canspotatimeagent:

sclfmastery‌:

canspotatimeagent‌:

“It’s not a reflection of you, I promise,” he says, taking his husband’s face in his hands and kissing his forehead before pressing their heads together. “Just a bad head day. You know how it goes.”

Koschei removes his reading glasses and settles himself more firmly on Jack’s lap.

       “That I do, husband, but you miss my point. I am prepared to lavish you with reasons for your greatness. Gird your loins, or rather, don’t, for I’m about to charm off your knickers.”

He clears his throat, theatrically.

      “The High Classical Greeks have striven in vain to sculpt your perfect face and body.  But this barely touches upon the beauty of your mind, heart, and soul.  You have the mind of a scientist, an artist, and an intellect. The heart of a poet and an adventurer.  The soul of one who secretly, for all his playful transgressions, wishes to warm his feet by a hearth cozied up with a special someone.” 

He wriggles a bit.

      “Lucky for you, here I am, dearest friend, father of my children, hero of my hearts.  You may now express your accolades in return.”  

Jack feels like weeping as he listens to Koschei, however teasingly sincere, list all these wonderful compliments. He even has to close his eyes to keep the tears at bay, that’s how moved he is by those words. Some days, everything is just Too Much, and to be able to ask for a reminder without judgement, to be given it so willingly and so joyfully, is the only balm for his weary soul. 

When he opens his eyes again, he chuckles even as one big, fat tear rolls down his cheek. “You’re wonderful. You really are.”

He leans in and kisses him softly before wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. “I just need you to sty here with me a little longer.”

     “Oh darling,” Koschei haplessly laughs; he intended to move his husband, yes,  but he’s ever fearful that old habits die hard, and to his sometimes fanatically simplifying brain of schismed blacks and whites, tears mean only bad things.  He cups Jack’s face in both hands.  “Yes, I know, I really am tear-inducingly glorious, go on, better out than in.” 

He strives to lighten the mood with jokes, tenderly kissing his beloved.  He kisses away the tear, too.  

     “Of course, forever,” he readily yields, settling down comfily.