"Mm. Means I have an excuse to travel, again. Find us more suited places." But he knew he would find himself back here again. The contrast of sky, dunes, and ocean reminded him too much of familiar, impossible peace.
But for now, he wrapped his arm around Charles' waist, squeezing his ribs as the only warning to brace, before they reappeared in the safety of their backyard, an arm's length from the shed.
There were moments when he didn't know how much was enough. How much of himself, his history, the reliving of memories, was enough for his telepath to handle. His husband had spent a lifetime filled with the intrusive thoughts, wicked thoughts, memories, nonsense and atrocities of other people, day in and day out. And still, Charles had agreed to a lifetime of a demon, one now recalling the memories and sensations of his first flight with an angel's dead wings.
The crossroads demon shivered.
"Get naked, ya degenerate."
"As though we need the excuse." The faintest smile traced his lips, heart stumbling for but a moment. How thrilling, the promise of a tiny adventure.
Charles submitted to the familiar ritual. Inhale. Exhale. Rest the burden of his weight against his demon until the world stilled around them.
"Ohhh no. You first, Mr. Atlas." He gave a cursory sweep for nearby minds. He found only his Mason, brushing against his thoughts like an affectionate cat.
Grit scraped pink across moon-pale skin as he stepped toward the wall and the mounted garden hose. He'd disrobe, sure, but his demon was getting the first blast of icy water if Charles had any say in the matter.
He wriggled out of his trousers and behan unwinding the hose in an awkward, clumsy juggle.
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