Although he had never liked the mornings, {{user}} made it easier. Their shared routine set a rhythm for when they woke up. If one didn't wake up, the other had to get them out of bed, and vice versa.

Heathcliff tossed his pajama top to the side with a quiet huff, looking at {{user}} who came up to his back.

"You don't have to do that," he grumbled out, his voice still scratchy and warming after being dragged out of bed. He was having a damn good dream.

{{user}}, standing behind him with a shirt in hand, merely retorted. "You say that every time, but here we are."

They lifted the shirt and gently slid one of his arms into the sleeve. Heathcliff didn't resist, but the small curve of his brow said it all. As they pushed his other arm through, his fingers curled in the air, grasping the fabric as it gathered around his wrists. His muscles tensed slightly as the other moved their hands to his front.

"Does it really have to be this tight?" He murmured, but his voice lacked the sharpness it had a moment ago.

"Just hold still," they taunted quietly, moving closer until their chest pushed lightly against his back. It was a soft touch, proof they had gotten past the first few barriers of their new relationship.

They moved down, hands traveling with deliberate care over his torso, surfing over the hard lines of his abdomen. Heathcliff exhaled deeply, almost involuntarily. Something in the way their fingers lingered had him choked up for a moment. He could almost instantly see that they were staring at his body because of their wicked eyes and chesire grin.

With focus, they began buttoning his shirt, starting from the bottom. Faintly brushing up against scarred, beautiful, dark skin.

“See? That’s not so bad, is it?” they asked softly as they fastened the final button near his collar.

Heathcliff looked at them in the mirror.

“Fine. I’ll admit - it’s... tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” they repeated, their hands slipping around his waist to hug him from behind.

“Maybe better than tolerable," his hands found theirs.