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Four patches of gold flash tangerine and coral and rose, catching the fading light of the setting sun through the windows as David twists his hand from side to side, taking in the look of his engagement rings on his fingers. They’re perfect. Patrick couldn’t have made a better—or more surprising—choice. He raises his phone to snap a picture or two (or twelve) and hears a laugh from the direction of the bathroom.

Patrick is standing in the doorway in nothing but his boxer briefs, toweling off his hair. “The first hundred or so pictures you took weren’t good enough?”

“Those were in bright daylight,” David explains. “Now it’s sunset. It’s a different aesthetic.”

Patrick tosses the towel into the bathroom hamper and crosses the apartment to climb into bed beside David, all fresh and clean and dewy-warm. He takes David’s four-ringed hand and kisses where each band meets his knuckle. The tenderness of it leaves David blushing furiously, which only makes Patrick turn his hand over to kiss them on the other side, too.

“So,” he says, placing one last kiss on David’s palm before letting go, “now that neither of us ‘smells like a summer camp’ anymore, how do you suggest we spend the evening?”

David smirks, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Mm, I might have an idea or two.”

Patrick pulls him down into a happy kiss. He still tastes like champagne, fizzy and bright, and David wants nothing more than to drink him down. “I hope it’s nothing too scandalous,” he says, lips working their way across David’s cheek. “Wouldn’t want to upset my fiancé.”

It’s the first time Patrick has called him that, and the smile that blossoms across David’s mouth is wide and unfettered. “Well speaking as your fiancé, I can guarantee you he’s going to be pretty upset if it isn’t scandalous.”

Patrick’s teeth graze the pulse point on his neck, and David shivers. “I think I can handle that.” That taunting mouth moves down his neck and across his clavicles, working back up the length of his throat to press one final, fleeting kiss at the corner of his lips, leaving the skin there tingling. Patrick’s kissed him in that same place, in that same way hundreds of times now, and it still has the same effect as it did the very first time. No one has ever kissed David the way Patrick does, with such care and such gentle affection. And now he’ll never have to kiss anyone else ever again. He gets to have this, to have Patrick and his soft kisses and his warm eyes, his deft fingers and his cold toes and his quiet, steady love for the rest of his life.

David surges in to kiss him again, harder, more certain, because he can’t not be kissing him, because Patrick is the love of his life and David gets to marry him and he is absolutely overflowing with joy. Patrick’s tongue teases in against his, short, flittering tastes of him that leave David aching for more. “I want…” he breathes between kisses. But when he doesn’t finish, Patrick pulls back to pin him with a searching look.

“You want…?”

David doesn’t actually know how he’d planned to finish that statement. He wants. He just wants. “Everything,” he says. “You. Just...”

That beautiful pink mouth of Patrick’s grins at him. “I don’t know if we can manage everything , but I bet we can make a pretty good go of it.”

“Well, we’ve got all night,” David challenges, and the grin on Patrick’s mouth softens into something sweeter.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives actually.”

David swans back into his pillow, throwing a hand across his eyes. “Oh my god. You can’t just say things like that.”

“Can’t I?” Patrick chases him down, brushing kisses across his forehead and his eyelids—“I’m going to marry you, David Rose”—his ears and his nose—”I’m going to spend my whole life with you”—his blushing cheeks and his chin—”I’m going to make you so fucking happy.”

“Stop,” David protests, trying to get a hand between him and that gleeful grin on Patrick’s face. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time today.”

David fixes him with a glare. “I cannot believe you’re making fun of me right now.”

“I would never make fun of my fiancé.” Patrick snakes his arms under David’s shoulders, holding him close, or more like trapping him in based on the mischief tugging at the corners of his mouth. “My fiancé,” he says again. “The love of my life. The man I’m going to marry.” He thinks for a second and then, “Oh, I got a good one! My betrothed.” David gags, just to see the way Patrick’s face lights up with laughter. “How about affianced?”

“Absolutely not.”

Patrick taps his forehead against David’s, the laughter fading away though the joy of it still sparkles in his eyes. “My future husband.”


