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Wilbur wakes to the gold of morning— too bright, too warm —spilling directly across his face. He groans softly, shifting, palm dragging across his eyes until he can make sense of the shapes in the room. The sheets are loose around his hips, and the faint glint of Tommy’s wedding band catches the light where their hands had been linked together beneath the duvet.
And then there was him.
Tommy sprawls beside him, bare-chested, hair a wild tangle against the pillow. His mouth— soft, pink, still —is half-open in sleep, and Wilbur notices the faint glisten of moisture along his lower lip. The simple gold band on Tommy’s finger gleams as his hand twitches in sleep— a quiet symbol of promises shared three years ago and will carry with them until death does separate them, and even then, Wilbur will always find his way back to Tommy.
Wilbur thinks about leaning over, about tasting it before Tommy even stirs, like someone swiping a finger through cake frosting when no one is looking.
A slow famishment creeps in, the kind that has nothing to do with breakfast.
Wilbur stretches an arm over, lazy, fingertips tracing from the sharp edge of Tommy’s jaw down to his throat, where his pulse beats steady and sure— like the steady rhythm of the life they’ve built together.
His hand glides downwards, fingers curling around the swell of Tommy’s thigh. It’s a quiet obsession, one Wilbur indulges whenever he gets the chance.
He feels it under his skin, warm and alive, and his mind fills with images far daintier than morning sunlight.
Images like last night. Tommy as the front cover of his view— beneath him: gorgeous, cheeks tinted with a light red from exertion.
Wilbur’s mouth curves, sluggish and wicked, as if the recollection itself has flavor. Last night had been a banquet— Tommy’s legs loose around his shoulders, his laugh breaking into gasps, fingers clutching at Wilbur’s hair when words failed him.
Now, in the spill of morning, the aftertaste lingers.
He lets his thumb graze just under Tommy’s jaw, directing it lightly until his head tips back, exposing that pale stretch of throat even further. The temptation is almost laughable— so close, so easy —like a ripe piece of fruit dangling low, just waiting to be bitten into.
Wilbur shifts closer, his breath skimming over skin, chasing the faint salt and warmth that is uniquely Tommy. It’s decadent in its own right, this quiet moment before the inevitable— the space between thought and touch where the want builds heavy in his chest.
The sunlight catches on the faint sheen of Tommy’s lips, and Wilbur thinks, like sugar on his tongue. Thinks about last night’s taste, the impelling melt of it on his tongue, the way Tommy’s voice pitched high when he dawdled too long.
He doesn’t even bother with a greeting. His mouth finds that pulse point, soft and deliberate, tasting skin the way one might savor the first spoonful of something saccharine— knowing there’ll be no stopping after.
Wilbur hardly registers the sharp inhale from Tommy, soft content hums following soon after. He does recognize Tommy’s hand coming up and cupping his head, fingers twirling some of his curls.
“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” Tommy murmurs, voice thick with sleep, but teasing him all the same.
Wilbur lets himself trail up and away from Tommy’s neck, crashing their lips together. “That was yesterday,” He says between kisses. “Today is a new day.”
Tommy laughs, disbelieving, but tries to sneak away. “I should get up,” He suggests, going to pull away from Wilbur’s firm clutches.
Wilbur immediately protests, “No, you don’t.” He tugs Tommy in tighter, chest to chest now, guiding Tommy’s leg to hook it over his hip. “Haven’t had breakfast yet.”
Tommy cups Wilbur’s cheeks, thumb brushing gently along his husband’s cheekbone, and points out there’s food in the kitchen. “I can cook us something. I’m sure there’s something edible in our fridge. Worst case scenario, we eat cereal.”
Wilbur smirks, the kind that makes Tommy instantly suspicious. “I wasn’t talking about the kitchen, sunshine. And I had something sweeter than cereal in my mind.”
He emphasizes his point by letting one of his hands slide down, languid and intentional, until it reaches the waistband of Tommy’s boxers, fingers grazing beneath just enough to entice Tommy.
Tommy narrows his eyes, but the tips of his ears go pink. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable you are, Wilbur Gold.”
Wilbur grins, reconnecting their lips. “Don’t pretend you hate this, Mr. Gold.”
