Carlos rubs his eyes before replacing his glasses, unwilling to question why rosy-gold crepuscular rays are entering his west-facing kitchen window at 8am. Unwilling, because the sun is gilding the bronze edge of Cecil’s jaw like electrum plating the pyramids. He presses into his lover’s back, sliding hands alongside the man’s waist as he inhales the scent of fresh coffee over his shoulder. It’s so much easier to embrace him from behind, away from the galvanizing radiation of his eyes that makes Carlos stammer and blush far too readily.
Somehow, Carlos can hear Cecil smile. “Morning.”
He closes his eyes, Cecil’s neck warm against his cheek. “Is it? Looks like sunset.”
“Oh, you know. Probably just a paperwork error.