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Waking up is a glorious affair.
Sunlight pours itself through the half opened curtains in broad, golden rays: bright and yellow where they're unobstructed, muted to a softer peach where they have to pass through airy fabric.
Reaching all the way to the bed, the rays wrap themselves fondly around half exposed body parts, hugging round biceps and the curve of ribs, the dip of a spine, the rolling planes of strong shoulders, the knot of some tangled legs.
They don't stop at the rumpled blankets - pushed away in the night in favor of seeking each other's body heat - throwing stark, bruising shadows over valleys and mountains entirely made of cotton.
Leon wakes at a glacial pace.
The first thing his mind catches in the stream of sensation, filtering in slowly, bit after bit, is the delicious kiss of sunny warmth on his naked skin. He basks in it, rolls his neck slowly, then his shoulders. There's soreness, but less than expected -
His memories catch up with him, and he is reminded of the bath Chris had drawn him late last night, and of the much appreciated and downright chaste massage kneaded into tense muscles by strong hands, Chris straight up refusing reunion sex, as Leon had called it.
(Begrudgingly, Leon has to admit to himself that this kind of care not only made his heart flutter unreasonably - it also made for better sleep and a softer awakening the next day, no shakes or nausea or dizziness from the hangover that used to be so inevitable.)
The second sensation his brain helpfully provides is the skin pressed into his own, the heavy body half draped over and around him, half curled up into a ball. It is hard to tell where he ends and where this other body begins, as tangled as they are, and - to be quite honest? He never wants to separate. The grounding weight is reason number one why Leon sleeps so well these days, and the physical proximity had been an unknown and unnamed desire he had ached for until they had started sharing a bed.
It grumbles something, this body - also clearly just starting the process of waking up, and taking its sweet time with it, too.
Languidly, Leon moves some more; cracks his fingers, rubs over the fuzz on his stomach, gently tilts his hips, hikes a leg up. When that draws more noises of protest from the face pressed half into his chest, a fond smile pulls at his face.
"'ey. Don't."
Only half spoken and faintly audible, the words vibrate into the cavity beyond Leon's ribs, and he feels the small noise reverberate all the way down to his spine. Then, Chris moves, too - barely, out of necessity, and clearly disgruntled about it.
His left arm tightens around Leon's waist, trying to keep him still. Before he does as asked, Leon stretches one last time and is rewarded with a face pressed into his half exposed stomach, and more exasperated grumbles.
Leon's heart aches with the fondness he finds in himself at this - it should be funny, really, he should laugh about it, should be teasing Chris about it: the grumpiness and grace of an old man waking with aching bones and unwilling to move. But all he can do about it is hold back the unexpected tears climbing into eyes and blurring his vision.
Chris can be a morning person. Really, he's the one usually up before the crack of dawn, doing whatever buttfuck stupid thing morning people do when they leave their bed at ass o'clock. Leon has never understood why, and by the time his brain has started considering waking up, Chris' day is already half over.
But today - today is different.
Today, Chris clings harder to his husband and allows himself to bask in the dizzying slowness of it, the idle tracing of patterns Leon's fingers draw on his skin, inhales the scent of him, uninvited thoughts rattling on inside his head.
It doesn't take long for Leon to notice - and of course, Leon notices. He's had years of learning every whim and quirk of Chris, every conscious and unconscious microexpression, the movement of his body through their shared space a whole language on its own Leon can read with eyes closed and arms bound. He knows when the gears are working overtime just by feeling the energy with which Chris takes up this space, and he knows when lethargy is just a cover.
"Hey." Leon nudges him with a knee and folds his arms around Chris' shoulders. "Can hear your brain rattling overtime from here."
Chris' face emerges from its pillow, and it's deliciously wrinkled with sleep lines and the crinkles around his eyes and mouth as he smiles apologetically.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."
It earns him a gentle kick to the shin, the only thing Leon can comfortably reach without compromising their position.
Like I wouldn't want to know about every thought in that precious head of yours, is what he wants to say, really wants to - funnily enough, what comes out is, "God, you're an idiot." Because there's this curious thing about his brain, a barrier that locks up his jaw so the things he really, really wants to say get stuck between his teeth and he has to pull them out word for word, and he fucking hates it.
But an old dog can still learn new tricks, so he folds the frustration about his own brain in on itself and tucks it away for later. Then, he reaches for Chris and uses his thumb to smooth out the harsh line of worry the frown has etched between his eyebrows. With mellow fingers he presses gently into Chris' jaw and pulls, and he tries to put the words he can't say into the kiss they can share.
Chris goes so willingly it makes Leon dizzy. He smiles into the kiss with amused fondness - face pressed into Leon's stomach, so adamant about not moving, and one kiss later he's all the way up where Leon wants him, knees and elbows up in his space. You're so easy, he thinks, affectionately, and sinks deeper into the embrace.
