The next morning came in a spill of soft autumn light across the heavy curtains. Beyond the windows the garden trees were turning copper at the edges; a faint breeze rattled a few early leaves against the glass. For a moment Lucas thought he was still dreaming; warmth pressed along his back, a mouth at his shoulder, and the slow drag of a thumb over the inside of his wrist. Then another kiss landed just below his ear, slow and warm, and he surfaced fully with a groggy sound.
"Too early," he muttered, voice muffled against the pillow.
"I know," Trevor's voice came, low and amused. Another kiss at the curve of Lucas's neck. "But I've been watching you sleep for two weeks, and I'm done with that."
Lucas tried to roll onto his stomach, but Trevor followed like tidewater, a solid line of heat against him, hand sliding under the edge of his shirt. "You're a barnacle," he grumbled, eyes still shut.
