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There was a saying in Peter's hometown that always made him giggle, especially when he was a kid. His mom said it was raining chair legs and he hid his face in her skirt laughing a little at this obscure idiom. Why are chair legs falling from the sky? Are there chair cities in the clouds? Little Peter thought cloud chairs needed to shed their legs every now and then so they threw them away on the ground. But when they reached the ground a smart witch from somewhere made a virtuous move with her wand and turned the legs into water drops. She was scared heavy pieces of furniture would hurt people. And therefore downpours appeared — they were evidence of some other force taking care of him by enjoying numerous water droplets on his face.
Or at least that's what Peter thought.
"What are you thinking of?" Steb approached him from the back. Peter twitched a little, surprised. He was standing in front of a window, through which he could observe probably the fourth heavy rain this week.
"Of my childhood, actually," Peter smiled at another thought of the silly chair legs, "You know, in my mother tongue we say it's raininng chair legs when it's raining heavily."
"No, I didn't," Steb also smiled and hugged his boyfriend from the back, "How do you say it in your language?"
"Vrékhi kareklopódara," the brunette almost whispered, being too unused to speaking Greek after a really long time.
"It sounds beautiful. I would've never guessed the meaning had something to do with chairs," the vastaya let out a little chuckle.
"Oh yeah? What would you think it meant?"
Peter smirked slyly at him, turning around to face Steb. The latter had to lean down a little to make the eye contact. Peter's eyes were charmingly beautiful and with today's weather the color appeared especially deep, almost black. Steb loved his eyes: open, shut, under the sunlight, in artificial lighting, in night, far away, closely like now. He was always complaining to the vastaya about the simplicity of his eyes. They were too basic, plain, as he said, too many people had brown eyes. It was nothing compared to Steb: both the whites and the pupil blue and vivid, blinking asynchronously with his four pairs of eyelids. Everything was unique about Steb, but he didnt think of that as some accomplishment in comparison to Peter. It was Peter's nasty habit — to compare himself to others when he was already perfect as he was.
"Well, maybe «I like your eyes»," Steb teased him obviously and Peter couldn't help but pinch him lightly for it, "Or «You're beautiful»."
The vastaya started waltzing slowly with Peter in the circle of his hands. They just tilted a little from side to side until they were confident enough to start making steps.
"Hm? Anything else?" the brunette kept on teasing, pretending completely innocent.
"S'agapó," Steb said below his breath, closing their foreheads together. That was one of a very few things he knew in Peter's language by heart. And he could repeat it forever. For sure he could keep on playing Peter's foolish games but every time he quickly gave up being too distracted by the closeness of the other to him. Holding his partner like this, dancing without music in a dark room, only rain behind the window accompanying them — it was everything Steb could dream of. Moments like that made him so genuine, sometimes even serious, he wanted to confess his love over and over again.
Peter already knew — I love you too, Steb — but he listened to him every time and smiled like a little kid. They were just little kids who giggled at silly sayings their mom told them and danced to their own melody.
Peter lifted on his tiptoes to reach Steb's lips. It was a shy kiss, just to make sure his partner is actually here in front of him in the dark. And the vastaya returned it — deeper, more sensual. Steb always knew for sure his partner was here beside him, he didn't need to check for that. The kiss deepened as they were waltzing, now slower, concentrating on each other’s lips.
Steb moved his hands on Peter’s back, hugging him tighter. It was hard for him to kiss the brunette like he wanted to due to their dramatic height difference. The vastaya dragged himself away leaving Peter a little confused and already missing his boyfriend’s lips on his. But then he understood what Steb was intending to do and gladly followed him as he led him to their couch.
Sitting on Steb’s lap it was significantly easier to kiss him. It always had more passion and they also had more time: while standing Steb’s back started to hurt after a minute, being bent so often. Seeing Peter so close to him, enjoying himself and taking the lead in their make-out session was the most Steb could ever ask for. Messy kisses and wandering hands often led to dry humping or even full adequate sex.
“I’m too tired today,” Peter said gently, caressing his fingers under Steb’s chin.
“It’s okay, my love,” Steb reassured, taking his boyfriend’s hands into his own and kissing the fingers one by one.
“I love to see you so all relaxed under me though,” the brunette teased him, laying his head on the vastaya’s chest. Steb couldn't help but tickle him a little along his spine, letting out a little laugh out of the man.
“Want that pie I made last week for dinner? We can continue with watching that series you like until you fall asleep,” Steb suggested, his hand in the brown hair.
“Gladly,” Peter smiled and exhaled at the level of his boyfriend’s neck.