Work Text:
Ted passed away two weeks ago.
Emmett was seating in a lounge into the inner yard and looking at the sky. Here it was, that gorgeous time of the year, when spring is sitting on the fence, not being sure, whether it is time to become summer or to linger a little — just like a guy who has already slid his hand under the zipper of your jeans but is in no haste to take them off. It had rained at night, and this year had not seen such azure clearness. Not a single cloud, just endless crystal blueness. It was morning, birds were chirping deafeningly in the bushes. Arborescent peony, a pride of Ted's, was in full blossom of its huge silky flowers. The tenderest transition of color from the beige of the petal edges to the pinky violet near the sepals. So good Teddy had had time to see this. Emmett recalled the morning when Ted went outside to look for a cat, but came back, grabbed his husband's hand and, looking rather conspirational, dragged him to the garden, not letting him to finish his coffee and friends page. The fucking peony had refused to bloom until that day, and now look at this whopping bud-gernaut. "Are you also reminded of fisting?" Ted asked, making a shot of the flower. "Come here, I want a selfie with you and this monster."
Emmett framed the selfie and put it on his desk.
Certainly, Gus came to the funeral with his younger daughter. Ted had not understood the point of kids until the end of his life, but for some reason with Leyla, Melanie's and Lindsay's granddaughter, he had hit it off at once. They were calling each other almost every day, and Leyla used to fly to Temmett estate every time she had boyfriend trouble, or fell out with her friend, or just had something to share. She was visiting them for several times a month recently. Teddy used to grumble that she would never get married that way, but, understandably, he was always happy to see her.
Emmett bowed his head and smiled. Actually, he was feeling not only grief, but also gratitude. So good that Teddy was the first one to leave. Emmett is tougher, after all. And, come to think of it, it was not a bad death. That evening Ted was thumbing their photo album and ranting:
"Why did I always think I was so ugly? Was not I a cute guy?"
"Not just cute!" Em hugged his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. "I was always saying you were fabulous! Even now, you are fabulous!"
"Yeah, with my muzzle brushing the floor."
"Teddy, my muzzle is fat as a doughnut. And do not tell me I am not a hottie!"
"Of course, you are a hottie! You always have been, always will be a hottie!" replied Ted.
"My point precisely."
"I love you, Em."
"And I love you, Teddy."
Emmett's husband put aside his tablet, took off his glasses, changed into his pajama, brushed his teeth and went to sleep. And never woke up again. Emmett was hoping that Ted's last thought was that "love you".
Certainly, death can be better still. Schickel came to Emmett's mind. At Emmett's age it is already easy to imagine, that people die this or that way, as sure as fate. And now he was thinking of Schickel with a smile and without any guilt or regret. And the thoughts of Schickel's death made him grateful as well. A heart attack, in the middle of buttfucking a young and sexy lover. Is not it something to envy? Too bad Emmett cannot repeat it. It would be nice to have Ted-2003 here — although Ted-2044 is not much worse.
Nevertheless, was not it all really great?! So many years in this cute house, among flowers and birds, under that huge shiny sky. Was not it, Teddy? How are you, up there, in haven? You must be tossing and turning on a cloud, all anxious that your husband is being late again. You must be thinking: "It cannot be he is selecting those damn cuff links again!"
"I will take a few more looks," thought Emmett, "and then I will join you."