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Simon woke slowly, the gentle caress of sunlight whispering against his eyelids and coaxing them open. He shifted, pressing his face into the covers as he stretched his legs. The bed beneath him was soft and warm, he nuzzled his face into the blankets—not yet willing to surface completely—when he felt the pillow under his head move. There was a vibration against his cheek as he heard the sound of a quiet laugh.
He blinked his eyes open reluctantly, slowly realizing the support under his head was no pillow, but one Ryland Grace. He glanced up from where his cheek had been resting to find his boyfriend’s head propped up with one arm as he gazed down at Simon with a warm, lazy smile.
“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” Simon felt the words vibrate in Ryland’s chest as he spoke. In response, he merely burrowed closer, scooting up to press his face into the junction between Ryland’s neck and shoulder and pulling another small chuckle from his partner. He felt Ryland press a kiss to the top of his head before looping both arms around his shoulders and giving a squeeze.
Eventually, Simon spoke, his voice still rough with sleep, “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” Ryland murmured, “Did enjoy seeing you so peaceful, though. Felt wrong to wake you.”
Simon hummed from where his face was still nestled against Ryland’s neck, feeling goosebumps appear on the delicate skin there in response to his breath. He grazed his lips against the small raised bumps, earning a small squeak from Ryland when the light touch combined with his stubble tickled the already sensitive area. When Ryland squirmed away, he followed, unrelenting.
“Si, geez,” Ryland laughed as he tried and failed to twist away, “That tickles!”
He pulled back suddenly, blue eyes meeting brown as he teased, “Oh yeah? What about this?”
Before he could respond, Simon ducked his head again and pressed a real kiss to the same area, feeling the surprised hitch in Ryland’s breathing as he practically melted under him. Just like before, he didn’t stop, only emboldened when Ryland carded his fingers through his messy curls and sent sparks racing across his scalp and down his spine.
Simon drifted his lips higher, pleased when a small nip to the spot over Ryland’s pulse point earned him a quiet gasp. He smiled into his skin as he kissed it in apology. Before he could do it again, he felt a gentle tug from the hand in his hair, pulling him up until their lips met in a gentle kiss—all soft edges and sweet nothings.
Simon let himself be guided backward into the pillow, Ryland’s body slotting perfectly over his as he sighed into his lips contentedly. When Ryland pulled away, Simon felt his breath ghosting over his lips.
“Did you sleep well?” Ryland whispered the question from where he hovered above Simon.
Simon smiled and nodded minisculely before asking, “Did you?”
“Slept okay,” Ryland murmured before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Woke up hungry though, was worried my stomach would wake you.”
Simon laughed gently as he traced his hand up one of Ryland’s arms, “Do you want to make breakfast, then?”
“Yes,” he saw him smile coyly before continuing, “But not yet.”
It was Simon’s turn to be surprised as Ryland’s lips returned to his face, kissing a light trail from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone. He chuckled as Ryland peppered nearly every inch of his face in kisses, moving across to his nose, up to the furrow between his brows, and eventually down to trace his lips across Simon’s jaw. By the time he finally returned to Simon’s lips, he was putty under him, pliant and loved. He looped his arm around Ryland’s shoulders and pulled him closer, savoring the endless morning.
⭑✦⭑
It took no small amount of convincing—and being plied with the promise of food—for the two of them to eventually find themselves in the kitchen. It was Sunday, which meant no school for Ryland, no work for Simon, and a deliciously slow morning with nowhere else to be. As had become their tradition, they worked side-by-side to make their usual Sunday morning pancakes. Ryland worked on the batter while Simon pulled bacon from the fridge.
The kitchen was filled with the quiet warble of music playing from Ryland’s phone. It was a soothing sound even if the songs were unknown to Simon. He had gotten used to the way Ryland always seemed to have some form of background noise, to the point where its absence now felt more unnatural than its constant presence. Simon could hear him humming along as the song came to a close, he smiled to himself as he set a frying pan on the stove, relishing the deep timbre of Ryland’s voice.
As the song faded into the next one, a rich feminine voice carrying the notes across the kitchen to Simon, he heard Ryland gasp from excitement.
“I haven’t heard this song in forever,” he turned and smiled at Simon. “My mom used to sing this to us at night. Court said she taught him to dance to it, but I never got the chance to learn.”
“That sounds nice,” Simon smiled back, “If it makes you feel better, I never learned either.”
Ryland’s eyes went large and took on their trademark twinkle that appeared when he got an idea.
“Hang on,” he quickly paused the music and exited the kitchen, crossing to the small record player on the shelf in their living room, “I should have her old record in here somewhere. We need to do this the right way.”
“Do what?” Simon asked, amused as he watched him dig through the small shelf of records. He must have found what he was looking for as he suddenly pulled a bright yellow album off the shelf with a triumphant shout and removed it from its cover, placing it on the player. The same song filtered through the speaker almost immediately, enveloping their apartment in the quiet crooning of the woman’s voice.
I want a Sunday kind of love.
Ryland was smiling sheepishly at him as he re-entered the kitchen, coming to stand directly in front of Simon.
“This,” he said simply, offering his hand with a hopeful look.
A love to last past Saturday night.
Simon eyed him skeptically as he placed his right hand in Ryland’s left, allowing himself to be gently pulled closer. He felt Ryland’s other hand come up to his side, settling gently on his hip as he started to sway them from foot to foot.
And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight.
This close, their noses almost touched. Simon found Ryland’s eyes, the deep blue somehow warmer than he’d ever seen it and a grin he wasn’t even trying to conceal spread wide across his face.
Simon inched closer, bringing his lips to Ryland’s ear.
“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” He teased.
“Oh very,” Ryland hummed his agreement instantly, taking Simon’s increased closeness as an opportunity to place a quick kiss on his shoulder.
I need a Sunday kind of love.
They stayed like that, pressed close enough for Simon to feel Ryland’s breathing and hear when he started to softly sing along to the music under his breath. His voice mingled with the recording as he sang, low and sweet, to Simon alone.
“Love for all my life, to have and to hold.”
Simon knew he was only singing the lyrics, but the words still made heat crawl up his neck and his heart squeeze almost painfully in his chest. He closed his eyes as the song neared its end, trying to memorize this moment and this feeling.
When the music finally came to a close, Simon’s voice had gone hoarse with emotion.
“I love you, Ryland.”
He could hear the smile in his partner’s voice as he spoke, “I love you too, Simon.”
Their half-made breakfast sat forgotten as neither of them was ready to let go. They stayed wrapped in each other's arms as the record began to play the next song, Ryland eventually teaching Simon how to do more than just sway, holding their joined hands overhead as he showed Simon how to twirl underneath them. It was clumsy and ungraceful—both of them tripping over their two sets of feet as they shuffled around their kitchen in their pajamas—but it was also sweet and tender and loving in a way neither of them had ever known before. To the two of them, it was perfect.