The soft scrape of the bedroom door opening wakes me outta the light doze I'd fallen
inta. 'Course, just 'bout any noise coulda done that. Ever since we decided ta make this
a 'permanent arrangement,' as he likes ta call it, I've found it damn near impossible ta
sleep real well without him beside me. This little problem of mine makes life hell when
he's workin' undercover or I'm out babysittin' some new batch of snipers the ATF
academy's put out or whatever the reason we're separated. But we've been together fer
the past coupla weeks, an' I've been sleepin' like a baby the entire time.
Except, a'course, on those nights when neither one of us gets much sleep. Smirk.
Tonight, though, I'd gone ta bed an hour or two before he was ready ta turn in. He's
a real night owl, my lover, an' he just can't go ta sleep at a decent hour when he's goin'
over details of some report or assignment again unless he's got a real compellin'
reason. Even then, I gotta work hard ta keep him there once I've wrestled him inta the
bedroom. He still thinks he's got somethin' ta prove ta Chris an' the rest of the team, an'
so he works twice as hard as the rest of us ta make sure he's coverin' all his bases. I
wonder sometimes if any of the other guys realize how much effort he really does put inta
being a member of our little group. Doubt it.
He's here now, though, an' even though I can't see him in the dark, I know 'xactly
what's going ta happen in the next few minutes. He's such a creature of habit. Like a
pup that has ta circle his bed three times 'fore he can settle down fer the night, my lover
has a bedtime ritual he's gotta do before he can rest easy.
First, he'll strip outa alla his clothes - damn, now I'm wishin' I'd remembered ta
leave the bedside lamp on – an' fold 'em neatly onta the chair in the corner. I usually just
kick mine inta heap that we'll both probably trip over tomorra mornin' on our way ta the
bathroom, but hey, that's just me. There'll be no need ta fumble 'round fer sleepwear
'cause he don't own any – at least none that he wears when he's home. Undercover is a
whole 'nother ball game. I'm a pajama bottoms kinda guy myself, but ya sure won't hear
me complainin' 'bout the way he sleeps. No troublesome clothing ta wade through later,
if ya get my meanin'. Heh.
Next, he'll peel back the blankets an' inch his way slowly under 'em so as not ta
disturb me. A nice thought, but all that careful maneuverin' goes right out the window
when he starts in on the pillows. There's some kinda mysterious arrangement ta 'em so's
he don't wake up with a stiff neck in the mornin'. Or so he says. Hmph. I thought
women were the picky ones 'bout pillow placement.
After he's done beatin' the beddin' inta submission, he rolls onta his side facing away
from me an' checks the alarm clock ta make sure I set it. I always do, even if I
don't need it an' he never pays it any mind when it does go off. But we both
have ta be up early in the mornin', an' maybe, just maybe, he'll actually get up when the
buzzin' starts.
I ain't holdin' my breath.
He'll lie quietly fer a while then, an' just when I think he's fallen asleep, somethin'
prompts him ta roll over one last time. He pauses in mid-roll ta triple check that, yes, the
clock is set then flops over so he's now facin' me.
I sleep flat on my back more often than not, an' he's found the perfect position ta
take advantage of it. He shuffles closer ta my side of the bed an' slips one leg between
mine. He can't resist rubbing his bare skin against the silk of my pajama bottoms – a
Christmas present last year that's paid off fer us both - before pullin' himself so tightly
against my side there ain't a spare inch between us. The comfortable weight of his head
presses down onta my shoulder, an' his arm curls possessive-like over my stomach. Like
I could escape the wrestler's hold he has on me even if I wanted ta . . . which I don't.
Now comes my favorite part of this little habit of his. Any irritation all that movin'
around might have caused vanishes like smoke whenever he does this last step. I hold
my breath in anticipation as he tilts his head a little further inta my shoulder an' brushes
velvet lips against the warm skin there. Wait fer it . . . wait fer it . . .
"I love you, Vin," he whispers in a drowsy tone that holds nothing back.
Ah, Ez, so much, I reply silently, I love ya, too, so much.
And just that easily, we're both asleep.
The End
Continues in Morning Rituals
