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“Pass us the suncream, love,” Steve says from his bed, voice slow and lazy from the heat laying thick and heavy in his bones.
They’re by the pool of the hotel. They booked the quieter off-season to avoid families and kids, but it’s still oppressively hot, and they’re soaking up the sun like lizards when the clouds finally part, curled up on their slabs of rock and letting winter’s weight melt away.
Reece grumbles, the noise muffled into the towel he's rolled up and using as a pillow. “Get it yourself."
“Have it your way," Steve says cheerfully. He reaches a hand out to the Sainsbury's bag on the floor between them and rummages around, pulling out the tube of suncream. He throws it at Reece and it bounces onto the tiled floor. “I got it out, so you can do the honours."
Reece lifts his head up and glares at Steve.
“Oh, that how it works, then?” he says. His eyes are hidden beneath his sunglasses, his hair curling in the humidity, and his skin is slathered in a thick layer of white suncream. He looks so ridiculous and lovely that Steve’s heart aches with gratitude.
Reece is scowling but his mouth is thin in the way it goes when he’s trying not to smile.
“What are you staring at,” he says, mock-exasperated.
Steve swallows hard, shakes his head. He tucks his sincerity into the pocket of his swim shorts and smiles weakly. “You look like you’ve got my come all over your face.”
Reece drops his head down to hide his face in his towel, shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
“You love it,” Steve leers, brazenly palming Reece’s arse.
Reece yelps, giggling. “Get off me, you filthy old man!"
He rolls onto his side, facing Steve. His smile softens into something quieter, sweeter.
“Yeah,” he says, voice dripping with fondness like honey off the comb. “Yeah, I suppose I do love it.”
“I know you do,” Steve says, grinning, then clears his throat. “Reece, there’s something that I— I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”
Reece raises his eyebrows expectantly, shuffles to get comfortable on the bed. “Go on, then.”
“It’s just— I thought this would be easier,” Steve says, dragging his palm down his face, mouth twisting wryly. “Reece, we met a long time ago—”
“Don’t fucking remind me!”
“—in a place that no longer exists. Since then, I’ve loved you in countless places, from the Royal Mile to the big Asda in Highgate, on stage and on set. We’ve been everything to each other over the last thirty-five years — we’ve kissed and killed each other and argued and cried but it’s always been us. I love you, and there's only one thing left to ask.”
Reece takes his sunglasses off. His eyes are wide, and he licks his lips nervously, voice breaking in disbelief. “Steve.”
“Reeson Wayne Shearsmith,” Steve says. He takes a deep breath. “Will you put my suncream on for me?”