The inviting shape of Chris' mouth makes it hard to focus on the words he can say, and Leon gets so lost in the kiss - the slide of Chris lips, his hot breath, the way his tongue slips into Leon's mouth, lazy and languid, the rasp of his stubble, the way his skin gives where Leon's fingers press into it - the hand on Leon's neck, their bodies pressed together and their hearts beating at the same, quickening pace -
… But finally, finally, he manages to pull back, flushed and breathless, and even as it leaves him wanting he says, "I'm here. I'm alive."
Chris stops dead in his chasing for Leon's mouth, stares at him. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and as he blinks a few times to focus Leon swears he also blinks away tears welling up in his eyes.
"I'm here." He repeats, like a mantra, and then again and again until the words string up and fill the room, until there's nothing but the reassurance of his presence, slings his arms and legs around Chris and holds him tight until finally, finally - he feels Chris' armor crack, the chain of words he's still quietly mumbling slipping into the fissure, and then Chris' shoulders convulse as he buries his face in Leon's chest, shaking with the sobs he had held back since last night.
Leon's not surprised by it. He had seen the frown on Chris' face, the barely contained worry and rage and every other untold emotion brimming right under Chris' skin, the tosses and turns the entire night before Leon had crawled back into his space and had held him then, too.
This isn't new for either of them: Chris' emotions often erupted with a delay. It was a learned habit, to tuck them away until there was a safe space for him to drop into, until he was certain he could fall apart without compromising others. Leon knows this monster all too well, had he not encountered it countless times in his own life. There is a disassociative quality about it, the skill to suppress everything that isn't contributing to survival right here right now -
Leon rubs his eyes and inhales deep. He holds back a sigh.
Of course it is a response to trauma. He had learned that much about it. This isn't what bothers him - what bothers him is that all he can do for Chris is nothing except to be there and to hold him.
Flat palms rub circles into Chris' skin, and a soothing melody vibrates gently through his body as Leon starts humming nonsensically.
It takes a long time for the shakes, the shuddering suppressed sobs to subside, and as his breaths finally even out Leon's palms stroke up and down Chris' back with gentle, sweeping motions: from his delts all the way down to his glutes, driving the pads of his fingers into flesh with gentle pressure on the way down, lightly scratching the skin with his fingernails on the way up.
There's not a word spoken between them, but Leon doesn't need words: there's everything said with how Chris' body on top of him visibly relaxes, how the tension drips from his limbs and he nearly melts into Leon below him.
Leon inhales so deep his abdomen rises with it, holds it in his lungs, then releases slowly. He does it again, and again, and again, Chris’ lax body rising and falling with him.
“‘S still early. We can sleep some more.”
The sun tickles his nose. Okay, maybe not that early anymore, but who gives a fuck, really?
Half asleep and shaking his head, Chris grumbles a no. Leon snorts.
“You're already halfway there.”
“I want -” Chris slurs, most definitely half asleep, and finishes his sentence by clumsily shoving at Leon's shirt and pressing a thick, heavy thigh to his crotch.
Leon's stomach drops and his eyelids flutter at the sensation. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it - his body craving the physicality, his mind the distraction - but then he gathers himself, gently grasping Chris’ hands.
"Are you sure?"
"Please.” Chris finally raises his head, shakes his hands free to slide them up and fold one over the other on Leon's chest, resting his chin on the knuckles.
Like a cat, he's blinking slowly against the sunlight, eyes half closed, but fully awake now. All drowsiness has left him, and Leon can see how he fights to phrase his desire. You're just like me, Leon thinks, fondly, and cups Chris' cheek with the palm of his hand.
“I want to feel - alive.” He hesitates.
“I want to feel you.” Another pause.
“You. Alive. Please.”
It sounds so honest, and pleading enough for Leon's apprehension to fold like a lawn chair. He simply can't deny Chris anything he wants, especially not something as willingly given and easily shared between them as this.
Just like before, he pulls Chris up into a kiss, and as they're face to face, he slides up a leg, wraps an arm around Chris’ waist and flips them so quickly Chris gasps. He gives a soft ‘oof’, then a large, lewd grin strings itself from ear to ear and splits his face in two.
“Are you always this easy for the hot guys, Kennedy?”, he asks, hands on Leon's hips, tongue sticking out between his teeth as Leon slaps his chest.
“Just for you, Alpha,” Leon lilts, one corner of his mouth curling curiously, as he is rising up tall over Chris, straddling his hips. His tone is just mocking enough for Chris to flush a deep, embarrassed shade of red, and Leon is pretty certain the twitch of Chris’ cock, currently pressed into the backside of his thigh, hadn't just been imagination.
