Lucas kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the wine taste Trevor still carried from earlier. His mouth was warm, familiar now—like something he could lean into without thinking, like a memory half-lived and half-hoped for.
Trevor kissed back, steady, tired, but present. His hand found Lucas's waist, fingers curling lightly like they'd done it a hundred times before. His body still ached from the night before, the kind of deep soreness that settled in the shoulders, the hips, and the base of the spine, but it was fading now beneath something warmer. The slow pull of heat blooming in his abdomen. The soft hum of Lucas's scent was like the promise of something his.
One shift of his hips, one twist of muscle, and Trevor reversed their positions with easy, instinctive grace.
Lucas let out a soft, surprised breath as he was guided back against the cushions, Trevor settling over him.
"You're not supposed to be doing all the work," Lucas muttered, a little breathless.
