I wake with my nose pressed to the nape of Ray's neck, inhaling his scent. My top leg is draped over his hips and my arms are wrapped around him. I'm holding him tightly against me, his back to my front. This isn't at all unusual, for no matter how we fall asleep, I end up clinging to him during the night. Ray doesn't mind.

I was embarrassed the first few times it happened--the waking, that is, not the falling asleep together or what proceeded that. I'd often been told I was too clingy, too close.

Well, I suppose often is a relative term. I had only shared a bed with two people before Ray, but both of them had complained. Mark had pushed me away with a sleepy grumble about how needy I was. Victoria had elbowed me in the ribs and snapped that I was suffocating her. I took the comment literally at the time, though in hindsight I suppose she meant it metaphorically as well.

Ray, though...when I drew back in shame the first time, he simply turned and pulled me back into his arms. "'S nice," he'd murmured. "Like you close."

I don't think he realizes how precious those few words were. He truly does have the soul of a poet. He never mocks my weaknesses the way Mark did, never plays on them like Victoria, he merely accepts them, embraces them. Ray is so gentle with me.

I feel his breathing change as he wakes. He tenses his shoulders, then allows them to relax, stretches his legs, and sighs softly. I loosen my grip on him and allow him to turn so that we're facing. His eyes are still closed but he slides one hand up to rub my chest.

"Good morning, Ray," I say before planting a kiss on his forehead.

"Yet to be determined, Ben." He still doesn't open his eyes. His breathing slows as he drifts back towards sleep. I stroke his hair and think of our plans for the day. He has promised to take me to The Taste, a multicultural festival held in Grant Park every year. This is the first summer I'll be in Chicago during the weeks it's open. From Ray's description, the point of the festival is to consume vast amounts of food and alcoholic beverages while strolling through the park and listening to music. Though I will be abstaining from any sort of alcohol, I am quite looking forward to trying samples of several different types of cuisine--the mutton biryan and wild boar sausage, especially.

"What you thinkin' about?" Ray asks, surprising me. I thought he was asleep.

"Wild boar sausage," I tell him.

He chuckles and moves his head towards my touch. He's quite fond of having his hair stroked. "Pizza," he says longingly.

"You eat pizza nearly every day."

"Yeah, but today I can eat pizza from six different pizza joints, not to mention bratwurst and pierogies and jerk chicken and cheesecake." He groans and slides his arm around my waist so that he can rub the small of my back. "I hope they have funnel cakes. Or donuts. Maybe sopapillas, or those, uh, elephant's ear thingies."

I purse my lips but refrain from lecturing him. His eating habits have improved greatly since we began living together, so I suppose a bit of an indulgence won't hurt much. "I'm sure they'll have fried dough of some sort, Ray."

He sighs contentedly and slides his hand down to cup my backside. "First, though..."

"I thought you wanted to get an early start," I tease, even as I shift my thigh to press more firmly against his growing arousal.

I kiss him, then, and though his breath is a bit sour at first, I don't draw back. I'm sure mine is the same, and after a few minutes he tastes of nothing but himself. I slide my tongue over his slick, hard teeth, stroke the roof of his mouth. His tongue presses against mine, and as we part for breath he nips at my lower lip. I groan and pull him tighter against me. I cherish our mornings together, our gentle caresses so different from the frantic need of afternoon and evening.

"On your back," he says, and I roll easily, pulling him with me. I part my legs, allowing Ray to settle between them. He shifts his hips so that our cocks are side by side, and I sigh.

"Good?" he asks.

I nod and close my eyes, sliding my arms around him so that I can caress his strong back. He slides against me again, props himself up on his hands and twists his hips. I gasp and he chuckles slightly.

"Last night," he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to my mouth. "Last night was so fucking hot."

I murmur my agreement. I vividly remember the feeling of his fingers inside me, how I felt both helpless and greatly aroused as he bent me over the kitchen table, how open and vulnerable I was and how he used my weakness only to arouse me further, not to mock or wound me. I remember the feeling of his fingers, stroking inside me, his voice rough as he encouraged me to beg for it, which I did. I begged him to fuck me, knowing that was the word he wanted to hear. He has given me a newfound appreciation for those sturdy Anglo-Saxon words, fuck and cock. I will never use them as freely as he does, but I do now understand their appeal.

"You got the best ass, Ben," he tells me. I don't know how to respond to that so I simply arch up against him. I know I'm flushed from face to belly, can feel the sweet ache in my groin spread up in a V, causing my nipples to tingle.

"Inside you," he says, "so, so good." Like in all other areas of life, Ray is quite verbal in bed. I at first thought he expected me to be the same, but he doesn't, he merely enjoys talking through it.

"Ray." It is often the only word I can think, let alone say, when Ray and I are making love.

"Mmm, yeah, love it inside you, how you open for me, how bad you want it, want me, just me."

"Only you," I say. I reach between us and grasp our cocks in my hand. He shudders and drops his head down so that his hair brushes my cheek.

He is wordless for quite a while, only occasionally letting out a soft moan or gasp. He drops down onto his elbows and presses his face to my neck. "Only me," he says so softly that I suspect he's not even aware that he's speaking aloud. "You don't want anyone but me."

"It's always been you," I say with a sigh. Ray has his own weaknesses, his own fears. "No one but you, Ray, not ever."

He whimpers and tenses and I feel his climax hot against my skin. I hold him to me as he shudders through it, and as he lifts his head and bites my earlobe, I follow suit, crying out despite myself.

Ray slides off me after a moment, snuggles against me, and we hold each other close despite the sweat and semen on our skin. I'm just beginning to drift back to sleep when he props himself up on one shoulder and gazes down at me. "Pitter patter, Ben. We got fried dough waiting for us."

I'm still lost in blissful afterglow. I mumble something about staying in bed, just for a few more minutes.

"You're getting soft," he tells me, but there is no sting to the words. "Up and at 'em."

"I don't know if I can walk," I say.

He grins and rolls his eyes. "You can chase a perp twenty blocks with a bullet hole in your shoulder but one little orgasm and you're out for the count?"

"Well, in my defense, it was a very nice orgasm."

He ducks his head down so he can nip at my jaw. "Come on," he whispers. "I'll buy you a strawberry gelato. The kind with the big chunks of berry mixed right in."

I kiss him gently. He is so very good to me.