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It had been the kind of Sunday Lou Reed sang about. All three boys were early risers, Clark and Daniel emerging from their bedroom at the smell of the automatic coffee maker to find Buster drawing over the breakfast he made for himself. They walked to their neighborhood’s public pool.
Buster was quiet about what he’d been learning in after-school swimming classes, but with prompting he demonstrated new strokes proudly. And while previously the men had spent substantial time in the gym together, the pool had become their thing since The Pool™, water being best for Clark’s recovery. The two also enjoyed the family sized shower stall afterward. They took much longer to shower and change than Buster, Daniel taking his time to assist Clark in the slippery environment. He moved slower than was necessary, helping the man with his swimsuit, sitting, lathering, standing. Exchanging smirks and whispered promises of "later."
Then walking to meet friends for brunch on their little main street who oohed and ahhed over the artwork Buster was working on and offered encouragement for Clark’s return to work tomorrow. A stop in the antique store, where the proprietor they’d known for years gave Buster an action figure, and Daniel and Clark considered a painting. They couldn’t decide though if the bathing men depicted were lounging on the creek bank, or depressed. Another detour into the kitschy candy shop where Buster picked out some Japanese chocolates in the shape of woodland creatures, and where Clark found something behind a black curtained corner of the shop that he’d like to use with Daniel at another time.
Then to the farmers’ market. A leisurely exploration of options. The last few weeks since Clark had become more confident with his cane had become to feel more and more like real life coming back. The life they’d built over nearly two decades.
Now back at home, Daniel began to cook dinner, chopping and sauteing vegetables. He heard the chunking of Clark’s cane working its way around their home - putting away their purchases, curiosity and encouragement at whatever Buster was working on at the coffee table, the hinge of the record player and the space was suddenly filled with lounge music. Was he riffling through the mail? Rearranging throw pillows?
Clark walked and acted with purpose, but Daniel knew. Knew he was restless at the thought of returning to work. They’d discussed it, but there really wasn’t much to decide. This was their purpose.
Daniel turned off the burner and moved the pan to a cool one. He pulled the dishtowel from his shoulder and wiped his hands, making his way over to Buster who had created a comic strip featuring his new toy.
“Kid, that’s really great!” Daniel flashed on poor grades on his art assignments in school and wondered at his child’s skill and dedication. “Could you help me out by setting the table? I’m gonna go rustle up Dad.”
Buster moved to finish up. He knew he had time. He knew about dads - they like to spend time together. He knew he had a few long minutes, maybe more.
Daniel thought he’d heard Clark go into the bedroom but hadn’t heard anything in a bit.
“Heya.” He’d found him in their closet, brushing off a suit for tomorrow. Daniel looked on the dresser to see that Clark had laid out a turtleneck and his eyes fell shut for a beat. “I can wash your Speedo tonight. I always find you more persuasive the less you wear.” Daniel suggested, caressing the cashmere.
“I may have to make my case slightly more professionally.” Clark set the suit brush back on the dresser and held his arms out to his partner, beginning to sway slightly in time to the music wafting through their home.
Daniel took the message and took the position, left hand firmly gripping Clark’s right tricep, right hand in left. A few steps of samba before the song ended, and they gave up on their dancers’ frame, Daniel melting into Clark’s chest, inhaling deeply the smell of the cedar chest they both stored their sweaters in, curious how it leant such a more compelling smell to Clark’s than to his. They swayed around the small closet.
“You’re ready for this, hon.” Daniel said softly, answering the unstated worry. “You know what to say. And they know they’ve got no one better to put in the field.”
“I can be very convincing.” Daniel heard the smirk in Clark’s voice, but felt him tense, sensed a distance. He snaked his hands up either side of his partner’s spine, massaging the muscles he found there, those engaged in embracing him.
They’d continued swaying after the record had ended, until Daniel prompted “kiddo’s gotta be hungry...” and they returned to the dining table.
After dinner, Clark and Buster took on the washing up, and Buster retreated to his desk to continue drawing, saying goodnight without words, but rather with a long squeezy hug. Clark kissed him on top of his head and sent him away with a reminder about bedtimes, “it’s a school night for all of us, buddy!”
-
It was Clark’s turn to search out Daniel, finding him in the shower. Leaning in the doorframe, he worried his lower lip with his teeth and watched his husband, unaware of the gaze.
Seemingly unaware that is, as Daniel interrupted the reverie, “so are you going to join me?”
