Work Text:
Summer warmth envelops us. Back inside after gardening, curtains drawn. Book in hand, his head on my lap. “Read about King Arthur's knight” he requested. The tale’s atmosphere contradicts the calming realm of our embrace. An exquisite moment of intimacy, while Sir Gawain drags him along heroic trials of honour, bravery, and righteousness. Time slips by. His resistance fades as deep sleep overcomes him. I consider leaving, but stay, entranced. Immobility’s struggle: tingling arms betray me. He stirs in his sleep, his breathing feeling like a reproach. Yet, I held him tight, protecting. Nothing compares to this embrace, infinite, timeless.
The shushing of pages is abandoned for the silent glide of my fingers through crimson locks. I set the book aside, stories of gallantry fading into even more fanciful tales. This history we know by heart: a longing cradled in the first nights, realized beneath pinstripe suits, embraced behind darkened thresholds. He stirs and I take his hand, the dirt of the garden we tend together lingering beneath his nails. A gentle kiss, pressed to knobby knuckles. The smile on his lips pulls at my own. Content, to end where we began. No. There is no end; only a new beginning.