David hadn’t yet thought of it in those terms. Fiancé, yes. Love of his life. Married. All those words had happily bounced around in his head as they’d eaten cheese and berries and chocolate, sipped champagne, snapped pictures of themselves together there on top of the world, as they’d followed the trail down again and made the long drive back to Patrick’s apartment for the night. He’d thought about what he’s going to wear tomorrow that won’t totally clash with his new rings, and about who he wants to tell first (Stevie, for sure), and maybe just a little about the potential of an autumn wedding versus a spring one. But he hadn’t really thought—or perhaps hadn’t let himself think—about Patrick as his husband.

Patrick is going to be his husband. David is going to have a husband.

All this happiness fluttering in his chest feels too big; he feels too full up with it, so he tilts up to kiss Patrick again, trying to breathe some of it out so that they can share it instead. “I love you, button.”

Patrick nudges his nose against the side of David’s, one of those sweet little Patricky things David loves so much. “I love you, best.” He pushes himself up onto his elbows and reaches for David’s hand, dragging it to his mouth to kiss each ring again. He can’t seem to stop himself, and David wouldn’t dare try.

But then that playful glint returns to his eyes, and he pulls David’s index finger into his mouth, wrapping his lips just around the edge of the gold band and slowly dragging back up to the tip. David watches his middle finger disappear into Patrick’s mouth next, followed by his pinky. He holds his breath as Patrick makes his way back to his ring finger, flashing David a flirty smile before he sucks down and back up the length of it.

David pulls him back down, kissing him wet and open and just shy of needy, that smoldering heat that had started to build in his veins before Patrick had distracted him catching flame again.

“What part of ‘everything’ do you want first?” Patrick asks, kissing messily along the line of David’s jaw, lips rasping against his stubble.

This time David has an answer ready. “I want you in my mouth.”

“God yes.”

Patrick nips at his earlobe, and David’s hips roll up into him, thin layers of fabric doing nothing to hide the hardness there. His hands trail down Patrick’s back to grasp two handfuls of his beautiful ass, pulling him closer so that David can grind up against him. Patrick kisses him until they’re both panting for breath, and David hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his navy boxer briefs.

“Take these off,” he says, and Patrick hurries to comply, rolling to the side and shedding that single layer of clothing, leaving him bare and stretched out next to David who looks him down and up appreciatively. It’s been two years, and he still has trouble sometimes believing that all of this is his. That he’s kissed every inch of these thighs, felt every muscle in these abs tremble beneath his hands. That he’s been allowed to. He’s kissed plenty of other thighs, touched plenty of other abs, but these are Patrick’s and they’re in a whole different category for that reason alone. It’s a little like being allowed to touch a van Gogh—something precious and priceless and unique—and David’s not sure he’ll ever stop being amazed that he’s allowed to touch Patrick that way.

He slides down the bed, raising his hands above his head, and Patrick’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

David nods eagerly, and Patrick leans in to kiss him again, long and lingering, before he moves, settling a knee on either side of David’s chest. He leans forward to pin David’s hands against the mattress, twining their fingers together and giving his ringed hand an extra squeeze. The movement brings his cock into range of David’s mouth, and David runs the very tip of his tongue along the underside, just barely flicking it across the bead of slickness at the slit. He does it again, using a little more of his tongue now, tracing the same path up, slow and measured, and Patrick’s belly quivers with the hint of a laugh. “You’re such a tease.”

“I know,” David says, doing it again, this time flattening his tongue against that soft, sensitive skin, and when he reaches the tip, he slides his lips down just around the head. His tongue swirls around it, and Patrick’s hips twitch forward the tiniest fraction of an inch. And that is exactly what David wants, so he does it again, swirling his tongue warm and wet around the head of Patrick’s prick and squeezing his hands, encouraging him to move. Patrick takes the hint, pushing forward just an inch or so before pulling back and doing it again, and David hums around him, pleased. The next push in takes him cautiously deeper, Patrick rolling his hips in slow, gentle waves, in and then out again. In and back out. So slowly and carefully in. And after a long moment where David sucks him a little harder, back out again.

All that heat in David’s veins burns down into his muscles, down into his bones: a languorous, molten kind of desire. He loves this. The hardness of Patrick’s cock gliding so softly over his tongue. Patrick’s steely control as he rocks forward and back, slow as the tide, again and again. The way David can always look up through his lashes to find Patrick watching him, concentration wrinkled across his brow but his eyes wide with wonder, like he still can’t quite believe that David lets him do this, that David trusts him this way. But that’s exactly why David loves this so much: because when he trusts Patrick this much it makes it easy to concentrate on the heavy press of his hands into the mattress and the dull, gorgeous ache in his jaw, the way his blood pulses through his veins thick and sluggish with want, the slight tremble building in Patrick’s thighs as he so carefully fucks into David’s mouth again.

