The Morning Bone

The first light of morning spilled through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets. James stirred, still half-lost in sleep, when he felt it—the unmistakable heat of his lover’s arousal pressed against his thigh.

Ethan, usually so reserved in daylight, was shameless in these quiet hours. His breath came slow and deep, his body taut with sleep-hardened desire. James watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched against the mattress as if chasing a dream.

He couldn’t resist. With a feather-light touch, James traced the length of him through the thin fabric of his boxers, smiling at the way Ethan’s hips arched instinctively into the contact.

"Someone’s eager," James murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open, dark with need. "Blame the dream," he said, but the way his gaze dropped to James’s lips told another story.

No more words were needed. The sun climbed higher, but they moved slower—savoring, exploring, turning curiosity into something far sweeter.