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The first rays of sunlight filter through the gap in the curtains, heralding the arrival of a new day. Outside, the hustle and bustle on the streets of London awakens, while inside, Morpheus' arms are wrapped around David, not yet releasing him from the land of slumber.
Reality begins to penetrate David’s drowsy mind when curious fingers leave feather-light touches at his throat and shoulder. Despite his curiosity and a pleasant warmth spreading through him, he’s not ready to face the world yet. Not when he chases the remnants of a heavenly dream.
With a grumble David turns his head deeper into the pillow and pulls the blanket under his chin.
Someone chuckles behind him.
David refuses to pay attention to them as the fading images of moist lips, wandering hands, and entangled limbs dance before his mind's eye. All he desires is to return to the state between sleep and awakening, in which time is irrelevant and every feeling is intensified.
Despite his best efforts to signal that he wants to be left alone, the perpetrator remains insistent, and the pad of a finger traces the shell of his ear.
David swats it away and sighs in annoyance.
Again, a chuckle reaches him, more amused this time.
David throws back a displeased "Go away."
Why can't whoever is tormenting him understand that he longs to return to his sensual dream?
By sheer force of will, David tries to hold on to the gradually vanishing echoes of hot kisses, burning touches, and writhing bodies. Sensations that were so close and now are almost out of reach.
After another brush, the troublesome finger disappears. At last. David relaxes into the mattress as sleep ensnares him once again with its irresistible promise of bliss. The someone behind him has probably figured out that all efforts are in vain, and it’s a waste of time to bother him any longer.
A second later, however, he realizes his error in judgment. The fingers have merely sneaked under the blanket and found another target: his thigh. They move languorously from hip to knee, causing a tingling sensation on his skin.
Somewhat baffled, David notices that he’s not wearing any sleepwear. He racks the part of his brain that has already shaken off the cobwebs of sleep but doesn't find a satisfying explanation for his current state of undress.
Damn, these fingers are distracting, especially when the thumb draws circles on his hipbone.
Puffs of air tickle the back of David's neck, the faint smell of a familiar shampoo invades his nose, and a foot travels up his calf. Meanwhile, the delicate fingers expand the area of exploration and insist on rubbing his abdomen now.
A throaty sigh passes David’s lips as he succumbs to the gentle touch. Somehow, this is much better than his dream.
A warm body presses against his back, soft curves fitting into his bony angles, and stubble rasps against his shoulder.
Michael.
The rush of clarity has him wide awake now. Contrary to his first assumption, his vivid dream hasn't been a dream at all, and the memory of passionate kisses, desperate bodies, and carnal desire hits him like a truck.
A blush rises, painting David’s cheeks, the column of his throat, and his chest in a lovely shade of pink.
Michael’s lips have attached themselves to the sensitive spot below his ear, sucking and licking, and his fingers trail downward. “Ah, I see, Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up.”
“Yes, my Wicked Queen,” David replies, pushing his rear against Michael’s own piqued interest.
Michael snorts. “Am I not the dashing prince who kisses the princess awake?”
“I don’t know about dashing,” David says, rocking his hips in unison with Michael’s. “More like horny and insatiable.” A moan spills from his lips as Michael changes the speed of his hand.
“I can live with that,” Michael says and bites down on his earlobe.
By now, Michael's caresses have set every single cell in David's body on fire. And it's still not enough. "More," he demands, clawing at Michael's waist, arm, anything he can reach.
Michael slows his hand down and whispers into his ear, "Patience."
"Fuck patience," David retorts at the sudden loss of stimulation.
"No, sweetheart, you got that wrong,” Michael says, bucking his hips into his backside for emphasis. “I only fuck you.”
David yelps. "Then you'd better put your money where your mouth is."
Michael places a kiss at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. “On your stomach.”
David rolls onto his stomach, puts a pillow under his hips, and settles into a comfortable position. Despite the pounding his ass received last night, he yearns for another round, to be filled deeply and completely.
Michael straddles his legs and kneads his butt cheeks. “Ready?”
“Hmm,” David hums and closes his eyes.
Michael spreads him apart, teasing the muscle ring with his slick thumb, and slides in.
David sighs at the stretch and the subsequent fullness, groans at the slap of skin against skin, and whimpers at the repeated brush against his sweet spot. Soon, the wave of pleasure crests over him, and he floats away on a cloud of bliss with a soft “Michael” on his tongue.
When David becomes aware of his surroundings again, a collapsed Michael pants into his neck, and his weight presses him into the bed.
“Sometimes you can be quite the pillow princess,” Michael says, dragging his tongue over David’s damp skin.
David grabs Michael’s hand, entwines their fingers, and brings the knuckles to his lips. “I’ll remind you the next time you play starfish.”
“As you say, princess.” Michael slides off and rests on one elbow beside him. His fingers brush a curl of hair from David's brow.
“You know,” David pouts and walks up his fingers on Michael’s arm, “for an allegedly dashing prince, you forgot to kiss the princess good morning.”
Michael grins and scoots closer. “Forgive my oversight.”
While people hurry through the rainy streets outside, two men enjoy each other's comfort and intimacy in their cocoon, unhurried and lazy, as if they have all the time in the world.