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Standing in Oliver’s kitchen, Josh lets himself be drawn in against Oliver’s chest, curling over and in and around the younger man. He feels cracked-open and raw — worn out from the day’s events and the thick, sticky emotions that’ve spilled out of him alongside them. He’s no stranger to vulnerability, but he’s yet to find the emotion easier to manage with age.
As the bag of food cools and the numbers on the clock softly tick by, Josh finds himself sending up a prayer of gratitude to a god he doesn’t really believe in for this moment. If things had gone differently — any number of minute, seemingly-insignificant things — they might not even be having this moment. Josh isn’t entirely sure what the two of them are, but he doesn’t want to lose this before he has the opportunity to find out.
Eventually, they pull apart just enough to stand pressed against each other’s sides, arms wrapped around waists. They unpack the bag together, setting in a neat row the containers of Chow Mein and fried rice, sesame chicken and beef broccoli, wontons and egg rolls. They hold onto each other even as they eat — scooping bites of food into their mouths as they rub each other’s backs; as their fingertips aimlessly trace patterns on each other’s necks before skittering down spines to squeeze at waists. They don’t feel hungry, really, so much as they know they need to eat something — the meal adding its own layer of exhaustion simply by virtue of existing. When they’ve finished, they pack the half-empty containers into the refrigerator.
Taking Josh’s hand, Oliver leads them over to the stairs. They ascend slowly, not moving any faster once they reach Oliver’s bedroom at the end of the hallway.
They stay near each other as they undress, letting their clothing fall to the floor in matching, messy heaps. Vaguely, Josh thinks he really should make the effort to deposit them in the hamper when they enter the bathroom but Oliver doesn’t — so he doesn’t, either.
Naked, they shuffle into the en-suite. Oliver cranks the hot water on, holding his palm patiently beneath the spray as it heats up. When he’s satisfied with the temperature, he steps inside; Josh follows after him, dragging the shower curtain closed. In the warm, confined space, they take turns with the soap and shampoo — washing the memory of the day’s grime off of themselves, letting the swirl of suds carry it away and down the drain.
When they’re finished and the water’s been turned off, they simply stand there for a moment. The steam weaves around them, water droplets racing each other down their bodies. It’s Oliver who moves them along, inching the shower curtain open enough he can reach for the towels sitting atop the counter.
They do their initial towelling off in the tub, stepping outside to finish the job. Towels dropped in the hamper, they take care of all the other necessities — flossing and brushing of teeth, the careful application of moisturizer and the less-careful slathering of lotion.
Retreating to Oliver’s room once they’re done, they redress in soft pajama pants and worn T-shirts.
In bed, Josh stretches out on his back and Oliver tucks up against his side, resting his head on Josh's chest. Closing his eyes, Oliver listens to the beat of Josh’s heart; it’s a slow and steady punch, a solid anchor to tie himself to. When his breathing begins to slow, and he can feel himself relaxing further, Oliver presses a kiss over where Josh’s heart sits in its cage; another stream of kisses along Josh’s clavicle and up his neck; open-mouthed kisses against his jaw. As Oliver nears his mouth, Josh turns his head to meet him.
The kiss is languid, deep, indulgent — a swirl of caramel through rich, dark chocolate. The press of Oliver’s lips is soft but insistent, his tongue dipping into Josh’s mouth as Josh’s hand rucks up the fabric of Oliver’s T-shirt. Pressing his hand into Oliver’s back, he sighs contentedly into the kiss; Oliver is all firm muscle and smooth skin and intoxicating warmth against his palm.
Moments trip by as they continue to kiss - soft and deep - before Oliver shifts. Pushing himself up and onto Josh’s body, he does his best to not break the kiss; he mostly succeeds, nudging Josh’s legs apart and settling smoothly in the cradle of Josh’s thighs.
Tilting his head, he deepens the kiss as Josh adjusts to the change in position, pulling his knees up and resting his feet flat on the bed. It jostles Oliver a little, coaxing a surprised sound out of his throat that makes Josh smile in return. Trying to get Oliver to make the sound again, Josh rocks his hips a little from side-to-side. Instead, Oliver nips at Josh’s lower lip in playful rebuke, pressing his hips down firmly to still him.
Josh smoothes a hand down Oliver’s back and over to his side, loosely squeezing his hip as he draws him into another kiss. They dissolve into it easily — light and sweet, like spun sugar. Josh feels himself relaxing further against the mattress; the soft kissing and the solid pressure of Oliver’s body against his making him feel warm and safe and content.
He rocks his hips up — gently, testing — and is gratified when Oliver answers with a rock of his own. Like everything else tonight, the movement is slow and easy. Even so, Josh feels a rapidly growing thrum of arousal building in his veins, twisting in his stomach, making his thoughts fuzzy. It’s absolutely delicious, and he wants more.
Carefully, he angles his hips so his cock rubs against Oliver’s through the thin fabric of their pajama pants, shivering at the unexpected jolt of pleasure the movement brings him. Humming low in his throat, Oliver practically grinds forward against Josh in response — transforming the slow and easy rocking into something a little faster, a little more purposeful. The change pulls steady groans out of Josh’s throat, turns the kissing sloppy until Josh is breaking their lips apart entirely; he turns his head to the side, bringing his own hand up to jam the knuckles into his mouth as his orgasm shudders through him.
Given the absence of Josh’s mouth, Oliver presses his lips to the corner of Josh’s jaw, leaving a smattering of butterfly-light kisses — a contrast to the firm, determined snapping of his hips. It doesn’t take long for Oliver to follow, hips pressing in tight and mouth going slack. They stay like that for a moment, breathing evening out. Josh lets his knees fall open, and Oliver presses a kiss to Josh’s mouth before slipping off of him.
Wordlessly, they strip their soiled clothing off and add them to the piles on the floor they’d created earlier. Their T-shirts follow, used to clean themselves up as best as they can before they’re also tossed carelessly aside. They’ll need to shower again in the morning, but for now they’re clean enough.
They curl close into each other, as the taxing events of the day finally drag them down and into sleep.