Demon on my tongue

Part 1

C'mon in, an angel who fell in love with a demon.

"Honey, you home?" George drops his car keys into the porcelain bowl Louis finely constructed at a pottery class they both went to a month ago. It's painted with little green hearts and even greener flowers.

"In the studio." Louis' voice comes floating back to him, making him chuckle.

On his way to officially and personally greet his pregnant better half, George grabs a bottle of ginger beer for Louis and toes off his shoes. Beside his boots is a pair of floral Vans that are never in line with one another. It's one of the quirks George loves in his husband.

He follows the same route to their studio that Louis spent hours at day and night inside, painting or sketching away. George brought home a bonsai tree once from the florist next to his office and Louis has since acquired two more so the first isn't lonely, all three housed in their studio.

It smells of harmless paint and Louis' fragranced lotion when George waltzes in, humming Louis' favourite song because it played on the radio and embraces the younger male around his middle, hands splayed out over his baby bump.

"Good day to you, Sir." Louis turns around giggling, lowering his brush to kiss George's forever chapped lips. "How was work?"

"Irrelevant." George kisses Louis' forehead after the exotic taste of strawberries comes from the boy's lips. "What are you working on, love?"

Louis returns to his painting, paint smears across his neck and arms. Even on his forehead. "I don't know."

George looks up from where he's watching his hands rub Louis' healthy bump, a little stunned to see a pair of foreign eyes staring back at him.

On Louis' new canvas with the price tag still on it, are the eyes of someone absent from their lives. George would know eyes like this, remember the deep green of their irises and the thick eyebrows that are marginally expressive. There was skin of the face carrying those frighteningly beautiful eyes, just them alone like portals to a dimension.

Louis admired his most recent work of art and without knowing it, felt himself staring into the paint like it had life. He saw into those eyes like they were real and could draw him into a world as marred as them. How tragic and how exquisite would a soul like that be?

"Come on." George put down everything inanimate and lifted his lovely spouse off the ground. Those eyes were too unnerving even for a painting. "Let's feed you and mini me."

"Mini you?" Louis crowed, outraged as he was carried out of the room.

"Yes, honey."

George moved to kick the door closed and Louis looked back into the room for a moment. With such a quick glance, he could almost breathe a promise to say those green eyes weren't looking at the basket of plastic fruit by the left wall anymore, but at him.

"What's for dinner?" Louis sat on the oldest couch they owned from their first apartment together that has more duct tape and patches of nylon that original upholstery.

"Anything you fancy." George was on his knees, pressing his lips to Louis' bare baby bump with his hands framing its roundness.

"The baby and I want-" Louis' wedding ring reflects the fading sun's rays as the night creeps closer. "-apricots and ice cream."

George chuckles and kisses Louis' belly button. Their baby is in the middle of the second trimester, getting them closer to announcing the gender. He got off the floor and draped a quilt over Louis' cross-legged form, handing him the remote.