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into the soft light

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Sebastian hears Lewis before he sees him. He’s light on his feet, but the cabin hasn’t kept quiet for years, so the stairs creak as Lewis descends them. In the quiet of the morning, he hears plainly when Lewis must stumble over one of Roscoe’s toys at the foot of the stairs, his startled cursing audible over the hiss of the coffee pot.

Sebastian chuckles to himself and grabs two coffee mugs from the cabinet then the oat milk from the refrigerator. He’s just setting them on the island when Lewis makes it into the kitchen.

Morning light floods the room, and with Lewis standing in it, everything suddenly looks brighter. A warm glow at every corner. In his oversized sweater, with his hair tied back lazily and a small scowl on his face, he’s as close to perfect as Sebastian can imagine.

Sebastian's always lacked the inclination to be embarrassed by the magnitude of his love and his endearment. With Lewis, he's only leaned more into it.

There is a ten minute period after Lewis wakes up that he's annoyed to be among the living. Hence the scowl. Sebastian has learned a few ways to remedy it as quickly as possible. If they're both still in bed, it means letting Lewis cling to him like a limpet, face tucked into his neck, groaning until he has satisfied his dramatic streak. If Lewis is away, it means sending a picture of Roscoe from their morning walk. Lewis is incapable of being grumpy after Roscoe does something cute. If, like this morning, Sebastian clambers out of bed first for breakfast, it's usually a cup of coffee and a kiss that does the trick.

He stirs the splash of oat milk into Lewis’s coffee and meets him at the edge of the island. He hands over the warm mug and smacks a kiss on the corner of Lewis’s mouth. “Good morning.”

Lewis’s scowl deepens, but he accepts the coffee and takes a few sips.

It's as comical as it is endearing to watch the furrow of his brow gradually lessen the more sips he takes. Like he's already accepted that he's awake, but he's less annoyed by it now.

Eventually, he sighs. His eyes flutter open and he smiles around the rim of the mug. “Morning.”

Sebastian is still standing close enough to swoop in for another kiss, so he does. Lewis tastes of coffee and chapstick. He opens up for Sebastian, eager, and kisses him back deeply. When he pulls away, he rubs his nose against Sebastian’s. “I missed you, you know.”

Sebastian nods and smiles sheepishly, incredibly happy. “I’m glad you're home.”

Lewis got in late last night. His flight was delayed twice and he finally made it home a little before midnight. Sebastian had been half-asleep, Roscoe curled up at the foot of the bed, when Lewis came in. He'd given Seb and Roscoe each a kiss, showered, and knocked out for nine hours.

Lewis harrumphs and takes another sip of coffee. “I thought I was going to be stuck in New York forever.”

Sebastian snickers and grabs his own coffee mug to take a sip. “There are worse places to be stuck.”

Lewis’s expression softens. “Well, it's not home though, is it?”

Sebastian smiles sheepishly over the rim of his mug and pushes off the counter. “I guess it's not.” He feels warm all over.

“I'm making breakfast,” he says, smiling wider.

Lewis looks around the kitchen for the first time. Sebastian hasn’t made too much of a mess yet; he has all the ingredients laid out and measured.

Lewis’s eyes brighten as he looks at the spread on the counter. “What are you making?”

Sebastian scoffs good naturedly. “Apple pancakes. What else?” he says, and walks around the island to begin mixing his dry ingredients. Lewis loves pancakes, and Lewis will never admit it in front of Seb’s mother, but Seb knows Lewis likes his apple pancakes best. It's tradition to make them every time Lewis comes home from a longer trip abroad. He'd been in Los Angeles and then Denver before he was in New York and finally home.

Sebastian bought the apples three days ago at the farmer’s market in anticipation. Of course he's making apple pancakes.

Lewis’s face scrunches up in satisfaction, a pleased smile on his lips. Sebastian never tires of this tradition and Lewis’s reaction.

“Do you want to help peel and slice the apples?” He asks, just for the sake of it. He raises an eyebrow at Lewis.

Lewis moves to the other side of the island, sliding onto a bar stool with his coffee in hand. He shakes his head like Sebastian knew he would. “I’ll taste test the apples for you, though.” His eyes still have a glint in them and his smile is teasing.

This happens every time, too. Lewis sits there, elbow propped up on the counter, and watches Sebastian work. Lewis catches him up on the things that were too long to text; Sebastian promises he hasn't watched any new episodes of their favorite show without Lewis; sometimes Roscoe comes trudging in to sleep at Lewis’s feet.

