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'can i touch you?'

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George is lying out in the garden, appreciating the warmth of the sun on his skin, the occasional breeze shifting his hair, the prickle of grass on his back.

He hears Owen approaching, tries to decide if he’s happy about that - on the one hand; it’s Owen, and George loves him. On the other hand, he thinks he’s found the most comfortable spot in the world, and Owen is inevitably going to want to talk, or otherwise disturb his peace.

George hears Owen come close, settle on the grass beside him.

“Can I touch you?” Owen asks, voice quiet.

Called it, George thinks.

“If you must,” is what he says - but he lets a smile turn up the corner of his lips, so Owen will know he truly is welcome.

The only thing that could improve the most comfortable spot in the world would be sharing it with Owen, after all.

Owen starts with a soft kiss, just a peck - George startles, hadn’t been expecting that. Then there’s a moment of quiet, clothes and grass rustling - George opens an eye, turns his head, to see that Owen is lying on the ground beside him.

“Hi,” he says quietly, once Owen is settled.

“Hi,” Owen smiles, leaning in to kiss him again.

George leans forwards when Owen goes to pull away, this time, keeps the kiss going for a few long moments. It’s soft, and warm, everything George has been appreciating in nature wrapped up in the man he loves.

But Owen’s just a breath too far away to be comfortable, and so George allows the kiss to end.

When he does Owen shifts that inch closer, hooks an ankle around George’s calf. Then he reaches out, takes George’s hand where it’s resting on his stomach, his arm resting gently across George’s torso. Finally he pillows his face on his other hand, and leans his whole body in, brushing against George.

“Comfortable?” George asks, smiling when Owen just hums.

If Owen had a dip at his waist, if he was anything other than solid muscle, George would sneak a hand under him, return the embrace Owen has enfolded him in. As it is he folds his arm at the elbow, rests the back of his knuckles against Owen’s chest, and leans in to kiss him on the temple.

“Put your music on, love,” he invites.

He knows Owen has a playlist just for days like this, slow summer moments.

“You’re too good to me,” Owen sighs. “I left my phone inside, didn’t want to disturb your peace.”

George huffs. “Maybe I wanted you to sing for me,” he teases.

Owen whines in protest. “I could move?” he offers - but he leans closer in to George as he says it, clearly not a fan of that idea.

“No,” George replies quickly, squeezing Owen’s hand. “No, it’s good.”

“Better than good,” Owen murmurs, shifting closer until his hair brushes the underside of George’s chin.

“Better than good,” George agrees, ducking in to kiss Owen’s head, unable to resist.

They lie there for long moment, the breeze stirring the leaves of the tree above them, disturbing a couple of birds. After a while Owen starts to hum, a song George knows, a song he’s often heard Owen sing before. When George picks up the tune Owen starts to sing, and George couldn’t stop the smile that splits his face for the world.