Methos awakened slowly, pale morning sunbeams softly calling him back to consciousness. His eyes blinked open, fluttered closed, then lifted once more and remained open. He instinctively cuddled deeper into the arms wrapped around him. Still too drowsy to stage a serious attempt at rising, Methos just lay still and watched dust motes dance in the rays of light streaming in through the window.
Once he was fully awake, the ancient immortal still felt no desire to free himself from the tangle of Richie and blanket that ensnared him. Times like this where no one waited for them, no errand needed running, and even his own innate restlessness had been temporarily calmed, were too few and far between to be wasted. Nothing mattered at this moment except feeling Richie’s chest rise and fall with each breath and listening to the steady beat of Richie’s heart.
Richie’s heart. Methos marveled that the organ even fit inside Richie’s chest, so immense was its capacity to love. And to be loved, Methos acknowledged. It was a little scary how much Richie needed to be loved in return. A year ago — hell, even a month ago — Methos would have denied that he was even capable of that depth of feeling anymore. Instead he was finding that there seemed to be no limit to how much he could love Richie. Each time he thought that every corner of his heart was full, another door that had been bolted shut and forgotten just clicked open. Sometimes he felt like a bear coming out of hibernation, so eager for the spring sunshine that he tripped over feet still sluggish from the long winter’s sleep. The good news for him was that, unlike the bear, he had Richie there to catch him when he stumbled. The sunshine would come to him.
Methos carefully raised up on an elbow, struck by the sudden desire to observe his personal sun face to face. The light from the window had reached out to cast a golden glow on Richie’s sleeping visage. Eyelashes stood out darkly against alabaster skin. Rosy lips had parted slightly as if to tempt Methos to wake his lover with a kiss. The stubborn angle of the chin had softened slightly in repose. Oh God, Methos thought as an ache spread in his chest. He’s so beautiful. I never tell him that he’s beautiful to me.
A deeper intake of breath was all the warning Methos had before blue eyes opened to meet his. A smile immediately curved Richie’s lips at the sight of the familiar face above him. As always, the words Methos meant to say just scattered under Richie’s loving regard. Would he ever be able to form a complete sentence when Richie looked at him that way?
Richie tenderly smoothed away the wrinkles that frustration had furrowed into Methos’ brow. A part of him needed Methos to express his feelings in words, but right now Methos’ eyes were speaking eloquently enough. Richie could hear everything that the older man was trying to say as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.
I love you, Richie. You are the most beautiful thing in my life. I want to wake up with you every morning, just like this.
In answer, Richie pressed a gentle kiss on Methos’ forehead. He supported Methos while he shifted his weight from his left shoulder to his right and then urged the dark head to rest on his chest. As the beloved weight settled on him, Richie closed both arms around Methos and released a satisfied sigh.
Since it was obvious that Richie had no intention of leaving the chaise lounge, Methos let the rhythm of Richie’s heartbeat and the whispers of Richie’s breathing lull him back to sleep. There were plenty of other days to fill with hustle and bustle. Today was for the magic of being right where he wanted to be — with Richie.