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“Can I help you shave ge?”
The thought comes to you mindlessly as you watch him prep his weekly shaving routine. Honeycrisp scented shaving cream that you helped him pick out earlier this month, a sharp single blade razor ready and waiting and a towel thrown over his bare shoulder.
He tips his head at you, an arm propped up against the marble of the sink, looking unfairly handsome in the low light of the morning.
“Sure, but what’s gotten into you today pips?”
You shrug, walking over to take the razor from his outstretched hand which comes to settle around your waist now that it’s free. A simple act that warms you. How easily he reaches for you.
“I don’t know, just want to.”
Something about sharing this simple mundaneness after everything feels particularly healing. To be able to enjoy these ordinary moments with him again, makes him feel more solid. No longer a false sun in the bitterness of winter, but one that burns your skin with the blistering heat of summer.
“It makes me feel closer to you, touching you like this.” Your fingers smooth the lather of the shaving cream onto his jaw, above his upper lip, and then down the expanse of his neck.
“Well then, touch me as much as you’ll like. No complaints here.” He grins and it makes him look silly with all the shaving cream on his skin.
For some reason, your hands quiver. The muted warmth of the early morning, of him, of this moment. How quickly will it be lost again? Sometimes, it feels like he’ll disappear right from your fingertips. Just disintegrate into dust. Especially on days like this, it all feels like a dream. One that you’ll wake from at any moment only to find yourself alone all over again.
But your gege knows you. He sees the fear, the gnawing anxiety you try so desperately to hide and effortlessly reminds you that the sun is always there, that he’ll always be there. After-all, even in the depths of the night, it’s the sun that gives light to the moon. A large, calloused hand closes over yours, guiding you through the first stroke down his jaw.
“Here, like this.” His voice is still kissed with the scratchiness of sleep and it wraps around you like a warm blanket.
Your touch grows more confident with his assurance, but still, you go slow, careful not to accidentally nick him.
Somewhere along the line, he starts humming, and you feel the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against your hip.
“Are you enjoying this?” You ask, peeking up at him with a fond smile.
“Immensly, in fact, why don’t you help me shave every week?”
You know he meant it as jest, but you nod anyway.
“Okay.”
Then a bit quieter
“I like it when you let me take care of you.”
He softens into you, tapping his forehead against yours. “Okay then, my dedicated lil’ barber. How should I repay you? In chicken wings or bubble tea? Take your pick. Orrrrrr, should I cook and do the dishes too from now on hmm?”
You laugh, a bright infectious sound that has his lips pulling into a wide smile. He loves it when he makes you laugh. It mends another broken part of him when you gift him your smile, your laughter, your joy. He wants to hoard it all, like a dragon with his most prized possessions. You.
“Cooking and doing the dishes? A very generous offer indeed, colonel. I accept. No take backs though.”
He exhales a light laugh through his nose. “I would never. Unlike somebody. You promised you’ll go for a run with me the other day–”
He gets cut off by a pouty whine of your favorite manipulation tactic.
“Ge geeeee.”
He rolls his eyes, but he can’t suppress the fond exasperation.
“Oh now I’m gege. You silly girl, you think I’ll let you get away with anything if you call me that huh?” It’s true, he would.
“Shush and let me finish shaving you and plus, it is my magic word. Always has been.”
You used to think it was magical how Caleb always appeared when you needed him. You fell and busted your knee? Gege’s already there with antiseptic and a bandaid. You knocked over a glass of water? He’s already caught it and cleaned up the mess. Always the first to wish you happy birthday. The first to give your flowers. All you had to do was chant the magic word gege and then as time passed, the name Caleb, and everything was taken care of.
You know now that the magic word was never gege or Caleb. It was love. Intention. Commitment. Caleb and love. The two are synonymous to you now.
You don’t see the way he’s looking at you and he ducks his head away before you have the chance to. His fringe hides the flush that has painted his cheeks, but the tip of his ears are bright red. It’s endearing. He’s never been able to hide those from you.
“Don’t keep your head down, I can’t see where I’m shaving.”
He raises his head slowly at your bidding and the violet eyes staring into yours has too much fire for this peaceful morning. You know what those eyes mean. It means if you let him, you’re not leaving the bed today and if you do, it’s not for the intended purpose.
“I want to kiss you.”
“You’re gonna get shaving cream on me.”
Your hand makes the last pass down the underside of his neck before his large one closes over it, stopping you in your tracks.
“I know.”
His lips are slightly dry in the morning, but they’re soft. Soft and warm against yours. Then his hand finds your jaw and squeezes gently. Your mouth parts in response for him and you taste the mintiness of the toothpaste on his tongue.
He guides your arms around his neck and your fingers crawl into the scruff of his hair. It’s like second nature to you at this point. Strong arms lift you onto the countertop, never breaking the kiss. His hands spread over your thighs, pressing himself into the space he’s made between them.
When he pulls away there’s a shiny string of spit that connects your lips and he leans down to lick it away. Kisses migrate down the side of your neck, tongue hot and wet against flesh.
“Caleb-hah,” your eyes squeeze shut when he sucks particularly hard at the spot right beneath your ear.
