Ultimatum

1. Ecchymosis

November 2024

Kennedy-Gray Residence
Kingston, London

Dirty blonde ripples from his roots, a delicate honeycomb when his curls catch the canary yellow lamplight. Each curl lacks definition and blurs into the corkscrew beside it, tumbling over his forehead and the shorter hair at the back of his head. One particularly long curl twirls before his eye. He swats it away, pinching it between his fingers and tossing it.

Laid supinely on the sofa against the window, his feet are hitched onto another's thighs. A hand droops over his crossed ankles. His legs are clad in jet black jeans, torso cloaked by a navy blue jumper.

His features are soft: lips a deep cherry red and hazel eyes framed by thick lashes just a shade or two darker than his hair. His nose is smoothly curved and reminiscent of a teddy bear's button - a fact he often finds himself resenting. It doesn't matter how many times his husband disputes with him over it: he despises his face's centrepiece.

At this moment, the husband in question sits flicking through the television channels. Body canted so he's angled against the armrest, his head is tilted a bit to the right as he reads the various titles on the TV. Short chestnut hair brushes the wall squashing the armrest. His own nose is sharp and pointed, its bridge straight. Baby pink smothers soft lips, his eyes a warm cinnamon.

"There's nothin' good on telly." Dexter complains, stilling the finger pressing gently into the younger's ankle. He continues to flick through the unique programmes, sighing.

"What's that about?" Theo points to the title at the bottom of the screen. The older slowly scrolls down until he's told to stop, ending up on some documentary about monkeys.

"Didn't Sarah recommend this to us?" He asks, rereading the description as one corner of his lips lifts slightly. When he selects the programme a large tree fills the screen, joined soon by a small money with a pink face and coffee-coloured fur. Before the speakers can emit a syllable of the narrator's stiff RP accent, he mutes the TV.

Theo sends him a weird look. "I don't know, did she?"

"Don't look at me like that!" Laughing, Dexter shakes his head. He adjusts the feet in his lap and tugs the adjoined legs away from where they tipped over the edge of the sofa. "Y'know when your dad phoned a couple of weeks ago, and he put Sarah on the phone. She said they've been into these monkey documentaries and I'm pretty sure she recommended this one."

Confusion continues to dominate Theo's expression before he's forcing his gaze onto the TV.

"If you say so." He mumbles, a faint smile flickering over his lips for just long enough for the man to catch a glimpse of it. Dexter forces an exaggerated frown. He gently places the remote down on the table, freeing his hands.

Theo eyes him warily, gaze following the hand sliding over his foot to his ankle. Already anticipating his next moves, he tugs his arms protectively over his stomach. Sure enough, not a moment later, his ankle is yanked and he's slipping into his grip. He's forced to lay flat against the sofa cushions. He suppresses his wince.

The older twists his body until he's directly above him. Noses inches from each other. Hazel eyes to playful cinnamon. Fingers skitter across the side of a thigh. Blond curls are squashed between Theo's head and the armrest behind him. Another hand settles against his waist and he notices the fingers on his thigh slowly reaching to encase his wrist.