It never gets old, this part. The weeks away wear them down sometimes, but they're few and far between now. Lewis, when he goes, is only gone a few days at a time. A fitting in Milan or design meetings in Manhattan. Time with a producer in LA. Sebastian is always just as happy to stay at home and keep house. Almost three weeks feels like a lifetime to be away, though, and Sebastian missed this fiercely.

“Mmm,” Lewis hums around a bite of apple. “S’good.” He pops the rest of the slice into his mouth and chews. “How’s Helen?”

Helen is their apple lady. She has a small fruit and vegetable stand at the farmer's market every weekend. Baskets of apples, pears, figs, eggplants, and homemade fruit jams for fall. She sets everything up on a rickety fold-out table with an old linen cloth over top. She and her granddaughter make and jar the jams themselves too.

“She’s good. She keeps asking about you—said something about you stopping by to help with her curtains?” Seb turns to the skillet on the stove and drops a pat of vegan butter into it. It sizzles and he tilts the pan this way and that to spread it around.

Lewis hums and goes to refill his coffee mug, pressing a hand to Seb’s back to let him know he's going behind. “Oh yeah. She wants to update the decor in her den. Something about the curtains being older than her. I told her I would help.”

Sebastian drops the thin apple slices, coated in cinnamon sugar, into the skillet before dolloping pancake batter over top, spreading it to the edges of the pan. “You always need a project, don't you?” He teases, checking that the heat is set to medium. Lewis is beside the stove now, leaning against the counter, stirring more oat milk into his coffee.

“I do love a project,” he agrees, looking around. Sebastian doesn't look, because he's well aware of how much Lewis loves a project. For someone who doesn't cook much, he wouldn't budge until the kitchen sink and the stove were updated at the very least, even though Seb assured him what he had was fine. He'd convinced Sebastian the sunroom needed a fresh coat of paint—it did—and threatened to move out if they didn't renovate the master bathroom. Sebastian hadn't pushed back at all on that one; one vanity simply wasn't enough for all of Lewis’s products and Seb’s three.

The only thing here Lewis hasn't ever tried to turn into a project is Sebastian. He's always wanted Seb just as he is. Sebastian feels the same about Lewis, which is why he often indulges in all of his other projects.

“Wanna grab some plates?” He asks, while he flips the fourth and final pancake out onto a serving dish.

Lewis goes about grabbing plates and utensils, the maple syrup, and the whipped cream from the refrigerator. He tops off Sebastian’s cup of coffee and settles back into his seat.

Roscoe comes trotting in, sensing they're about to eat, but Sebastian already fed him his fancy dog food before Lewis woke up, so he's just being greedy.

“Hiya, Roscoe,” Lewis greets him. Roscoe settles under Lewis’s bar stool in hopes that Lewis will stretch his foot out and scrub Roscoe’s back with his toes. He makes pleased little grunting noises that means he'll be knocked out snoring before long, content to be in their company. Maybe he'll dream of his own apple pancakes.

Sebastian slides two pancakes onto Lewis’s plate and nudges the syrup over to him. Lewis’s eyes shine excitedly, and he leans forward to let the smell of apples and cinnamon waft over him.

“Seb,” he says, his tone pleased. “Smells incredible.” He pours a sickening amount of syrup over top and in between the two pancakes.

After so many countless years of watching, noting, even denying what food goes in their bodies, they've settled into eating for contentment and nourishment instead of only necessity. Sebastian remembers all the winter breaks he spent with Lewis while they were still racing, watching him moan over finally getting to eat a normal amount of carbohydrates. Sebastian hadn’t been much better, sharing stacks and stacks of pancakes with Lewis in his Monaco condo, thinking ridiculously about drinking the syrup.

Now, though, there are no restrictions. They've filled out in ways their bodies probably always needed to, but couldn't afford to. Being a racing driver meant doing what they loved most in the world, but it also meant a long list of wrongs they've been trying to right for themselves for years.

They're still healthy; they still run every morning that they can, into and around town, racing each other on the final leg. Lewis works out religiously still, but only once a day instead of twice. Seb sweats his ass off tending to the animals and his garden. But it's nice to indulge sometimes.

So, there's a warm sense of joy watching Lewis dig into his pancakes and sip his coffee, telling Sebastain about the mountains of snow outside their Colorado cabin. “Oh, I brought your fleece back with me—the one you left last time. It was still on the back of the couch where you left it.”