From there, it becomes a wanton game: Wilbur drifts in close, kissing down his throat, murmuring things that make Tommy’s cheeks warm before he’s even fully awake.
He changes their positions, hovering over Tommy with a hand under where Tommy’s knee bends, hiking him up at the waist, letting himself settle between the blond.
Tommy stares up at him, eyes wide and consumed in love. It has Wilbur tipping down and capturing their lips again, languid and unhurried, his mouth moving like he has all the time in the world to memorize the taste of him because he did. This was his forever, and he was fucking giddy about it. He always will be.
The kiss is relaxed, but deep, coaxing rather than demanding, until Tommy’s fingers curl into the back of Wilbur’s shirt and pull him closer.
Wilbur hums against his lips, a satisfied sound, his hand sliding up along the back of Tommy’s thigh to rest at the curve of him, keeping him right where he wants him. The duvet tangles around them, the air between their bodies warm and heavy with the kind of intimacy that comes from years of knowing exactly how to unravel each other.
When Wilbur finally breaks the kiss, it’s only to mouth at the corner of Tommy’s jaw, dragging his lips down the side of his throat. “Sweet,” He mumbles, the word drawn out, hushed, lewd. “Just one taste.”
Tommy’s breath hitches, and he tries for sarcasm—“Yeah? You planning on stopping at one?”—but the quiver in his voice betrays him.
Wilbur chuckles, deep and smug, shifting just enough to let his hand slip further beneath the waistband of Tommy’s boxers again, brushing over warm skin in a way that makes Tommy’s hips twitch.
“I couldn’t if I tried. You’re all I want.” He confesses, like it isn’t a well-known fact between the two, and the rest of the world, that he is completely enamored by Tommy.
He kisses him again— messier this time, like the restraint is starting to fray —tongue slipping in, his thumb tracing lazy circles that have Tommy gasping into his mouth. The room smells faintly of morning coffee left to cool on the nightstand, but neither of them cares; the only thing Wilbur is interested in tasting is right here, beneath him, looking up at him like he is both trouble and salvation.
Wilbur gently sets Tommy’s leg down, grabbing the only piece of fabric covering Tommy, and slipping it off achingly snail-like, just to get a rise out of Tommy, which it does.
“Hurry it up, prick. I don’t have all day.”
He pouts, mocking. “Shouldn’t you be making time for me, your husband? We’re hardly getting started on breakfast, darling. The most important meal of the day. Can’t skip it.”
Tommy kicks him lightly as a response. Wilbur catches it, hooking it over his shoulder and pressing his lips to Tommy’s ankle, continuing all the way until he reaches the inner skin of Tommy’s thighs, close to his twitching dick that stirs with every breath Wilbur takes.
“Wil— please.”
He shushes him. “I’ll give you what you want, baby.” His tongue darts out to taste Tommy’s skin, tracing a wet, hot path that makes Tommy arch instinctively. His hands find Wilbur’s shoulders, clamping, grounding himself even as his body betrays him with every soft gasp and writhing touch.
Wilbur’s mouth works magic— wet, indolent, devoted —licks and gentle suckling that leave Tommy dizzy and desperate, every flick of his tongue promising more. The taste of Tommy, salty and candy-like all at once, fills Wilbur’s senses and sends a scarce growl vibrating from deep in his chest.
He dares to snap his eyes up and is immediately blessed with the sight of Tommy. He can’t help but press his hips firmly against the mattress, humping with motivated, rhythmic movements that mirror the deepening ardor pooling low in his belly just from the sight alone.
The friction of the mattress beneath him only heightens his need, every small grind sending a delicious relief through his body.
Wilbur groans meagerly in his throat, the sight of Tommy spread out beneath him repeatedly fueling his desire into something exorbitant. His hips pivot again, grinding against the mattress as he sucks, licks, and teases Tommy with patient gallant.
And the way Tommy’s thighs brace and clench around Wilbur’s head. He can feel the way they tremble when he sucks just the right spot, and it has Wilbur gasping, utterly undone.
“Tell me you want me,” Wilbur whispers between strokes— almost begging as he continues chasing his own pleasure. The words are nearly drowned out by Tommy’s own ragged breaths and the slick sounds of wet heat meeting warm lips.