He pulls back a little farther this time, his cock slipping free of David’s mouth, as he drags in a deep, shaking breath that gives away how much he’s enjoying this, too. David licks at the tip and he presses in again, once, twice more, like he just can’t quite give it up yet, and David hums happily at the thought, at how much Patrick loves his mouth, and Patrick swears as he pulls out again, moving to lie down next to David instead, eyes closed as he tries to calm his breath. David rubs a soothing hand across his belly, waiting for Patrick to open his eyes again before he leans in to kiss him, slow and sweet.

“Do you know how incredibly hot it is when you fuck my mouth like that?” he asks when he draws back, and Patrick groans.

“David, you realize saying that is not helping me calm down, right?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, not really sorry at all. “It’s just really fucking sexy.”

Patrick presses a finger to David’s mouth. “Stop. Talking.”

“What?” he asks, all false innocence. “Is your fiancé not allowed to talk to you now?”

A grin tugs at the corner of Patrick’s mouth. “Yes actually. Because my fiancé needs to give me a minute if he wants me to fuck anything other than his mouth tonight.”

His grin widens as David snaps his mouth shut and drops back onto his pillow. It’s growing darker out, the sky beyond their windows deepened into dusky purples and blues, and David holds up his hand again to see how they reflect against the gold. The mattress shakes as Patrick chuckles.

“You really like them, don’t you?”

It’s a ridiculous question, and David rolls his eyes at it. Of course he likes them. “They’re perfect.” He lowers his hand and slips it into Patrick’s where it’s lying between them. “What about you?”

“I wouldn’t have bought them if I didn’t like them.”

“No,” David says. “I mean, what about a ring for you?”

“Oh.” Patrick shrugs. “I haven’t really thought about it. These last few weeks I’ve been so nervous about proposing, it hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

“You were nervous?” He’d hidden it surprisingly well.

Patrick laughs, a full, body-shaking chuckle. “A little bit, yeah.”

“Did you honestly think I might say ‘no’?”

“No,” Patrick replies, as quickly and certainly as he’d said easiest decision of my life . He rolls toward David, pressing himself all along his side, and David lets go of his hand in favor of lifting his arm so that Patrick can snuggle closer into him, his fingers tracing idly through the hair on David’s chest. “I know you well enough by now I was pretty sure you’d say ‘yes.’ I was more worried about making sure everything was perfect for you, though I still kind of fucked that up.”

“It was perfect.” David presses a kiss to his forehead. “You had your whole, lovely speech, and you actually got down on one knee, and you gave me not just one, but four rings, and you even brought cheese—”

“Are you marrying me just for the cheese?”

“Obviously.” David rubs his hand up and down Patrick’s back. “Though there are… other benefits.”

Patrick looks up at him, eyes sparkling with all that good humor David loves so much. “Such as?”

“This,” David says, and he leans down to brush a breathy kiss across Patrick’s mouth, pulling back just enough to lick his lips and make Patrick chase him down again. He opens his knees to make room for Patrick to roll into the space between them, their cocks brushing together half-hard through the soft barrier of David’s trunks, as Patrick presses him back into the pillow. His kisses trail away from David’s lips, down his throat and across his chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth. He drags his teeth over the sensitive peak of it, and David writhes beneath him, bucking against the sturdy weight of him. The grin Patrick flashes him is wicked, and he does it again with David’s other nipple, far too pleased with himself when it elicits the same response.

His mouth traces down the hard rise of David’s ribs, along his stomach, over the crests of his hips, leaving a wet trail of kisses that raise goosebumps as they cool against his skin. Patrick taps the sides of his hips, and David lifts them off the mattress, letting Patrick get his fingers beneath the waistband of his trunks to pull them down and off before resettling there between his thighs. There’s a soft kiss pressed against the inside of his knee and the brush of Patrick’s nose down along the stretch of his thigh. Every graze of his mouth is more warm, soft breath than pressure, and anticipation builds in David’s spine like static electricity, ready to jolt through him at the first touch. But when Patrick reaches the crease between his hip and thigh, he moves to the other knee and starts again, laughing softly at David’s frustrated groan.