Sebastian hums, his mouth full. He'd forgotten all about that jacket, but he'll be glad to have it back.

The pancakes are good—fluffy and flavorful, the sweetness marrying perfectly with the subtle tartness of the apples. He has adapted his mother’s recipe over the years to make it vegan for Lewis. He sacrificed some of the richness with the recipe, but it's been this way for so long, he much prefers it to any other variation: sitting in their kitchen, Roscoe’s snores an off-key little theme song, chattering away about Lewis’s trip and what plans they have for the week, stuffing their faces.

“Oh, I can't mooove.” Lewis groans, when he's finished his plate. He’s leaning against the back of the bar stool with his hand over his tummy, rubbing it in small circles. He has a proper food baby.

Sebastian giggles and folds the last half of his pancake into his mouth. He reaches out quickly and gently pokes Lewis’s side.

Lewis yelps and squirms all while wincing. “Oh, you shit! You're such a shit!” He clutches his stomach.

Sebastian laughs loudly, but it turns squeaky when Lewis reaches over and pinches him in return. “Fuck, ow.” He says, trying to grab Lewis. He successfully catches his wrist. “You're awful,” he says, still laughing, but nursing the sting in his side too.

“Me?!” Lewis squeaks, incredulous. He nudges Roscoe’s sleeping body. “Roscoe, get him! Roscoe, get Dad!”

Roscoe snores loud enough to shake the shingles in reply.

It sends Lewis into a laughing fit and then Sebastian joins him. Ridiculous and loud, it goes on for minutes.

“I missed you,” Lewis says with emphasis once he calms down. He turns his hand over in Sebastian's and clasps theirs together, smoothing his thumb over Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian squeezes Lewis’s hand and tugs on it gently. “I missed you too,” he promises, and once Lewis is leaning in close enough, he kisses him sweetly. Full of food and company and love.


Once it feels safe enough to move, they take the dishes to the sink. Sebastian washes them and Lewis dries them. Lewis insisted he do it all himself, but the sleeves of his giant sweater kept threatening submersion, so Sebastian took over for him, soap suds up to his elbows. Lewis dries the dishes and tucks them away into their rightful shelves and drawers.

“I'm going to spend some time in the greenhouse, I think. Talk to them a bit,” Sebastian says. He pulls the plug from the drain and watches the water swirl out of sight.

“Talk to them, huh?” Lewis asks, putting his clean mug back into the cabinet.

“Yes, it helps them grow faster, you know. Especially the herbs. Need to encourage the mint.”

Lewis pauses with his hand on the cabinet door. Then he closes it slowly.

“Encourage mint,” Sebastian says again with more emphasis, trying his hardest to hold in his chuckle. He waits for Lewis to get it.

Lewis drops his head dramatically and lets it hang. “Geez, Seb—” he finally says.

Sebastian can't contain his snickering. It’s not his best, but he's proud of it nonetheless. “That was good, no?”

“NO!” Lewis always sounds so scandalized. As if his jokes are any better! He laughs despite his insistence that Seb isn't the funniest person he knows, so.

“That was awful, man.” He looks at Seb, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes sparkle and his nose scrunches up. He loves a bad pun; Seb knows he does, so there's no use in lying.

Sebastian preens at Lewis’s scrunchy, smiley face. “No, I think it was quite good. And I think you liked it.”

Lewis is adamant it was not.

“Do you want to join me?” Sebastian asks. Usually Lewis sketches while Seb tends to the plants or spends the afternoon in the spare room working on his music. It's a nice set up in there, not that Seb understands anything about it. He does like when he comes back in from the garden, dirt under his nails, and Lewis lets Seb get his hands on him. That's usually the routine. So, he's a little surprised when Lewis nods.


“Yeah. I'll grab some mint to make iced tea later.”

Pleased, Sebastian smiles. “Okay, we can do that.”


The further into November they get, the colder the mornings become. The sun is out, but the air is crisp and the grass is wet with dew. Seb puts a windbreaker on over his t-shirt and grabs a beanie to keep his ears warm. Lewis, perpetually cold as it is, pulls a thick jacket on over his sweater, tucks his hands into a pair of strawberry-patterned gardening gloves, and slips into his boots.

He looks ridiculous. He can't even bend his arms properly under the layers and, inconceivably, he's still only wearing leggings. Sebastian can only shake his head and lead them out into the cold toward the greenhouse, another project Lewis encouraged.

