He took a deep breath, slim chest and stomach slightly expanding, abdomen exposed from beneath the soft white sheets of his flatmate's, his lover's, and, most of all, his best friend's once neat bed, hospital corners freed and sheet tossed about. His dark curls spread out across the pillow, face relaxed and smooth, blue-grey eyes dialated in the dim lighting of the room. The man rolled over onto his side, brushing a few stray curls out of his face. His light, clear eyes focused upon the other's face, studying every tanned feature of his face, chest, the soft blend of grey, blond and brown hair. Each hair a different texture - grey the thickest, coarsest, blending into a soft, light blond with an almost equally textured brown accent.

He took one more breath, eyes focusing on darker blue ones, soft pink lips, light stubble sprikled across his face. The man, this beauty of a man, opened his mouth, the soft pink lips forming words memorised long ago.

"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease."

He recited, the words tumbling from his throat. His long, lanky fingers tangled themselves with the blond man's, the other hand gently carding through his touseled hair, the other man's face softening at the affection.

"O for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country-green,

Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South!

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth,

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite foret

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;

And mid-May's eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that ofttimes hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?"

He finished, curling up against the other man, long limbs wrapped around both himself and his other, face softened and lips gently parted, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

The other man brought his lips to the pale man's, mouths gently moving together, hand on his waist, other cupping his cheek, shifting just so that their bodies alined perfectly.

It was gentle, open-mouthed, and conveyed so much more than words ever could. It meant, I love you, it meant, I care about you, it meant, that was beautiful, it meant, you are fantastic, everything thay had said but couldn't say enough, that didn't quite say just how much that admiration, affection, love, was aimed toward the other.

The dark-haired man slowly pulled away, resting his head against the other's, hands still entiwined, a crooked smile taking up the left half of his mouth.

"I love you," He muttered, running his hand up the pale side of the thin man, eyes slipping shut and the lighter pair followed soon behind, the two of them sinking into a restful sleep.