“I want you,” Tommy keens, voice unsteady, “all of you.”
Wilbur doesn’t hesitate. His mouth closes around Tommy once more with unrelentless hunger, tongue swirling in slow, teasing circles, drawing out every shudder and sigh. Tommy’s fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he grinds up instinctively, eager for more contact, more sensation.
The world outside the room ceases to exist, the only sounds are the wet, slick noises of Wilbur’s worship and Tommy’s gasps and moans, his pleading for release barely held back. Wilbur’s hands wrap firmly against Tommy’s thighs, steadying him even as he drives him higher and higher.
When Tommy finally tenses, teetering with the first wave, Wilbur keeps going, coaxing every wobbly breath, every shiver, until Tommy is an unstable mess beneath him, utterly undone.
He pulls back just long enough to catch Tommy’s gaze, that familiar smirk playing on his lips— an unspoken vow of what’s to come. Then without warning, Wilbur crowds in again, his own boner momentarily forgotten, shoving their mouths together with urgent esurience. His tongue slides past Tommy’s lips, deep and demanding, tasting every heated, salty drop that wells inside him.
Tommy’s breath hitches, his hands intertwining fiercely in Wilbur’s hair as the warmth of himself spreads between their mouths, thick and intoxicating. Wilbur doesn’t hesitate— he swirls his tongue around the scrummy release, savoring the taste as if it were the only thing that matters, sharing it fully, greedily, until the line between them blurs and dissolves.
Their groans mingle, slight and needy, bodies trembling as they cling to each other, caught in the rawness of the moment. Wilbur’s hands grasp Tommy’s thighs tighter, anchoring them both in the passion of shared surrender, every heartbeat and tremor echoing between their lips.
“Breakfast is served,” Wilbur purrs against Tommy’s mouth, voice ragged and dripping with satisfaction. “Hope you enjoyed.”
Tommy grins, shoving his thigh between Wilbur’s legs and applying pressure onto Wilbur’s hard on. Wilbur moans, mouth parting as he gyrates against the skin every movement sending jolts of pleasure through him. “Not done yet. It’s your turn, baby.”
With a playful smirk, Tommy shoves Wilbur down, his back hitting the soft sheets. His hands find Wilbur’s hips, stabilizing him even as he takes control with an almost lazy, but confident pull.
Wilbur lets out a breathless laugh, chest rising and falling as Tommy’s thighs clasp around him possessively.
Their world shrinks to the sensibility of skin on skin, the soft rustle of sheets, and the mounting tension that neither wants to rush away.
Tommy’s eyes gleam with mischief and something deeper— a love worn like armor, but tender underneath. “Ready?” Tommy asks, voice hardly above a mutter.
Wilbur nods without hesitation, heart pounding, ready to lose himself all over again.
And Tommy makes a show out of it because who is Tommy, if not a little performative?
He kisses down Wilbur’s stomach, leisurely and with purpose, his tongue tracing a wet stripe all the way back up until his tongue focuses around Wilbur’s nipple, coquettish-like, swirling, coaxing a sharp gasp from Wilbur’s lips.
Wilbur arches, fingers clutching at the sheets, eyes dark with obsession as Tommy’s mouth makes him fall apart. Every lick and suck is a delectable torment, a continuous burn that sets his skin alight.
Tommy’s hand slides down to cup Wilbur’s dick, fingers kneading at it, squeezing gently in time with his ministrations.
Wilbur’s breath hitches, hips shifting instinctively toward the source of pleasure, thirsting for more.
Tommy looks up, a smile playing on his lips— proud, playful, utterly in command of the moment.
“I can feel how much you want me.” He points out, voice laced with an arrogance that Wilbur can only find it in himself to be attractive— unable to resist.
It’s not a question, but Wilbur can only nod, eyes fluttering closed as his mind is only receptive to the way Tommy’s mouth and hands handle him, the warmth spreading like wildfire inside him.
“Should probably do something about it, don’t you think?” Tommy questions, sitting up and reaching for the side table.
Wilbur whines at the loss, reaching back for Tommy, fingers curling around the nearest inch of bare skin he can reach, longing to pull him back down.