It's warmer in the greenhouse and Sebastian is thrilled to see that the plants are thriving. He checked the irrigation a couple of days ago and pruned the leaves back on a few plants. It's slow, hard work, but it's honest work.

Sebastian greets the strawberry plants he's trying to grow for Lewis, fingering their small leaves, before crouching down to say hello to the rows of kale, peas, and radishes.

Lewis has been quiet, but when Seb finishes his greetings, he turns around to find Lewis bent over the small herb garden, checking the soil and whispering to the bunches of rosemary and mint. It makes Sebastian smile. He looks good in here surrounded by greenery and the earthy smell of dirt; somehow, he already has a streak of dirt across his cheek and his gloves are filthy.

Sebastian chuckles and goes about inspecting the radishes. They look just a week or so out from harvesting. It's Sebastian's first time growing them and he has a pickling recipe he's eager to try.

When the plants are sufficiently watered, Sebastian joins Lewis at the herbs. He's plucking mint leaves and tucking them into the small bag he brought with him. He looks very serious.

“All done,” Lewis says, snapping the bag closed and tucking it in the pocket of his jacket.

Tucked up beside him, Sebastian kisses his jaw, overwhelmed by how much he loves him.

“You're very cute,” he admits, smiling against Lewis’s jaw, crowding further into his space.

Lewis turns around in his arms, but dodges the next kiss from Sebastian. "I thought I looked ridiculous," he challenges, petulant. "Which is it?"

Seb hums and manages to press a kiss to Lewis's cheek, inches toward his mouth. "Both."

"Hmmm." Lewis contemplates. He doesn't let Sebastian get his mouth any closer.

Sebastian pushes Lewis's stupid jacket open so he can touch him, even if it is only through his sweater. He’s so warm under Sebastian's touch and Sebastian feels him press up against him in return.

"You know I like it," he admits, offering Lewis a truth he already knows. He wants to kiss him so badly.

Lewis rolls his lips together and giggles, pleased with the turn of events. Then he finally dips forward to capture Seb’s mouth in a kiss.

Oh. Sebastian missed him so much for a lot of different reasons, but this one might top the list. Lewis has more stamina than most people, but he always ends up panting into Sebastian's mouth in no time, like he can't get enough of it. It turns heated quickly; Lewis licks into his mouth with fervor, and presses himself impossibly closer to Sebastian. Sebastian, for his part, wishes he could crawl inside of Lewis. He’s missed his body and his mouth, the soft noises he makes when Sebastian fucks his tongue in deep, licks behind his teeth. Three weeks is simply too long to be away; Sebastian is aching for it and for Lewis.

Lewis pulls him closer with a hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head. He's still wearing those stupid gardening gloves, getting dirt in Sebastian’s hair. Sebastian groans and pushes at Lewis until he's leaning back farther. He wants to lay him out right here in this stuffy greenhouse beside the turnips and ravish him. Radish him. Ha.

Lewis awkwardly lifts up on his toes to sit on the edge of the raised plant box, and impressively, he manages to keep kissing Sebastian the entire time. Then there's a distinct snapping sound from behind Lewis.

Seb pauses, just breathing against Lewis. "What was that?"

Lewis pants and shrugs, going back in for another kiss. Seb lets him, of course, but only for a second. "Wait," he cautions. He reaches around, feeling up Lewis's ass a little in the process.

"Okay, yeah, sure," Lewis says, giggling.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Then he touches the soil and pats around blindly until he feels a broken stem. Lewis crushed an herb with his ass.

Seb drops his head to Lewis's shoulder and laughs, baffled. He reaches around to grab either side of Lewis's ass and pulls him off the box. Lewis makes a noise of discontent.

"What is it?" he asks, scowling, scratching the back of Seb's head with those stupid gloves.

"You squashed a plant," he laughs, moving Lewis to the side. He picks up the piece of rosemary that snapped off and holds it up. "A casualty to Lewis Hamilton's ass."

"What a way to go," Lewis snickers. "Now where were we?" He tugs Seb closer by the front of his windbreaker. He’s already half-hard in his leggings. It makes Seb chub up too.

But. "We were about to go back in. Can’t have another casualty."

Lewis rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue, hard up for it. "Okay. Come on then. Let’s go inside and I'll make it up to you."


It turns out that Seb does the making up.

