Miss You
Miles hates being away from home. Sure, Charlotte doesn't really need an escort for the three-day, long weekend at some spa resort place where they're holding a conference on archaeological whatevers but she does the whole 'puppy-dog-eyes' thing and Daniel says it's fine with the biggest smile he can muster and Miles reluctantly agrees.
The resort's pretty damn good and the conference only lasts for a day or so, leaving the other two days free for Miles to explore the spa with Charlotte. They swim in the pool and eat on some of the best haute cuisine that either of them's tasted - Daniel's good but even he's not a trained chef.
But it's not the same, Miles realises. He can't get to sleep without Daniel the hard way; he spends all night curled up on a king-sized mattress, head cushioned by goosefeather pillows and eyes wide open. The familiar warm weight of Daniel is gone, Miles' arm itches with the need to wrap it possessively around a slim waist.
Miles falls asleep in the Jacuzzi and only gets off to sleep to the feel of hot, bubbling water and vague, whispering daydreams of dark, untidy hair and pale skin, murmured formulae and names of physicists long since dead.
Charlotte teases him about it at dinner, long pale legs nudging his under their table, the other archaeologists glaring jealously at Miles and the redhead beauty in the cobalt blue gown. "You're so whipped, Miles."
Miles rolls his eyes and munches down on his steak, trying to avoid the green-eyed glares of the other males (and one or two females, it has to be said). "Shut up. I'm not whipped."
"You so are." Charlotte's drawling out the words deliberately, eyes locked on a handsome blonde man behind Miles' head. "And for what it's worth, it's adorable."
That night, Miles gets approached by a young man, all eager smiles and groping hands. It would be so easy to pull down their pants in one of the toilet cubicles, thrust into this man-boy and let all of his worries and concerns about Daniel melt away. The old, pre-Daniel Miles would have.
Miles tells the guy to fuck off in no uncertain terms.
When he comes back to their apartment, Charlotte kissing him on the cheek and leaving with the number of a handsome (if slightly dim) archaeology major from Stanford in her purse, Miles has to take a deep breath. It's like returning to a weird, scary, gorgeous, intoxicating drug after a period of sad, painful abstinence and withdrawal.
Inside, candles are lit fucking everywhere and Miles can smell jasmine and cedarwood and it's just so damn relaxing that any tension he'd had over that encounter melt away. No guy in the world can ever replace this.
Daniel's at the dinner table, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and there's hot food - Miles can see chicken and potatoes - on the table and Miles drops his bag and kisses the hell out of Daniel.
"Did you have a good time?" Daniel's voice is lilting and gentle, bony hands rubbing across Miles' shoulders and back with a warm, comforting movement that has Miles dropping his forehead uncharacteristically onto Daniel's freaky tall shoulder.
Miles nods, sighing into the fabric of Daniel's shirt and wrapping his arms around Miles' waist. No one else in the world has ever - or will ever - see this side of Miles and he's pleased, proud. Vulnerable. He trusts Miles completely and this fact has joy radiating every pore of his being as he presses his lips to Daniel's.
"I missed you."
Fin