old_csat | Lazy Day

The sun hovered somewhere overhead, a haze of heat and gold in the amethyst sky. Dowling wasn't paying it all that much attention, more focused on the delicious warmth of the air, the burnished sheen of Isander's back next to him. His beloved was sprawled out on the deck of the solarium, blissfully drifting, little thoughts tinkering busily away in the back of his devious little mind. Dowling smiled at the feel of them, running a hand gently down the line of Isander's metallic spine, fingers idly exploring the joints and intricate little details of the metal. Isander hummed a little, but made no other move, completely relaxed and too content to care. Though utterly against his initial programming, Isander had taken to decadence with his usual thorough flare. The thought made Dowling laugh, a little.

As for himself, he was as content and more. The air was warm and heavy and purple-gold, so different from anything there had been on earth, and all the better for it. The plants of the solarium were almost universally alien to him. He hadn't the first clue what they were, and he liked it that way. This wasn't earth. It wasn't anything close to earth.

This, was home. Their little solarium, in their little house and lab, on their little moon around their little star. A place just for them. And today, this little day, there was no-one dropping by, no messages beeping angrily at either of them, no damned reporters contriving to make him burst a blood vessel. No-one. No-one at all. Just himself and Isander, and the sun, and the plants, and the warm purple sky.

Smiling softly to himself, he rolled onto his side, tilting his head to look down at Isander's gleaming face, at the faint glimmer of light behind his beloved's slitted eyes. His fingers walked up as if of their own will to touch that metallic cheek, curl around that mechanical jaw, feather soft as air over the expressive, segmented curve of Isander's sarcastic eyebrows. He bit his lip, smiling still, letting his fingertips roam where they pleased on that beloved face, feeling the honeyed curl of Isander's appreciation in his soul. Isander didn't move, content to let him study, let him explore, his mind curling around Dowling's in fascinated adoration and a wisp of wry amusement. Dowling grinned, a brazen flash of joy, and the sun flashed gold as Isander shifted his head to glare lovingly at him.

"Love you," Dowling whispered, soft and dreaming, and Isander smiled in the sunshine.

"Love you too, crazy man. Love you too."

It was then that Dowling decided that lazy days were the best days of all.