Tommy smirks over his shoulder, debauched, clearly enjoying the game. “I hear you. Have patience, will you? Isn’t that what you’re always telling me,” He teases, tugging the small bottle from the table drawer.
Wilbur’s breath hitches, heart pounding in his chest as Tommy uncaps it, the faint scent of lavender filling the air— a promise of what’s to come.
“Don’t worry,” Tommy murmurs, crawling back onto the bed, getting rid of Wilbur’s boxers, “I’ve got you.”
He settles again, but this time in Wilbur’s lap, their dicks pressing together, and sliding his hand up to cup Wilbur’s jaw before leaning in to brush a soft kiss against his temple.
The tension coils tighter between them, the anticipation almost unbearable as Tommy prepares to take care of Wilbur in every way he craves.
He takes Wilbur’s hand, pouring a generous dollop of lube into his palm, the cool liquid catching the faint light. Then he curls Wilbur’s fingers in, coating them before guiding his hand downward.
Wilbur’s breath tremulous the moment his fingertips meet warm, yielding skin. Tommy shifts forward just enough, inclines back towards the touch, and Wilbur can feel the tremor in his thighs— solid muscle under satin-soft skin.
“Right there,” Tommy whispers, voice faint and coaxing, eyes locked on Wilbur’s. “Don’t hold back on me.”
Wilbur’s thumb caresses against the inside of Tommy’s thigh, reverent and hungry all at once. His gaze drops to the way Tommy’s legs are spread for him—powerful, flushed, and so close Wilbur could drown in the sight alone.
He seems to find his voice again because he retorts back: “I never do.”
Wilbur inserts them gradually, noticing the way Tommy submits to him, heat and slickness drawing him deeper. Tommy exhales, jaw tightening, but the corners of his mouth lift in a smirk.
“That’s it, baby,” Tommy encourages, voice shaking just enough to make Wilbur regain some control.
“Yeah, am I doing it right? Tell me, sunshine. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel with just my fingers.”
“Fucking—yeah,” Tommy gasps, hips rocking down onto Wilbur’s hand, using his lap as a seat like he owns it (arguably he does). “You’re doing it so fucking right.”
He’s flushed and gleaming, chest heaving as he rides out another practiced thrust of Wilbur’s fingers.
When he’s ready, Tommy doesn’t say a word— just grabs Wilbur’s wrist, drags it away from his body, and reaches for the lube again. He coats Wilbur’s cock with drawn, calculated strokes, fixed on Wilbur’s face the entire time, like he’s daring him to look away.
Wilbur doesn’t. He’s bewitched, body and soul. Has been for years and it’s been— by far —the best years of his lives. He still thinks he’s undeserving, but Tommy always manages to fight through Wilbur’s mind and shows him the exact opposite.
Wilbur’s free hand grips the meat of Tommy’s thigh, thumb dragging up toward the inside just to a sense of it tense and release with every movement. The sight of Tommy’s strong legs framing him, the way they contract as he grinds down, makes another intense pool form— heavy and urgent —in Wilbur’s gut.
Tommy braces one hand on Wilbur’s chest and rises up on his knees, guiding the head of Wilbur’s cock to his slick, stretched entrance. His breath catches at the first push, a sweet, sharp sting melting into a deep, molten ache as he sinks down inch by inch.
Wilbur’s hands fly to his thighs, fingers digging into the firm muscle, grounding himself in the feel of them as Tommy takes him in. “Christ— look at you,” Wilbur groans, eyes rolling back for a second before dragging them open again to watch. “These fucking thighs, angel… you’re gonna ruin me.”
Tommy smirks through a shaky exhale, finally bottoming out and settling on Wilbur’s lap. “Thought I did a long time ago.”
Wilbur can’t help the way his hips twitch up, pushing impossibly deeper just to see Tommy’s jaw clench and his legs tighten around him. “You did.” Not bothered by it.
Tommy rolls his hips once— slow, intentional —letting Wilbur feel every inch before doing it again, faster this time.
Wilbur’s hold on his thighs tightens, his eyes rooted on the way they flex with every movement. “Ride me, Tommy,” He grunts, voice almost mannered, if it weren’t for the obscene actions they’re committing. “Let me feel how much you want it.”