“Who’s the tease now?” David asks.

Patrick smirks up at him before biting down just hard enough to make David startle at the unexpected pleasure of it. But then he’s all breath and softness again, and David  wriggles under his touch, desperate for more. He can feel the tease of Patrick’s smile with every kiss, and it’s maddening. It’s maddening that Patrick can do this to him every time because he knows it works, because David lets it work, because no one else has ever taken their time with him this way, just for the sheer joy of it, for the way it makes David feel cherished and wanted and sexy and deeply, desperately loved.

When he finally reaches the crease of his other hip, Patrick moves up to kiss along David’s belly. “Fuck you,” David whines.

Patrick has the nerve to smile at him. “Later,” he promises and carries on kissing David everywhere but where he wants.

David buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god , Patrick Brewer, if you don’t put that pretty little mouth of yours around my cock, I am literally going to die.”

That earns him a laugh— rude —and Patrick moves higher to pry David’s hands from his face and kiss the flush of his cheeks. “If you die, we can’t get married,” he says around the amusement in his mouth.

David’s heart flutters—Patrick is going to marry him—and he wonders how long it will take for the shiny newness of this feeling to wear off. An eternity, he hopes.

“Then I guess you better get to work.” He aims for a breezy kind of cockiness, but the effect is ruined with the way he keens when Patrick’s hips dip down against him as he reaches for the bottle on the bedside table.

“I guess I better.”

Before he slides back down the bed, Patrick drops one more happy kiss on the tip of his nose, and David rolls his eyes at the sweet sincerity of it. He loves this ridiculous man so much more than he could have ever thought possible.

And then Patrick’s arms are slipping under his thighs, hands wrapping up and around to press his hips down into the mattress as he sucks David down deep, the hot, wet pressure of it nearly overwhelming. and David melts into the bed as Patrick begins to move.

It’s all measured and deliberate, Patrick pulling fully up to the tip before sucking him down again, just as steady, taking his time. It’s relief and it’s torture all at once, and David feels lit up by it, every nerve, every cell catching flame one by one by one, until every part of him is glowing incandescent with need. He tries to watch, but the sight of his cock sliding in and out of his fiancé’s pink, wet mouth is far too much, and he drops his head back into the pillow and tries to remember how to breathe while Patrick keeps up his slow, intentional pace, pressing David’s hips harder against the bed when they threaten to rock up into him, leaving David whining for more.

He knows Patrick wants him to beg. He’s so fucking good at this, at knowing exactly what David wants and not quite giving it to him, not at first, not until he asks for it. David knows that he loves hearing him ask for what he wants, loves asking him and hearing David’s breathless, eager yes. “Pa— Patrick.” His breath gusts out around the name, shaky and harsh. “I need…” Patrick’s mouth slides down the length of his prick again, and the muscles in David’s stomach roll at the pleasure of it. “Fingers. I need your fingers in me.”

A hum of agreement vibrates deliciously through him. Patrick pulls away for a few seconds that feel like a small eternity, anticipation ratcheting David’s heartbeat faster even as he tries to drag down deep, calming breaths. But then Patrick’s mouth is on him again at the same time as a slick finger slips inside him, and calm is a concept David can no longer understand. Without Patrick’s hands holding him down, his hips roll up to meet Patrick’s mouth in tiny, eager waves as he seeks out more of that delicious feeling. There’s a second finger and then a third, the stretch of them a beautiful complement to all that wet, tight heat around his cock, but it’s still not enough.

“More. Please. I, oh fuck, I need more.”

With a wet, little slurp that’s far sexier than it has any right to be, Patrick pulls off, looking up at him and pinching his lip coyly between his teeth, his eyes teasing and bright. David can see the hunger simmering there, too, beneath the joy and the playfulness and the love, and god he could never get tired of Patrick looking at him that way, all wanting but patient, never taking anything David isn’t willing to give. He would have never thought that that kind of composure could be so sexy, but it is. It really fucking is. That Patrick wants him but wants David to want it, too.

“More what?” he asks, though his smirk says he clearly already knows the answer. He just wants to hear David say it.

