is a melody, weaving through the sounds of the street nearby, the birds in the trees. Reki feels his own pulse pounding along in harmony.
He lets himself take this moment to notice Langa’s beauty. He’s gorgeous in motion, fluid and brilliant, but at rest he is something softer, easier for Reki to hold in his hands. There’s a good natured pout to Langa’s lips, the swell of his cheekbones gentle and sharp all at once. His eyelashes are a shade darker than his hair, the color of dusk through pure ice. The still-thin stubble along the line of Langa’s jaw brushes against Reki’s thumb, tracing the shape.
Langa takes these short cat naps almost every day, more and more often against Reki. With his head on Reki’s shoulder, or in his lap, curled up against his side while Reki watches videos on his phone, one arm slung across Reki’s stomach. Sometimes, Reki envies Langa’s ability to fall asleep whenever and wherever he chooses. Sleep is a much more elusive thing for him, difficult to find even in the dead of night.
Each time Langa wakes, he blinks his eyes open at Reki, and smiles a slow, sweeping smile. Like he’s woken up to find his favorite thing in the world is right there in front of him. Like he never doubted that Reki had been there all along, and would always be there.
Reki loves that moment; the end of Langa’s dreaming, the beginning of his smile that is for Reki alone.
He finds he’s looking forward to it, anticipation building in his chest until he can hardly breathe. At the same time, he dreads the the end of this moment, when he can take in the minute details of Langa, when he can drink all of him in in bold gulps. Langs shifts, sighing heavily.
He lets himself truly feel Langa resting against him, capturing the image and weight and warmth of him, committing it to memory. His indulgent fingers stroke over the thin skin of Langa’s throat, relishing the faint rumble of his breath. Langa’s skin is cool here, it’s always cool to the touch. Reki’s hands are always warm. He presses them more firmly to Langa’s jutting collarbone, sharing his heat.
His hand finds Langa’s chest again as his eyes explore the length of him. The lean strength of his legs, the vee of his narrow hips. His thin t-shirt has ridden up, revealing a thin strip of pale skin. Reki wonders, not for the first time, how soft that skin might be against his fingertips.
He wonders, all the time, how soft Langa’s lips might be against his own.
Langa shifts again. He comes to wakefulness slowly, like he’s floating to the surface of water, emerging into the sunlight.
He blinks, looking at Reki. That familiar, beloved smile blooms to life on his face, starting in his eyes and spreading to his lips.
“Reki,” he says, as natural as the exhale of breath. Like a promise, a revelation.
Reki gives him a trembling smile in return as he leans close. He can see the flecks of darker blue in Langa’s eyes, the fading mark of a scrape on his cheek.
“Langa,” Reki answers. “Can I kiss you?”
Langa’s answering murmur is pleased, but not surprised.
“Yes.”
Reki’s lips find Langa’s and press, cling, relishing in their sun-warmed softness. Lips part, tongues slide against lips, against each other. Langa’s mouth tastes of the sticky sweetness of the fruit they shared an hour ago, and sunshine. He meets Reki halfway, surging onto his elbows and twisting to face Reki in truth.
He climbs into Reki’s lap while they kiss and kiss, holding his face with long, gentle fingers. Reki’s hands slide under the hem of Langa’s t-shirt and discovers that the skin here is softer than he could have imagined, and shockingly warm.
“Reki,” Langa breathes when they reluctantly separate. Pleasure shivers through Reki at the roughened timbre of Langa’s voice. It’s new, unlike his familiar smile. But like that smile, it is Reki’s alone.
“Langa,” he says again, savoring each syllable. “Did you have a good dream?”
Langa smiles at him again, like he’s waking up once more to find Reki right there, holding him, keeping him safe as he sleeps. Maybe, Reki thinks, this is how Langa always smiles at him. Maybe he wasn’t paying close enough attention.
His attention is purely Langa’s now, undivided.
“I dreamed about this, I think,” Langa says, cool fingertips exploring the curves and angles of Reki’s face. “Am I still dreaming?”
Shaking his head, Reki curls his fingers around Langa’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss, and another. Their bodies meld together in the early evening sunlight, the gold and pink and violet of the light fading into dark. Reki isn’t sure where he ends and where Langa begins. Not that it matters, he thinks, because aren’t endings and beginnings one in the same? In springtime, first kisses, and adventures.