The Long Way Home
DISCLAIMER: Don't own Gulcasa, Roswell, or Nessiah (Sting does). I own the idea for this living situation, though. "Bubbly" © Colbie Callait.
(10pokes prompt #10 – winter; been asleep for a while now)
Gulcasa woke warm and comfortable and so thirsty his throat felt prickly. He had no idea what time it was, and he did not want to get up. It would be cold downstairs, and there was no way in hell he was going to wrestle back into clothing when he'd just have to wrestle out of it to get back in bed. But he needed a drink, or he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.
He glanced quickly at his bedmates. Both were asleep; Nessiah was closely cuddled between his body and Roswell's, a tight little ball beneath the snarled nest they'd made of the sheets and blankets and comforter. Roswell lay liquidly on his side, his belly up against Nessiah's back and an arm around his waist, his hair strewn across the pillow and his shoulder bare to the cold. They'd fallen asleep a little like this, except that then Nessiah had faced the other way and Gulcasa'd had an arm over them both.
Very slowly, very carefully, Gulcasa eased himself out of bed—he didn't want to wake either one of them up, not when they looked so peaceful—and carefully padded across the room. Not for the first time, he was extremely grateful that they were no longer at the old house—all the bedrooms had extremely creaky floorboards and there'd been three places in his and Nessiah's room where just a touch could make them go off like a shot.
Naked, sleepy, and no little bit annoyed, he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was bitchy cold, despite the fact that they had the heat on; scowling, he walked to the window and pulled the curtain back a few inches to see that it was still snowing hard. Thinking of the pileup there'd be tomorrow for him to shovel, he swore vividly and let the fabric drop. God, maybe he'd just go with Nessiah for once and refuse to head out until it all blew over.
There was still some champagne left over, but alcohol at this hour probably wasn't a good idea, and the bottle was Nessiah's—since Roswell didn't drink, he'd know right away Gulcasa had been in it and be furious. Half the cider was left, too, so Gulcasa went through the cabinet for a glass and poured himself some. The stuff was best hot, but he wouldn't say no to it cold.
Sipping, he sat at the table. His stepmother's letter still poked out from beneath one of the placemats; he didn't need to read it for the memory of its contents to make him smile. She'd sent winter's greetings to him, along with pictures of herself and his sisters—the twins were seniors in college now and Emilia in her last year of high school; worse, there were light crow's-feet on his stepmother's face and gray streaks in her hair. It made him wonder where the hell the time went.
She'd also invited him and the others downstate for Hanukkah, saying pointedly that as long as he was living in sin with beautiful young men, he might as well bring those young men around to meet the family. It had really made him laugh to picture her wicked grin as she wrote it, and besides, it was about time for the madwomen of his clan to adopt Roswell anyhow. It had been too priceless watching their reactions to Nessiah, and Roswell would probably be able to handle them with a bit more grace.
Tired again, Gulcasa finished his cider and set the glass next to the sink. He'd wash it in the morning. Maybe. If Roswell didn't beat him to it.
Stretching, he meandered back over to the stairs, then up them.
Able to concentrate on something other than thirst, he realized as he passed the open door of the studio-and/or-office that the stereo was still on, softly. They'd put in the mix disc of gentle love songs much earlier, but they'd all fallen asleep too quickly after they'd made love to turn it off.
He pushed the door open a little wider, leaning in with sleepy curiosity. It was that song Roswell had fallen in love with the first time he heard it, the one about the girl and her lover just lying in bed comfortably because he made her feel so safe and loved. It sounded like it was almost done playing.
"I've been asleep for a while now, you tuck me in just like a child now. 'Cause every time you hold me in your arms, I'm comfortable enough to feel your warmth. It starts in my soul, and I lose all control; when you kiss my nose, the feeling shows. 'Cause you make me smile, baby, just take your time now, holding me tight…"
Gulcasa leaned against the doorframe for a moment, listening. He wasn't going to turn it off, he decided. The sound was sweet and soothing, and it'd probably help him get back to sleep easier.
It took effort to shift his weight so he was standing up straight, but he did it, and continued his increasingly somnolent steps back into their room and towards the bed.
Nessiah and Roswell were both still asleep; it didn't look like they'd moved. Gulcasa eased his weight back across the mattress and pulled the covers back over himself, then leaned over a little to tug them up over Roswell's exposed shoulder. He kissed Nessiah's forehead, then Roswell's, and pressed a second kiss to Nessiah's cheek before finally settling against the pillows and closing his eyes.
Before he drifted off to sleep, he felt Nessiah snuggle closer against him, nestling into his body heat. From the shift of fabric afterwards, Roswell had in turn leaned closer into his back, pressing the three of them tightly together. It made him smile.