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The late afternoon sun pools under Titch's feet; a splash of gold that beads along the wooden slats of the deck before disappearing into purple shadow under his chair. His eyes are closed, head tipped back, and the breeze cards gentle fingers through his hair.
The aubergine farm sprawls out before him, vegetation spilling across the rows in a disjointed patchwork of green and purple. Both sides, left and right, are prospering; but not unnaturally so, and certainly not unrelentingly. And somewhere, beyond the house and the crops, Titch can hear the distant sound of a football repeatedly striking the ground. James.
There's a creak on the wood behind him, the previously empty space suddenly filled, and then a hand trails through Titch's hair. He sighs, leaning into it, and hums appreciatively when the hand moves its attention down; across the sensitive skin of his neck, settling between his shoulder blades. He hums again and curls further into the pressure.
Derek chuckles, as warm and low as the sun in the sky, and the sound reverberates through Titch's ears like a crack of thunder. Electrifying. The heat from Derek's palm on his neck is a bolt of lightning, shooting down his spine and flowing out through his fingertips, his toes, his very being. Every blood vessel and skin cell sings with Derek's name, contracting and expanding all within a single breath of his laughter.
Titch feels untethered and rooted in place all at once; lightheaded in his love for Derek, an all encompassing feeling of weightlessness, and yet grounded by his presence. Grounded by the hand on his back and the laughter in his ears. The hand moves again, and this time Titch revels in the sensation of fingertips pressing at his jaw, cupping it carefully -reverently- and tilting it towards the dying embers of the sun. Derek's lips brush his cheek, the last echo of his laughter filling that infinitesimal space between them.
And Titch is flying.
Gold sparks burst behind his eyelids- entire universes exist in the atoms between Derek's fingers and Titch's jaw. Sunlight threads through his veins, lighting him up from the inside until he's sure that every aspect of himself, good and bad, has surely been exposed to the world. The fingers on his jaw slide away and finally, finally, Titch opens his eyes.
The world swims into focus slowly. Titch's eyes water at the brightness of the sun- still glowing on the horizon even as it sinks into the ground. Then the image clears and Derek is above him, face tinged with golden light.
Derek smiles. Warm. Golden. And the sun pales in comparison.
"Hiya, love," His fingers trail back up to Titch's hair, twisting through the strands without a second thought, "Lovely day, isn't it?"
Titch has no idea. Any opinions he may have had on the weather seem to grow more and more distant the longer Derek hovers over him: his mere presence ushering Titch's logical thinking brain aside, and replacing it with gooey mush.
A tsunami could come through here, Titch thinks dazedly, a whole tsunami could flood the farm right now and I wouldn't even notice.
Derek's mouth twitches and for a moment Titch worries that he may have said that out loud, but then Derek's expression shifts into one of bemused fondness and Titch thinks he might have gotten away with it. Maybe.
"What are you thinking about?"
Derek's voice is quiet. Soft. The sky is a burnt orange and a smudge of purple clouds hang above them. Everything is still. No cars. James has stopped playing with his football. Even the birds are near silent. Just the breeze through the crops. Derek's steady, measured breathing. The thump of two heartbeats beneath sun-kissed skin. Pulses separated only by flesh and dust and atoms and universes and nothing at all.
What are you thinking about?
"I love you." Titch says. Whispers. Shouts. Breathes.
What else is there to think about?
The sun dips below the horizon, and Derek dips his head down along with it. Kisses the last of the golden rays away, fingers on Titch's jaw.
Lightning down his spine.
Thunder in his ears.
And Titch is flying.