“Good,” is all the choked-up reply Chris manages, and he closes his eyes with a relieved sigh as Leon bends down over him and claims his mouth again. The kiss is that kind of deep, lazy thing that stirs something buried so low in Chris’ abdomen alive that his blood throbs everywhere, not just in his crotch. As Leon intertwines their fingers and slides their hands up above Chris’ head he just lets it happen, content.
The world stills around them as they draw out the kiss, a pocket of infinity that loops like their longing touches, like the slight ache in Leon's knees, complaining quietly about their age.
It's dizzying with the blind lust of blundering touches, still sleep-heavy limbs taking their sweet time to follow orders, Leon's mouth dulcet and heavy, his body pressing close, the heat of it irradiating. Chris feels his own body respond, his stomach tense, lower body heavy and rich with the blood pooling there, and he nearly flinches in surprise as Leon's hands press down on his sternum, skin hypersensitive.
Their lips are sore as they break apart, kissed red, and Leon presses his mouth into the crook where Chris’ shoulder adjoins his neck.
Arching his neck, letting it loll to the side, Chris' hands find Leon's skull, thumbs pressing into the sensitive spot right under his ears, and he sighs as he feels Leon's muffled moan against his own skin.
Chris had never been very vocal, Leon had learned that early - even less so than Leon himself, the habits of the job sunk deep into their bones, barely ever catching a break, so that biting your cheek and huffing out a heated curse felt comparable to the blissful moans and groans of other people.
But Leon had also learned ways to make Chris lose control, had, on few occasions, gotten him to give up that precious iron grip on it, and he's set on doing the exact same thing on this glorious morning.
He bites down with sharp teeth on the soft skin of Chris' neck - not gently, never - licks over the bite, repeats it lower, lower, on his chest, leaving a trail of bites in the wake of his mouth, marks that would soon bloom into bruises. Leon knows Chris likes to see them on his skin; just as much as Leon does on his own, like a twisted mimicry of the bruises their missions brought, but as something they could control, something more deliberate and purposeful.
Eventually, Leon covers one of Chris' nipples with his mouth and sucks on it, teasing the other with thumb and index, rolling it between the pads and pinching it.
It's electrifying, the feeling, like a twin bite of arousal crackling out through Chris' veins that shoots straight to his dick, and he finally rewards Leon with a soft moan. Dazed with lust, he loops an arm around Leon's waist as low as possible and brings their bodies together, groaning with clenched teeth as Leon understands and grinds his hips down.
Chris’ world is distilled down to just this, just these sensations, Leon's mouth on its way down slowly peeling away the rest of his composure, every wet kiss, every sharp bite and the slow grinding of their hips a euphoric sensation that makes more drool gather in his cheek.
It barely registers with him when Leon gets between his legs and pulls off his underwear, hips tilting and lifting to help almost on autopilot, until Leon slides a hand up his thigh, pinches it lightly and says his name, loudly. It draws Chris back a bit, and he cracks a smile that almost feels tipsy.
With lids drooping heavily over his eyes he reassures Leon that he's fine, really, he's more than fine - or wants to, but everything he manages is “‘m fine, please, please”, the last one a breathless whine, hips bucking up desperately.
The fondness that drips from Leon's eyes and lingers on the laugh lines around them is too much, and Chris has to close his eyes. He's so goddamn in love, so drunk on it his chest starts to swell with it, cannot fucking believe that he'd married the hottest, prettiest, filthiest man in the whole wide world -
As Leon grabs Chris' cock and rubs his thumb over the head the sensation feels like such an intense shock that Chris moans loudly in surprise. Suddenly, he's getting dragged back to the here and now, a blazing, throbbing heat threatening to end it all too soon. He grabs Leon's wrist and stills it, lips bitten raw, and Leon looks up at him from under his long, pretty lashes.
“Too much,” Chris gasps, “too good,” his voice gravelly and raw, he's never heard it like this before.
Leon's eyes glaze over with something dark and dominant, such a wolfish hunger in that intense stare that it makes Chris stomach lurch.
“Can I?” Leon asks and trails his fingers down beyond Chris' balls, teasing lightly at his hole. Swallowing heavily, Chris doesn't dare to break eye contact, and as he nods, one slick finger presses inside slowly. Chris briefly wonders when he'd gotten the lube, and then he doesn't really think anything anymore because Leon is quick to add a second finger, to curl them both with skilled precision into Chris' prostate, with a maddening slowness.
Arousal spikes through Chris, crystalline and urgent, surging through his veins and clearing some more of that cloudy, cottony feeling in his head and body.