More everything, is the honest answer. He wants more of Patrick’s mouth around his prick, tight and greedy and messy. He wants more of Patrick’s fingers inside of him, wants his tongue inside of him, wants his thick, gorgeous cock inside of him, He wants Patrick’s ass seated in the cradle of his hips as David fucks him with that same deliberately torturous pace that Patrick uses to drive him mad. He wants Patrick’s lips on his, the two of them panting together as they chase their pleasure. He wants Patrick’s arms around him as they shake apart. Patrick’s feet tangled with his as they fall asleep. Patrick’s eyes in the first light of the sun and his sleep-warmed skin and his morning breath. He wants every single moment that Patrick can give him, a lifetime of happy memories stretching out toward the horizon like endless reflections in a pair of perfectly matched mirrors. And he can have that. He gets to have that. Everything he’s never allowed himself to admit he wants is now right here within reach.

Tears start to fall before David can stop them.

“Hey.” Patrick’s voice is all soft with concern, and he moves to lie along David’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies, as quickly as he can, not wanting Patrick to think he’d done something to cause this. “I’m sorry, I just—” Fuck, he really doesn’t want to be crying right now. If Patrick thought that he had killed the romance earlier today, this is nothing compared to that.

“Don’t be sorry,” Patrick says. “Never be sorry for this.” He thumbs away the tears on David’s cheek, and the sweetness of it only makes more of them fall. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want some space?”

If it’s possible for David to love him any harder, he doesn’t know how. He’s so full up with it he could burst. “I love you so much,” he blurts out. Surprise and then delight flash on Patrick’s face in turn. “I just love you, and I want to spend my life with you, and god, I can’t believe you’re making cry during sex.”

“Me?” Patrick asks. “What did I do?”

“Everything!” David laughs as more tears roll down his cheeks. “Everything you do... you just make me so happy.” The smile on Patrick’s face grows so wide and warm David wants to crawl inside it and nest there. “This is so stupid. Crying is stupid.” He wipes his hands furiously across his wet cheeks.

“I think it’s pretty great,” Patrick says, and the kiss he follows it with is pretty great, too. David lets himself melt into it. He loves that Patrick can do this, can love David right through these moments when he’s a bit of a disaster, somehow turning them into these charming, sweet little tableaus of joy. It eases that messy knot of emotion tangled around his lungs, and he feels like he can breathe again.

With all that fresh oxygen filtering back into his blood, the fire that’s been burning in his veins flares up once more. He kisses his way under the curve of Patrick’s jaw, rolling him back into the mattress. “Speaking of pretty great…” He reaches down to stroke the length of Patrick’s cock, and Patrick bites back a groan, though if it’s at the touch or that terrible segue, David isn’t sure. Either way, he goes with it. “I still very much want you to fuck me. If you’re amenable to that.”

He can feel Patrick’s laugh where his lips are pressed to his throat. “I think I can be more than amenable.”

“Good.” David throws his leg across Patrick’s hips, settling his weight astride him as he sucks a bruise into the curve of his shoulder. It might show when he’s in costume tomorrow night, but it’ll only add to the aesthetic. And if Patrick isn’t going to have a ring of his own yet, then at least there can be this, some small sign that he’s David’s just as surely as the four gold rings on David’s fingers declare that he’s Patrick’s.

He nips lightly at the darkened patch of skin, and Patrick winces. “Fuck, David.”

“Mmm, please.”

David finds the bottle of lube buried in the sheets and reaches between them to generously coat Patrick’s cock, slicking him from base to tip. With another look at Patrick, who licks his lips and nods, David takes a deep breath and sinks slowly down onto him, relishing the way Patrick stretches and fills him, the way Patrick’s fingers rub patient, soothing circles into the muscles of his thighs, the way Patrick watches him, a little breathless, a little starry-eyed, like no matter how many times they’ve done this he still can’t quite believe it’s real. A tentative stretch of his thighs raises him up just an inch and back down again, and he smirks at the way Patrick’s breath hitches at the movement. He does it again, raising higher, coming down faster, and again. And again. Patrick’s hands find his hips, his waist, his chest, fingers brushing reverently over every bit of skin he can reach, and David closes his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of Patrick’s hands on him, of Patrick inside him, as he rises and falls in steady waves, the exertion of it just beginning to burn sweetly in his thighs. “Patrick,” he breathes, riding him a little faster, a little harder, a soft sheen of sweat starting to form on his skin.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to find Patrick looking at him in that way he does, that way that makes David feel like the most beautiful thing in the universe. He lifts his hands, and David threads their fingers together, steadying himself as he moves faster still, Patrick squeezing his left hand.  The metal of the rings there press down into the meat of David’s fingers, and he wonders if Patrick could possibly squeeze hard enough or long enough that the marks would be indelible—an impression that won't fade even when he has to take them off to shower or sleep—just as purple and obvious as the hickey on Patrick’s shoulder.