Back in the house, they kick off their shoes at the door, and they're kissing before anything else can come off. Sebastian guides him into the living room, trying to touch him anywhere he can.

He stops kissing him long enough to start pulling his clothes off. Starting with the fucking gardening gloves. He tosses them onto the coffee table and pushes Lewis's jacket off his shoulders. It takes more work than that to get it off though.

"Here," Lewis says, holding out one arm. "Pull from here."

Sebastian grabs the sleeve at the wrist and tugs while Lewis shimmies out of it. "This is so sexy," Sebastian deadpans, finally freeing one of Lewis's arms.

Lewis squints and turns for Seb to grab the other sleeve. "It's not my fault it's cold enough to freeze my balls off out there."

Sebastian rolls his eyes and yanks one good time and frees Lewis. He tosses the jacket onto the chair. Then he pulls his windbreaker and beanie off and tosses them there too.

"I wouldn't let that happen," he promises, less annoyed now that Lewis is only in his normal, easily accessible clothes. He tucks his hands up under Lewis’s sweater and settles them on the warm skin of his waist.

"No?" Lewis asks, wrapping his arms around Sebastian's shoulders, brushing his nose against his before he kisses him.

Sebastian sighs into the kiss, letting it settle him. "Nuh-uh. Your balls are very important to me."

That punches an unexpected laugh out of Lewis. He snorts. "Jesus Christ.” Then. “Maybe you oughta show me how important." He leers dramatically to be funny, but Sebastian actually finds it to be very sexy.

He slides one hand down from Lewis's waist to his hip then down lower and cups his dick and balls. "Oh," Lewis gasps, instinctively tensing up. Sebastian massages him gently through his leggings, palm against the underside of his dick, fingers pressing against his balls.

Lewis's mouth falls open on another gasp.

"Yeah?" Sebastian asks.

Lewis squirms into the touch and nods. So, Sebastian keeps rubbing him off that way while he cradles Lewis's face and kisses his hot mouth.

"Okay, okay," Lewis says a few minutes later. He's started leaking through the thin leggings. Seb’s hand is tacky with precome.

"Want me to stop?" he asks, breathing heavily, stilling his hand.

Lewis shakes his head, his tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip. Then he nods. "I want you to suck me."

Oh, gladly. "I'd love that," Sebastian assures him.

Lewis moves to the couch and settles back against the cushion. Then he remembers his leggings, raising up to shove them down and kick them off. His dick springs free, thick and gorgeous, precome beading at the tip. He jerks himself off a few times looking at Sebastian, his eyes dark.

Sebastian's mouth waters. He settles on the floor in front of Lewis. Lewis pushes a throw pillow into his hands. "For your knees," he clarifies.

He's right. Sebastian shoves the pillow under his knees and immediately leans forward between Lewis's spread legs.

He loves the taste of Lewis's cock; he's had it in his mouth countless times and for so many years now, but the weight of it always shocks him at first. It’s heavy and pulsing against his tongue once he sucks it into his mouth. Fills his mouth completely in every direction. The sensation is heady. He swallows him down until the head tickles the back of his throat, then he pulls off and does it again.

Lewis likes it a little sloppy and Sebastian does too. He lets saliva pool in his mouth and envelopes Lewis’s dick again, getting into a rhythm. Lewis makes small noises that go straight to Sebastian's dick. He pulls off to kiss along the length of Lewis, down to the base. He lolls his tongue there and then down farther until he can suck one of his balls into his mouth.

“Oh,” Lewis says, jolting up into Seb’s mouth. “Babe. Yes.” He claws at the back of Sebastian's head, twisting tufts of his hair in his grasp.

Sebastian groans and sucks the other one into his mouth. It's an intimate act and a heady sensation; Lewis tastes just as good here as anywhere else, makes the same breathy, punched out noises when Sebastian gently runs his tongue along the smooth skin.

He pulls off to take a breath, panting a little. Lewis whines above him, impatient. “Seb.” He tightens his fingers in Sebastian's hair so hard it stings, feels like electricity coursing through him. He presses his dick against the front of the sofa and makes a broken sound.

“Suck me, come on,” Lewis urges him. Sebastian does, drooling over the head then tonguing at the slit before he swallows him back down. Lewis is close, Sebastian can tell, from the way he rocks up into Sebastian's touch, smoothes his hands over Sebastian’s hair, and keeps making hot little grunting noises.

