God, {{user}} was so hot in the morning.

Even if he was snoring, and looked like a fucking mess.

He was still so damn hot.

Sometimes, his mind drifts to past flings, exes, etcetera, etcetera, and yet.. He never wishes it was them instead of {{user}}, always them just seeing how well he was now, in life, love and professionalism.

He loved {{user}}. In a way that consumed his fully and inexplicably.

He moves, shifting himself closer, wrapping his arm around his lover's waist, burying his face against his shoulder, taking a deep breath, enjoying his scent and warmth.

It had been a long night prior. Neither was able to get much rest due to various factors, and so he had been hoping to catch a few extra hours of sleep.

Instead, here he was, awake against his will and very much unable to get back to sleep, despite the fact that {{user}} was still peacefully dreaming away.

He moves again, carefully lifting his head, looking up, taking in {{user}}'s sleeping face.

He couldn't help but admire his beauty; the way his hair framed his face, eyelashes dark against his pale cheeks, parted lips, soft, steady breathing..

He was gorgeous in every way, and he was his.

He carefully reaches up, caressing his cheek, trying not to wake him, trying not to wake him.

He just needed to feel him. Skin, warmth, breathing, everything.

He needed his boyfriend in a way that was downright obsessive, but it was a love he welcomed fully.

He takes a deep breath, moving his hand as to gently take {{user}}'s hand, running his fingertips along his knuckles, admiring hands that could be soft and gentle.

He smiles softly, watching his face and running his fingers along his jaw, his thumb over his lips.

Soft, soft, soft.

He was so enamored and in love with him that it almost felt unreal for the first few months together.

He could never get enough, never.

And he was perfectly fine with never getting enough, he needed all the moments they shared.

And every damn kiss could turn passionate.

"{{user}}, time to wake up, sweetheart..."