“Leon,” Chris grits out, hands clenched to useless fists at his sides, that blistering heat from before now roaring through him like wildfire. He looks down and regrets it immediately, Leon looking downright angelic with his cheek pressed to the inside of Chris' thigh, face tinged a soft pink, his hair like a halo around his head. He moves to press a kiss into the sensitive skin, sucks gently, and Chris' cock drips in response.
“Fucking hell, Leon,” Chris groans and Leon laughs darkly, two fingers still crooked deep inside of him, thumb of the same hand pressing into his perineum.
“I could get you off like this.” There's a dangerous, dominant edge to his words. “Make you come on nothing but my fingers.” His voice melts with the next sentence.
“But I don't want everything to always be a fight for us. We should be allowed to have nice things. Easy things.”
Chris’ chest constricts, and tears well up in his eyes, and he nearly laughs because it feels so ridiculous, he feels so stupidly seen and loved and in love -
The feeling gets washed away by pure lust when Leon presses his teeth to the crook of Chris’ groin, where the skin is thin and the blood runs hot through the femoral artery, pulsing strong and fast.
He mouths his way up, at long last wrapping slender fingers of his free hand around Chris' throbbing erection, tongue dipping into the slit at the head, drawing another soft, surprised noise from Chris. When he finally sucks the tip into his mouth and sinks down, Chris' hands find their way into Leon's hair all on their own.
“Leon,” he rasps, now broken, begging, a desperate tone to his voice that makes Leon redouble his efforts.
It's so much, too much, the pressure on his prostate from two different angles, the silky wet heat of Leon's throat around his cock - Chris moans, overwhelmed, so far gone with it he even forgets to be quiet.
His legs shiver inwards around Leon's head, legs tree trunk thick and strong enough to carry Leon's weight twice - not that he could even stand up straight right now, the trembling, spasming mess that he is, thighs involuntarily flexing and twitching into a shuddering, spine-melting crescendo, which finally finds its orgasmic peak deep in his core, in hips thrusting with the overwhelming feeling of it as he comes so hard his eyes roll back and his back arches and his vision whites out.
He grips Leon's hair harder as it rolls through him - which in turn shoots a sharp spike of lust through Leon's body - mouth fallen open on a low groan, fingernails clawing into Leon's scalp, and Leon stiffens at the pain, his mouth going slack for just a moment, and then a shudder quietly rolls down his spine.
Chris' focus is so entirely taken over by everything Leon's making him feel right now he doesn't even notice. There's the heat rising in his cheeks, slick sweat covering him everywhere, broken whines convulsing in his throat, his eyes knit tightly shut. There's warmth ebbing through his core, his arms, his legs.
Wave after wave rolls through him as Leon just - goes on, and on, his fingers keeping pace and pointed pressure, as Chris spasms around him, now whimpering. He doesn't know what's more overwhelming: the fingers inside him curling into that tender spot until the muscles in his thighs twitch involuntarily, or Leon's mouth still wet velvet around his cock, every slow drag of it against his oversensitive skin sending shockwaves through Chris.
His legs finally give out, and as they slide down they come to rest on Leon's shoulders. He moans with the overstimulation, loudly, his body so loose he can't move a muscle.
Leon finally pulls back, rests his forehead on Chris' hipbone, an exhausted smile strung from ear to ear. Chris feels like he should say something, but every coherent thought has left his brain. It's foggy inside of his head, a little different from before, the urgency to feel and touch now gone.
“Think you fucked my brains out,” is what he finally slurs, with eyes closed and fingers carding through Leon's hair. Leon snorts, and Chris feels his giggle as a soft, vibrating tickle against his stomach that sends a confusing wave of, oh, something through his body, and Chris shudders with it.
“Don't think there was much left to be fucked out, anyways.” As he says it, Leon braces for a hit that never comes. Chris just groans.
They lie there in silence, breaths evening out, until Chris nearly jolts up. Now he's finally gotten the joke, Leon thinks, and braces for impact again: but there is something else entirely that concerns Chris.
“Fuck, sorry, did you even - I was so out of it, I can suck you off-”
“S fine,” Leon replies quietly, growing a deep shade of red despite himself. Knowing he was down bad for his husband and having it proven by coming untouched just from sucking his dick were two entirely different things.
“It's not, baby, please let me take care of you-”
Chris is rambling now, and Leon cuts him off.
“It really is fine, Chris, I promise,” Leon repeats, a little firmer, and Chris stops, then groans as he understands, rubbing his face.
“Ah, shit.” Yea, that's hot. “Thirty years younger, this would have gotten me ready to go again.”
Leon looks up, a mock hurt look on his face. “Did you just call us old? You wound me, my love. Aren't we still young and sprightly?”
Chris rolls his eyes and flicks Leon's ear. “Not judging by the way I heard your knees creak.”