And Tommy does as he’s told, going faster, his moans spilling freely— soft at first then loudly, voice cracking when Wilbur’s name leaves his lips. Wilbur keeps his focus entirely on him. “You feel so fucking good, love… every squeeze, every bounce— you’re gonna make me lose it.”
Tommy tips his head, lips brushing Wilbur’s ear. “Then do it. Come in me. Fill me up. I want you to.”
The words are gasoline on an open flame. Wilbur’s hands go up to Tommy’s hips, guiding him into a brutal pace, their bodies slamming together with wet, filthy sounds. Tommy’s thighs quake from the effort, but he doesn’t stop— if anything, the strain just makes Wilbur moan louder, praise spilling from his lips between curses.
“Gonna— fuck, I’m gonna—” Wilbur’s grip turns almost bruising, pulling Tommy down hard and holding him there as his release tears through him, every muscle locking tight.
Tommy rides him through it, his own release chasing after, spilling hot between them.
Wilbur holds him there, one big hand rubbing Tommy’s back soothingly. “I love you.” It’s a quiet thing, meant for Tommy’s ears only, but nevertheless filled with everything Wilbur will tell him later when they aren’t tired, and sticky, and gross.
Tommy nuzzles into his neck, lips brushing skin, and Wilbur can feel the smile tugging there. “I love you,” Tommy mumbles back.
Wilbur’s hand squeezes lightly at his ass because he simply can.
Tommy smacks the offending hand in retaliation without craning his head. “You’ve worn me out already, asshole.”
Wilbur grins against his hair, the sound fond but unsympathetic. “Good. Means I’m still doing my job right.”
Tommy shifts above him, heavy eyelids blinking open as he exhales a complaint, not serious for any of it. “It’s ten in the morning,” His husband grumbles, voice thick with lingering sleep.
Wilbur’s fingers trail down the curve of Tommy’s side, squeezing just a little. “Means we were up with the sun this time.” His voice is warm, playful, eyes twinkling with love as he snuggles into the top of Tommy’s head.
Tommy snorts softly, one hand fiddling with one of Wilbur’s. “You were up with the sun,” He points out, amused, “and decided to wake me up because you were horny.”
Wilbur’s grin widens, a slow smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy every second of it, Toms.” His thumb brushes lightly over Tommy’s cheek, his tone both possessive and utterly sincere.
Tommy gives Wilbur a delicate kiss to his jaw, eyes closing again as a small smile spreads across his face. “Guilty.”
They lay there mustering up energy to get a move on in their day. Tommy’s fingers trace all across Wilbur’s chest. He follows the movement with his eyes, heart swelling when his gaze lands on the ring resting snugly on Tommy’s finger.
Without breaking eye contact, Wilbur being the hand up to his mouth, brushing a soft, tender kiss over the band. The touch is one he does countless of times even before he proposed with the ring— a silent oath renewed in the quiet intimacy of their shared bed.
Tommy’s breath catches, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards while he watches Wilbur’s lips hover there, as if sealing a promise only they understand.
They’re both beaming at each other, reconnecting with a kiss that leaves them equally dazed and I love you’s spoken between it.
Eventually they move to the bathroom, Tommy demanding to be carried even though it had always been Wilbur’s intention to do so.
He sets Tommy down on the toilet seat while the water warms up enough to meet their standards. When it does, he leads Tommy in behind him.
The heat of the water settles in their bones, making them go lax against it, going through the familiar ministrations— the quiet pattern of shared touch, and the comfort of knowing this is home —of washing each other: fingers lacing through damp hair, tenderly massaging scalp and nape, hands exchanging the gentle lather of soap with slow, loving care.
“I’ll take you out on a date later. How does that sound?” Wilbur asks, rinsing the shampoo off of Tommy’s hair.
Tommy squints his eyes open, barely, afraid of getting shampoo in them. “Special occasion?”
Wilbur shakes his head affectionately. “What do you mean ‘special occasion?’ I always take you out, brat. Today will be different though.” He adds, “Shampoo ‘s off.”
Tommy opens his eyes fully, then narrows them in suspicion. “What does ‘different’ exactly entail?”
He huffs, tenderly. “You’ll love it. Just trust me.”