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Wave sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, moving slowly so he wouldn’t disturb the figure still resting beneath the covers.
Lava was lying on his back, dressed in a white sleeveless shirt, the lower half of his body tucked under the heavy comforter. His face was relaxed, eyes closed, lips parted just slightly. When Wave leaned in a little closer, he could hear the softest trace of a snore escaping him.
It was early—too early for anyone else to be awake. The first light of the sun was starting to peek shyly through the tall windows in Wave’s bedroom. Thin beams of morning sunlight reached across the room and gently landed on Lava’s face, illuminating the freckles that dotted his cheeks.
Wave watched him quietly, taking in the way the light painted his skin. He shifted his weight, resting one hand on the mattress for balance as he slowly leaned over Lava, keeping his gaze fixed on his face.
He leaned in closer, inch by inch, until his lips hovered just above those freckles—then he kissed them, softly, tenderly, letting his mouth rest against them longer than necessary.
He didn’t pull back right away. Instead, he stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, breathing in the familiar scent of Lava’s skin—the scent he’d grown used to waking up to.
But before he could move, a pair of arms slipped around his waist, catching him off guard and pulling him down until he was pressed gently against Lava’s body.
Wave opened his eyes and slowly pulled back, only to meet Lava’s sleepy gaze—half-lidded, unfocused, barely awake.
Even so, Lava’s voice came through low and raspy as he mumbled:
- “Where are you going?”
Wave smiled softly at the question, brushing a few strands of hair away from Lava’s forehead. He let his fingers tangle in them briefly before speaking.
- “I’ve got some things to take care of. I won’t be long. It’s still early—go back to sleep, okay?”
Lava closed his eyes again and made a groaning sound, clearly unhappy with the answer, while his arms tightened around Wave’s waist.
- “Waaaaveee… don’t go.”
The way he stretched out his name made Wave chuckle under his breath. He leaned down again and pressed a gentle kiss to Lava’s forehead.
- “I’d love nothing more than to stay in bed with you all day, love—I swear. But they need me.”
At that, Lava opened his eyes a bit more and frowned. Now he seemed properly awake.
- “Who needs you? No one needs my boyfriend more than I do.”
- “Lava, when duty calls… you answer.”
But Lava wasn’t convinced.
With a sudden movement, he released one arm from around Wave’s waist and slid it up to the back of his neck—then flipped them both over in a swift motion. In a blink, Wave found himself flat on the mattress with Lava now on top of him, effectively pinning him in place.
His entire body was trapped beneath Lava’s weight.
Lava leaned in slowly until their faces were only inches apart. His other hand remained at Wave’s waist, fingers lazily tracing soft, invisible lines across the fabric of his shirt.
- “And what about your duties as my boyfriend?”
Wave lifted one hand and let it wander up into Lava’s hair, curling his fingers around the strands and gently pulling him even closer—until their foreheads nearly touched.
- “Those duties… I fulfill every night.”
Lava grinned, that signature crooked smile that always made Wave’s chest flutter. Then he crushed their lips together with purpose.
- “Then maybe it’s time to update your schedule. Nights, mornings, afternoons. What do you say, baby?”
He murmured the words between quick kisses, brushing his lips over Wave’s again and again, not giving him a chance to reply.
Wave pulled back slightly and gave him a thoughtful look, lips pursed as if genuinely considering it.
A reasonable deal.
- “I’ll have to run it by my advisors.”
Lava’s fingers slid under the hem of Wave’s shirt and rested against the bare skin of his waist—warm and firm.
- “I don’t think your advisors will make it in time. You’ll be convinced by then.”
Before Wave could answer, Lava was already kissing him again—hungry, deliberate, all-consuming.
And if Wave happened to arrive late to his meeting that morning—or if his shirt was noticeably more wrinkled than usual, or if his lips looked redder than they should’ve—no one said a word.
After all, he was the boss.