“This thing tastes awful, why are you even growing it in the garden?” Poor guy. I feel bad for him, I really do but he’s been coughing lately and he’s been a little feverish so I figured a tea of certain medicinal herbs would be of good use. I know he’s being a bit childish though, I sweetened that tea best I could and it tasted fine to me. Then again, we don’t quite appreciate sugar the same way. I just about don’t care for it at all and he likes it in slight quantities.
“It’s good for you, Quentin. You’re getting sick. You’ve been complaining that your throat is hurting you and these herbs are a natural kind of medicine and it’s good for you. So don’t fuss and drink it up.”
He huffs, mutters, grumbles but sips at the steaming cup again. I know he’ll complain about the taste all day and evening and whenever he’ll can but it’s good for him and I’d rather he be healthy and complaining than ill and complaining. He does complain quite a bit when he’s sick. I don’t know whether to be amused or not when it happens. Not that I should be amused when he’s ill, he rarely is, but he gets so childish that the situation ends up feeling rather childish in the end.
“Once you’re done with that, I’ll bring you a bowl of sweet berries drizzled with honey, how does that sound?” Oh look at his eyes lightning up just slightly and he nods. That’s a good start for me, maybe he’ll even manage to forgive me before the end of our lives is over. An overstatement, I know he’ll forgive me, he’s not even going to hold a grudge but he’ll still complain if I bring another cup of the stuff anywhere near him any time soon.
While he sips at his tea, his, to me, delicious tea, I wander back towards the kitchen and I pull out two bowls. In them I put a few blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, grapes, pitted cherries and a few other plump looking fruits. Over one bowl I drizzle a good amount of honey though I make sure to not put too much. On the other I sprinkle just a bare dusting of maple sugar. I don’t like sweet things overmuch but a little bit of sweetness goes a long way and I can appreciate that.
Everything is put back where it belongs in the fridge and on the counter before I locate two forks, set everything on a small platter with a cup of (non-medicinal) tea for myself and I head back to the living room where he’s still pouting slightly over his cup of tea though I can tell it’s mostly empty. Very good.
I set the tray down and I settle next to him, making sure to press my shoulder securely to his own. I kiss his cheek and smile at him ever softly. “I love you, Quentin.”
It’s not the first time I’ve said the words though I don’t say them too often yet. I just love watching his eyes when I do though. First they widen as if I’d stated something he’d never heard before and then they soften to the point where I’m almost led to believe he could cry. I chuckle, nuzzle his cheek and peer into his cup. “Just a couple more sips and you can have your fruits, I promise.”
Pouting he might have been but he’s no longer complaining about the bitter taste. Maybe I hadn’t stirred the previous doze of honey I poured in there enough and it all mainly landed at the bottom of it all. If that’s the case, then this thing is bound to be too sweet for me at this point and just sweet enough for him.
I shift my weight down a little and I rest my head against his shoulder. Just relaxing until he takes those last two sips. He turns his eyes to me, as if asking for permission and I take his cup, set it down, reach for both bowls and hand him his, along with the fork. This is a simple enough treat. We don’t usually eat food that has been overly processed. At least not since most of our fruits and vegetables come from the garden upstairs.
He smiles at me, this dazzling, pleased smile he has only for me and starts in on his fruit, mixing them all up to get them all covered in the sticky sweetness of the honey before he takes a few slow bites. He’s never actually wolfed any of his food down. He always takes time to taste everything as if it was going to be the last time he’s eating the stuff. I used to eat faster myself but I learned to slow down with him. Out there, you didn’t know if your food would last or if someone would steal it from you.
When fruits and teas have all been had, we merely settle where we were on the couch. He partly sprawls out on one side and I nestle against him. It amuses him every time, I see his lips quirk in that playful sort of smile. I’m taller than him, my feet are usually off the couch when we’re settled but I hardly care, I want to feel protected when I’m with him and being settling this way I feel as protected as I’ll ever be.
Height doesn’t have much of a say on our activities. I’ve seen and heard so many people say that because someone is taller, they should be doing this and that and there’s a world of rot to those words. Sure, some things are easier one way over another but we manage to work tiny details out like these without an issue. To hell with labels, they sure as hell have no sway on our life.
I nuzzle at his shoulder and he chuckles, his fingers are brushing over my shoulder, moving up to push some hair from my face and I grin playfully at him. This couch has seen some activity since we bought it. Mostly innocent activity, we’re not even up to having sex and I’m not sure if it’ll come any time soon. We’ve done plenty of hands-on exploration but never really gone to that line of what I call no return. We’re in no rush either and I’m glad that he agrees with me on that subject.
Playfully, I rumble at him and I close my eyes, nuzzling all the closer to his shoulder. This is such a comfortable spot for me, I don’t know that I could ever not feel comfortable against him. Even when he was sharing my bed to keep me from the nightmares, this was a comfortable position for me. His arm around me, just holding me securely, making sure I’m not going anywhere. It’s all I honestly want to ask of him and it’s all I do ask for, in the end.
I know we’re more than likely to end up drifting off and sleeping here for a while, I don’t know that this is going to be much of an issue.