Sebastian gets one hand on Lewis’s balls and rolls them between his fingers, tugs gently while he sucks Lewis.

Lewis comes then, with very little warning, pumping up into Sebastian's mouth. He holds Sebastian’s head steady and empties onto his tongue. Sebastian swallows and keeps swallowing, working his throat around Lewis until he's pushing Sebastian away, sensitive.

Sebastian pants, a little dazed. He's so hard; he's missed Lewis’s cock so much, and he wants him so desperately. His mouth feels swollen and his tongue tingly. Everything tastes and smells like Lewis, overwhelmingly so.

Sebastian rests his head against Lewis’s hip and takes steady breaths, mouthing at his soft skin. Lewis is talking nonsense, petting Sebastian's head and shoulders. “Oh, Seb. Seb, you're so good. I missed your mouth. I missed you. Come ‘ere.” He tugs on Sebastian. “Come here, Seb.”

Sebastian gets up off his knees. His skin feels like it's on fire; if Lewis touches him just once he'd probably come. Embarrassing and hot.

Lewis gathers his senses enough to help Sebastian strip out of his clothes. Sebastian clambers into Lewis’s lap, careful of his softening dick. He lets Lewis kiss him, licking into his mouth despite the taste of come. Maybe because of it.

“Touch yourself,” Lewis says against his mouth.

Sebastian doesn't need to be told twice. He jerks himself off over Lewis’s stomach. He tries to balance himself, jerk off, and push Lewis’s sweater up so he can actually see Lewis’s body, but he lacks the coordination. “Fuck,” he bitches. “Let me see you.”

Lewis giggles and drags his sweater up, smirking. “There you go. Is that better?”

Sebastian never ever gets tired of looking at Lewis. His soft, tattooed skin and his abs, the small give just below his navel. He groans and leans forward so he can press his dick against Lewis and still jerk himself off.

Lewis runs his hands up and down Sebastian's thighs, tugging at the fine hair there, because he knows it makes Sebastian crazy.

Sebastian quickens his pace, grips tighter at the head like he likes. He's so close. “Look at you,” Lewis says, awe in his voice.

“Oh,” Sebastian gasps and begins to come.

“Look at you, Seb. You're doing good.”

Sebastian whimpers at the praise. He's still coming over his knuckles and onto Lewis’s stomach. He presses the head of his cock against Lewis’s skin and smears the come in, fucking his hips just so.

Lewis gasps, “Yeah.” He tightens his grip on Seb’s thighs. “If I could go again, I'd fuck you. I want to fuck you so bad.”

Sebastian takes a deep breath. “Naturally.”

Lewis laughs and pinches Seb. “Naturally.

They use Seb’s discarded shirt to clean up in the immediate aftermath, but then go upstairs to take turns in the shower after a few minutes of sitting slumped together.


Afterward, Seb spends time out in his workshop, fiddling with his motorbike. He promised Lewis a day trip once he finished restoring it, and he thinks he might be nearly there.

Lewis camps out on the couch with Roscoe and his sketchbook for the chunk of time Seb is outside. It’s nice knowing Lewis is in there, that the house isn’t empty and quiet. While Lewis was away, the quiet wasn’t oppressive—never could be with Roscoe snoring or farting or chewing on squeaky toys—but it’s better now. Familiar.

When he comes back in, it's gone past lunch and into early afternoon. Lewis is still on the couch with Roscoe, and it's clear they've been napping a little.

Lewis looks sleepy and soft, tilting his head back for a kiss when Seb is close enough to give him one.

“Cold,” he says against Sebastian's mouth. “Come warm up.”

Sebastian is a bit chilly. He joins Lewis on the couch under the giant, fluffy blanket he’s cocooned in.

“I was thinking,” Lewis says once Sebastian has settled around him and Roscoe. Lewis absently runs his fingers through Sebastian’s hair and it’s so soothing it nearly puts Sebastain right to sleep. “We could make a broccoli salad for lunch? Something easy. I'll make a pitcher of iced tea for us too. I salvaged my mint leaves.”

Sebastian tucks his cold nose against Lewis’s neck and hums. “Mhm. That sounds great. Sleep for now, though?”

Lewis laughs softly and smacks a kiss to Sebastian's ear. “Yes, nap for now.” He slumps down so they're more comfortable, tangled together and warm. Sebastian hopes they don't sleep the afternoon away, but he's too tired to care now, and besides, they've got so much time left together, it doesn't matter much.