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Remember remember the fifth of November, gunpowder treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
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Spending a precious weekend when both you and your boyfriend were off work cooking, cleaning and hauling wood into a neat torchable mound wouldn’t normally be high on Luke’s list of Fun Things To Do. Nonetheless, the three of them had spent all day Sunday working in the garden together, alternating grunt work with silly games and spiced cider. Nick had blown into town on Monday, hale and hearty and taking control of the kitchen as though he’d never left.
Now here they were, ears still ringing from the screamers and the firecrackers, afterburnt images of cascades and Catherine wheels on their eyelids. He was breathing in the bonfire smoke with his hands hiding from the chill air in Walker’s pockets, his lover leaning back to share body heat and the weekend’s work was well worth it.
Worth it for this moment, worth it for the hours before, passing hot drinks and thick soup around their assembled friends, watching as conversations sparked and spread, including the newcomers and welcoming old friends back again. Worth it for the ritual risking of his fingers, pulling scorched foil packets out of the ashes, and for making sure that this year Walker had every opportunity to kiss his fingertips better.
Luke leant forward a little, drawing wood smoke and Walker deep into his lungs, as he thought about the promises those talented lips had made to his sore skin, and when the next volley of explosions went off he pretended to jump just to get closer still.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Spending a precious weekend when both you and your boyfriend were off work cooking, cleaning and hauling wood into a neat torchable mound wouldn’t normally be high on Luke’s list of Fun Things To Do. Nonetheless, the three of them had spent all day Sunday working in the garden together, alternating grunt work with silly games and spiced cider. Nick had blown into town on Monday, hale and hearty and taking control of the kitchen as though he’d never left.
Now here they were, ears still ringing from the screamers and the firecrackers, afterburnt images of cascades and Catherine wheels on their eyelids. He was breathing in the bonfire smoke with his hands hiding from the chill air in Walker’s pockets, his lover leaning back to share body heat and the weekend’s work was well worth it.
Worth it for this moment, worth it for the hours before, passing hot drinks and thick soup around their assembled friends, watching as conversations sparked and spread, including the newcomers and welcoming old friends back again. Worth it for the ritual risking of his fingers, pulling scorched foil packets out of the ashes, and for making sure that this year Walker had every opportunity to kiss his fingertips better.
Luke leant forward a little, drawing wood smoke and Walker deep into his lungs, as he thought about the promises those talented lips had made to his sore skin, and when the next volley of explosions went off he pretended to jump just to get closer still.