Clark snorted and undressed.
He grabbed the chrome bars Daniel had installed during his first few days home and allowed his partner to help him step over the rim of the clawfoot tub and lower to the teak bench that hooked to the edges of the rear of the tub. Daniel bent to kiss him, running his hands through Clark’s hair as it dampened in the oblique spray. Clark enjoyed this view, craning up to see his husband’s angelic face haloed by the light-struck mist. Daniel took down the handheld showerhead and continued scraping his nails against Clark’s scalp while wetting his hair further.
Clark closed his eyes as Daniel lathered his hair, taking time at his temples, the base of his skull. Clark tilted his head back, and Daniel rinsed the sudsy water, then he slumped forward to rest his forehead on his husband’s ribs as he applied conditioner. The swirling circles Daniel drew through Clark’s hair opened into broader and deeper movements as he reached the muscles of his neck, his shoulders. Every movement, every breath, a meditation. A release of tension that had been building as tomorrow neared.
Clark shifted slightly to kiss Daniel’s abdomen.
He caressed the backs of Daniel’s thighs, working slowly upwards over his buttocks and outward until he pushed himself back from Daniel’s hips. He smirked up at his husband and folded again to kiss lower. Lower. He palmed Daniel's tense quadriceps and found their way to the base of his manhood as his mouth found flesh to explore everywhere but.
The crease of his hip.
The downy trail between below his navel.
A soft mound of flesh one might call a tummy.
A hip bone.
It was Daniel's turn to make use of the chrome bar, grabbing on for dear life with one hand, his other fisting Clark's slippery hair. He twitched and hardened and, when grip strength was no longer distraction enough, gently guided Clark's mouth to his erection.
Clark hummed with delight at inspiring this need but continued to take his time. With one hand firmly encircling Daniel's shaft, Clark continued to share soft, sweet kisses: Daniel's left testicle, head pivoted to the left, side of the shaft, the very tip. Eliciting small noises of frustrated encouragement at each stop.
"Honey!" Daniel was exasperated.
Clark pushed back again to look up at the man, needing to pause for several seconds as Daniel came to himself to look down questioningly.
Eye contact. Smirk.
And then Clark dove in again. The angle was awkward, so Clark made do, pushing Daniel back so he had room to bend lower, but there still wasn't much space for movement. Clark was nothing if not resourceful. He swirled his tongue and applied pressure where he heard sounds of encouragement.
He felt Daniel shift, lifting a foot next to Clark's hip. Clark could sit up a little taller, increase the depth of movement. And then it was as if Daniel had hovered to stand above him, trembling with effort. Now this was perfect - Clark hummed and relaxed his throat to accept all of his husband, gripping the backs of his thighs to hold him standing on the seat he was secretly afraid was too slippery. He increased the pace. For safety's sake.
Daniel was holding himself up mostly with his upper body and the accessibility rail - his challenges installing it flashed through his mind, and he hoped he hadn't unwittingly taken any shortcuts. Hard to follow that thought for long with the caress of Clark's lips, his tongue, his throat. And the little thrill of fear as his hand slipped minutely - skin on wet chrome making such a similar sound to those coming from his own tight throat - sent him over the edge. Clark gagged, a little unprepared, and sunk his fingers deeper into the flesh of Daniel's thighs, which were shaking from extasy and exertion.
Clark leaned back to take in the scene, moving his hands swiftly from Daniel's thighs to his waist to guide him down from his perch.
Both men were breathless, and Daniel still clung to the bar, "This thing is really handy, huh?"
"You're handy," Clark retorted.
"Well," Daniel smiled, "you're mouthy." He took his husband's head in his hands and kissed him deeply, whispering "thank you" when they eventually broke apart.
-
All three rose early again the following day, but this morning had a distinctly different flavor: the soothing feeling of the resumption of an old routine tempered by unspoken anxiety.
Coffee. Brush your teeth. Breakfast. Everything in your backpack?
And Buster was out the door - the first to the car got to choose the music. Buster was always first.
Last looks in their little entry vestibule. Daniel smoothed the backs of his fingers over Clark's lapels. Clark brushed an errant strand off of Daniel's forehead, smoothing it to STRAC.
Daniel raised Clark's chin with a finger and used another to pull down the neck of his sweater, standing on tiptoes to plant a kiss on the thick scar that ran across his Adam's apple, smoothing the collar back in place as he shifted attention to his lips.
And they walked out the door to go to war. After the school run.