Work Text:
Larkin woke slowly to the patter of rain on the window. His dreams left him with vague impressions like a bird’s claw prints on snow. The bedroom was drowned in the shadows of a gloomy overcast sky. He felt soft, on the precipice between sleep and waking, not quite aware of all his limbs. There was a delicious warmth pressed all along his back, an arm draped over his chest, and the faint smell of neroli and cardamom around him. Doyle’s breathing was deep and slow. Larkin closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
*
When Larkin woke for the second time, the clock on the bedside table displayed 10:58am. He had had nearly 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was alone in bed and Doyle had left the french doors to the bedroom closed, but he could hear the sounds of cooking beyond it.
Doyle was bent over the stove, in a fleece shirt fuzzy from over-washing, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms flexed. His hands were large, capable, and certain as he maneuvered the eggs. Larkin felt his mouth dry and his stomach flutter when Doyle looked up at him.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” confirmed Larkin.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
They sat down to plates of scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, bacon, and crusty bread. Doyle took up his sudoku puzzle when he finished eating. The kitchen was quiet, but contemplative, comfortable, cozy almost.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” said Doyle. “If the rain lets up.”
Larkin considered the weather. Storms generally did not agree with him, with their veiled threat of associations – but. He listened for the roll of thunder and heard only the sound of rain. Doyle’s hair was dry, and his stubble was overnight-long, which meant he had stepped out to buy the fresh bread but hadn’t gone for a run this morning since he always shaved when he showered after exercise. Larkin looked at the light falling on Doyle’s hair and eyes, like sunlight on pyrite.
“Okay,” Larkin agreed.
The rain eased up by the afternoon.
They put on gumboots and parkas and wrapped themselves in scarves and toques, and brought a large umbrella for good measure. The air was biting and fresh with the smell of wet earth and vegetation and the rain had thinned to a mist so gentle that they were able to stroll under the spread of the foliage of the ancient trees. The noise of New York City faded as they went deeper into the park. Doyle bumped his shoulder against Larkin’s, companionably, and let silence settled between them like a blanket.
Larkin breathed in deeply, his mind quietened after half an hour's walk. He turned to Ira, and whatever was on his face made Doyle open and close his mouth.
“May I kiss you,” murmured Larkin.
“Yes, Evie – yes.”
Doyle closed his eyes and, god, he had such long thick eyelashes. Larkin leaned up and pressed his lips firmly against Doyle’s and pulled him closer. Doyle melted against Larkin, wrapped his strong arms around Larkin.
When they pulled apart, Doyle was smiling down at him. “I love the way you kiss me. Like you want to crawl inside me.”
Larkin felt himself redden.
“It’s good,” Doyle reassured.
Doyle pressed another kiss on Larkin’s mouth, keeping close so that they could feel each other’s breaths, blinking slowly so that his lashes brushed against Larkin’s cheek. Larkin felt the hotness on his face spread up into his head and down, down into his chest and stomach, warming him to his toes.
*
That night, Doyle made chicken pesto pasta and a pomegranate, parlsey, and mint salad a la tabbouleh. Larkin set the table with two glasses of water. Dinner was good, as it always was when Doyle had time to cook.
Afterwards they curled up on the couch, Doyle’s attention on the TV, Larkin’s on the paper he had been meaning to read (Memento Mori: A Positive and Contemporary Reflection Through Visual Art on a Life Spent Well). When Doyle noticed that Larkin drooped against him, he shifted so that Larkin laid more comfortably and lowered the TV volume.
They got ready for bed in turns. He relaxed into Doyle’s loose embrace, nudging and pressing back into Doyle until Doyle got the hint and crowded into him and nuzzled Larkin’s hair, and tangled their legs together under their blanket.