As his legs tire, the roll of his hips falters, and Patrick takes advantage of the opportunity to roll them over. With David all laid out beneath him, he kisses him slowly and sweetly and so very thoroughly that David can feel his toes curling. They’re both panting heavily when Patrick finally pulls away, resting his forehead against David’s and looking into his eyes.

“I cannot wait to marry you, David Rose.”

He says it so simply, so plainly that David’s breath catches in his throat, and here come the tears again. But this time David just lets them fall. “I didn’t know,” he admits, voice shaking under the strain of his honesty. “I wanted this so badly, but I didn’t know if you did.”

“I do,” Patrick says, and all David’s breath rattles out of him at once at the thought of Patrick saying those very words to him again in the now not-so-distant future. “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to be your husband.” Patrick leans in to kiss away the tears on David’s cheeks, and David thinks that an entire lifetime won’t possibly be enough to give this man all the love that he deserves. But he’s certainly going to try.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you.”

Patrick kisses David once more, soft but certain, and when they start to move again, the urgency of it has mellowed into something richer, something more profound. They wrap their arms around each other, their kisses all rolling tongues and heavy breaths, as Patrick fucks him slow and deep. David loves this, being under Patrick this way, being surrounded by him, his hands finding their way into David’s hair, his belly brushing steadily against David’s leaking prick, his chest pressing so close against David’s he can practically feel his heart beating there beneath his ribs. It’s like Patrick’s everywhere at once, on him and in him, part of him, some essential piece of David he hadn’t even known he’d spent his whole life missing, a piece he’s going to do his absolute best to never, ever, ever lose. He wraps his arms tighter around Patrick and holds on, burying his face in Patrick’s neck, panting hot and damp against his skin.

“Harder,” he breathes, and Patrick snaps his hips into him, eager to comply. “I need… God, I need—” And beautiful, incredible, perfect Patrick knows exactly what he needs, even if he can’t get the words out, because Patrick always knows what he needs. He sits up, dragging David’s hips up into his lap, changing the angle of his thrusts, and stars burst behind David’s eyelids. “Fuck. Just like that. Just like—” He gets a hand on his cock, stroking it in tight, short pulls that he knows will get him there quick.

Patrick closes his eyes, his head falling back between his shoulders. “David…”

“Patrick.” It’s nearly dark now, but the faint light from the streetlamps silhouettes the bared length of his throat, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his arms as he holds David in his lap, all that compact power that Patrick likes to hide under those unassuming blue button-ups. It’s the sexiest fucking thing David’s ever seen, and it’s all his. For all time. “Come on, Patrick. Come on. Fuck, I’m close...”

As if he’d been waiting for David’s permission, Patrick’s rhythm falters, his thumbs squeezing harder against David’s hip bones, and with two more thrusts, he comes, David’s name a panting breath on his lips.

David’s right on the edge, too, his lower back arching dramatically off the bed as Patrick presses his still pulsing cock even deeper. The feeling of it, of Patrick filling him, is too much, is everything, and David comes with a wordless cry.

They collapse together, all shaking breath and soothing hands and flushed, slick skin on skin. Patrick’s lips find David’s neck, pecking tiny kisses into the curve of it, and David wraps him up tight in his arms.

Soon, they’ll have to get up and clean up, turn on some lights, maybe order something for dinner. Maybe they’ll talk a bit about who they want to tell and how they want to tell them, or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll open another bottle of champagne and fall tipsy and laughing into bed for another round. Maybe, just for tonight, David will wear his rings to bed, falling asleep with his fiancé’s fingers laced between his.

But for now, all he needs is this, Patrick on his chest, nose nuzzling into his neck, fingers tracing aimlessly up and down his arm. It feels a little like holding happiness in his hands, strong and bright and alive, and he’s never going to let it go.