“Mm?”
“It’s a little too early for this, no?”
Long fingers slide beneath the fabric of your underwear, thumbs smoothing over your skin. His large body sinks lower to the floor until he’s almost kneeling on the bathroom tile. He presses a kiss to your knee, letting his cheek rest against it.
“If you don’t want me to put it in, I can eat you out? I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is let me please you. Or maybe just my fingers? You’ll let me won’t you? Please?”
He blinks up at you with those beautiful sunset eyes and you sigh. What a liar. Just his fingers? You both know it won’t end with just that. You pretend to contemplate his offer, brushing the hair from his forehead, letting your hand cup his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand.
“Fine, but I want fried chicken and mochi waffles for breakfast today. Freshly made lemonade, and oh-strawberries are in season so how about a strawberry salad on the side? And then for lunch–ow! Caleb!”
Your voice breaks into a squeak of his name when he chomps down on the meat of your palm, leaving a pretty imprint of his teeth behind.
“So demanding,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “But,” he rises to his feet again, scooping you into his arms. “Whatever my baby wants, my baby gets.”
He holds you with one arm, pulling your underwear off with the other, letting it hang loosely off your ankle as he deposits you onto the couch.
“Tell me what you want for lunch, and dinner,” he says, casually, like he’s not pushing your shirt up to suck and lick at your breasts, leaving pretty red marks wherever he goes. It’s hard to really think of anything else other than his big hands canvassing your body. His skin hot against yours, the way he lifts your leg to drape it over his shoulder, dragging your hips up against his mouth for easier access like you weigh absolutely nothing to him.
“Hmm? Baby, you’ve gone quiet on me.”
You answer with a breathless moan, head tipping back with a sigh when he wraps his lips around your clit.
“Ho-How’s um,” An obscene squelch of saliva and slick fills your ears and it would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fucking good. “Soup?” You try, lids fluttering when two fingers sink into you. It’s so easy for him. He knows your body too well, plays it like a fiddle. Strings you up tight then loosens you back up. Again and again until you break.
“Soup?” He mumbles into you, peeking up briefly to meet your hazy, pleasure drunk eyes. “That's not very specific pips. What kind of soup?”
Thick fingers pump into you, slow and teasing. Pleasure spreads like thick, syrupy honey, filling your veins and you feel the familiar crest of an orgasm.
“Fuck…Caleb. Ju-mm, just like that.”
“Mmm, Fuck, Caleb, Just like that is not a kind of soup baby. What do we think about chicken instead?”
He laughs when you let out an exasperated groan and you do your best to muster a glare at him. The man you love is truly insufferable.
Before you can bite back a response, he curls his fingers inside, tongue and lips returning to lapping and suckling your clit and you melt like butter from his touch.
He fucks you with his fingers. A mean schlick shlick schlick and slurps up your slick until your whole body curls into him, stiffening with overwhelming heat before slumping back into the couch. His hand slows but he doesn’t stop until you’re shuddering and whining that it’s too much.
“Good girl,” he croons, gathering you up in his arms. He stuffs his fingers that were just inside of you into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. “Sweet yea?” When you’re done licking his fingers he finishes up after you, sucking them dry. It’s filthy.
Caleb cleans you up afterward, like he always does. He wipes you down, helps you change into a new pair of underwear and then sets you down on the kitchen counter so you can swing your legs and he can feed you while he makes you breakfast.
“Chicken is fine,” you comment while he stirs the batter for the mochi waffles.
“Hmm?” He pauses for a second before grinning. “Yea? But we’re already having fried chicken for breakfast, you’re sure you won’t get tired of it?” He steals a kiss from you in the meantime.
“Nope, won’t get tired of it,” you assure. “I’ll never get tired of anything you make.”
He raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you. “Promise?”
“Promise!” You agree, opening up your mouth when he offers you a piece of strawberry.
“Annnnd that’s a deal right there. The next time I make something twice in a row I better not hear shit you hear me? No, ugh Caleb, why are we having hot pot again? No, can we get takeout instead?” He pitches his voice higher when he impersonates your complaining and it gets a chuckle out of you. He beams when it does.
“Okay, but you do make hot pot wayyyy too often in the winter–”
He shuts you up with another kiss and you lean into him, tugging him closer so you can wrap your legs around his waist.
“What did I say about complaining? We had a deal didn't we?” He murmurs, letting his lips linger against yours, not willing to part just yet.
“Fine fine, no more complaining, promise.” You grin up at him, eyes bright and laughter even brighter when he rolls his eyes.
“I know better than to believe you, my spoiled princess.”
That’s right. His spoiled princess. His baby. If there’s one constant in your life, it’s that you’ve been his and he, yours. Always. Not for one moment has that not been true.
You tip your head back and breathe in the morning air. The sun has fully risen now. The light pouring into the kitchen warms you from the inside out, it blinds you, it heals you.
The sun is out again. Caleb is here. You’re here. Everything is right again. You and him. You’ll both be alright again. The fog has cleared, but even if it hasn’t, the sun will find a way through like it always does. Winter, no matter how bitter, how cold, will always come to an end.