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Nothing could explain the sense of relief that Ethan had when he stepped through the door of his apartment and immediately smelt food being cooked and heard the sound of Christian in the kitchen. He went through the mechanical motions of taking off his shoes and his jacket before making a beeline for where his boyfriend was, cooking… spaghetti, yes, that had been what Chris had said.
They did this, perhaps once every few weeks; Christian would come over to his house and cook a meal for Ethan that evening, and then they would stay holed up in Ethan’s apartment for a day, just in each other’s spaces. Sometimes they would cook together the next day (more like Christian cooking and Ethan being given vegetable chopping or potato peeling duty), and sometimes one of them would order delivery, or takeout if either of them felt like venturing out for about twenty minutes.
Otherwise, they simply existed, and Ethan had the time of his life every time. Christian was Ethan’s comfort person, and having him in his safe space felt like nothing Ethan had felt since he was a child.
“Welcome home, Darling,” called out Chris, in that fake, sweet voice that he used when he was pretending to be a housewife. Ethan didn’t find it funny, at the moment, but it didn’t annoy him, either. “How was work, husband?”
“Hmm,” said Ethan, coming up behind Christian and wrapping his arms around him. It took a second, but then Christian laughed softly as Ethan buried his head into the back of Chris’s shirt, kissing the fabric between his shoulder blades.
“Rough day?” asked Christian, a little more softly, and Ethan melted. The man always knew exactly what he needed, and the gentle treatment made him feel mushy. He laxed himself against Christian even more, pulling his arms around him even tighter for a second, breathing in the scent of his bodywash. Chris must have taken a shower when he got to the apartment.
“Glad you’re here,” muttered Ethan, and Christian made an appreciative little noise.
“Go change,” said Christian, “dinner should be done soon.”
Ethan grumbled a little, but obediently – if not reluctantly – dragged himself off of his boyfriend and padded to his room. He took his uniform off, putting it in the laundry basket and put on his sweatpants. He grabbed one of his soft pajama shirts, but after a couple seconds he simply threw it on the bed, perhaps for later. Then, he came back out to where Christian was draining the noodles.
“Al dente,” the younger man said, giving Ethan a gentle smile. Ethan felt his lips twitch into a small, returning smile. It had always frustrated Ethan that he could never get his noodles just right, but luckily for him, he had a boyfriend who knew how to cook. “You said you’re fine with bolognaise?”
“As long as it’s beef,” said Ethan. It had taken him awhile to get used to meat mixed into his sauce, but he didn’t mind it so much now. It was how Laura had always made it, because that was what Mason had liked. Christian made spaghetti both ways, but Ethan had a feeling he preferred the bolognaise to the meatballs.
“Of course,” said Christian easily. He eyed Ethan’s chest appreciatively. “No shoes, no shirt…”
“Be quiet,” said Ethan, and Christian laughed.
“Go sit at the table,” he said fondly. Ethan made his way over, feeling very compliant at the moment. He heard the sounds of bowls clinking behind him as Christian began to dish up.
He brought the spaghetti over. They both ate. Ethan didn’t pay much attention to the details. Christian finished before him, and then just sat there while Ethan finished his.
He looked so handsome. His hair was up in a bun, and his pretty face was lit up by the low lights of the setting sun.
“I made some tiramisu,” said Christian, his voice low, as Ethan finished up. “It’s in the fridge if we want to eat right now.”
“Can… we have it later?” Ethan asked, and Chris gave him a sweet smile.
“We can,” he said, and Ethan hummed.
He stood up, and grabbed his bowl and Christian’s, before going over and putting them in the sink. Usually, he would wash them right away. He left them there instead, today.
Chris was close behind him. Ethan barely looked at him when he grabbed Chris’s hand, threading their fingers together and dragging them towards the bedroom. Christian followed along easily, standing where Ethan left him when Ethan went to go close the blackout curtains, leaving the room mostly in darkness.
Already, Ethan was feeling more comfortable and relaxed.
He had food in him. He had his boyfriend here. He was in his room, with the lights low. He got into bed, lying against the pillows and reaching his arms out for Christian. Christian came over, taking his shirt off on the way, and Ethan hummed in appreciation.
If Chris had wanted sex, Ethan wouldn’t have minded. However, he wasn’t particularly in the mood for it. Christian had seemed to pick up on that, though, and he simply laid down on Ethan, intertwining their legs together and resting his elbows beside Ethan’s head. Some of his weight laid on Ethan’s lower half, and it felt good.
It felt right, like this was where they were both supposed to be. Ethan didn’t want to leave this place, ever.
He reached his hands up, running his fingers across the lines and shape of Christian’s face. Christian leaned into it, smiling as Ethan traced his jaw to his ear, up the slope of his forehead and down his nose, then up his forehead and down to his other ear and behind it. Chris closed his eyes when Ethan came to his lips, running his thumb over the bottom one before trailing his hand to his chin and back up his jawbone to his ear.
“You’re a little freak,” he murmured fondly. Ethan found himself smiling a little at that, a hum making its way past his throat.
His hands trailed up to the back of his neck, then to the loosely tied bun. He pulled it out, and Chris’s silky hair fell around his shoulders, still a little damp nearer to the roots. Ethan threaded his fingers through it, tugging at it ever so slightly before scraping his fingernails through it. Christian’s smile widened, and a noise halfway between a hum and a moan made its way through his chest. He lowered himself onto Ethan’s chest, turning his head slightly so that his chin wasn’t jutting into Ethan, and bracketed his arms closer to Ethan’s face, his hands idly finding Ethan’s own hair and beginning to play with it.
Skin upon skin, breath upon breath, heartbeats close, blood flowing through their veins. Ethan’s soulmate, Ethan’s heart. The man who held a part of Ethan wherever he went.
The man Ethan would die for, a million times over, a million different ways.
Ethan’s obsession was, perhaps, getting a little out of hand. He didn’t particularly mind the fact, if he was being honest.
“Thank you,” he murmured. Christian cracked his good eye open.
“For what?” he asked, and Ethan could have answered, but in the end, he chose not to.