Mint and apricots

1. The first time

When Sam left The Rebel Heart, the pub where he had spent the last four hours of that Saturday night, the smile he had printed on his face went from ear to ear. It had been a long time since he had felt so elated. On the other hand, years had passed since the last time he had had the opportunity to spend quality time with his old university classmates and that evening had been completely improvised. Seeing them, talking to them and getting updates about their lives had been so overwhelming that Sam had forgotten to check the clock until the owner of the pub had pointed out – with extreme kindness, by the way – that the place would have had to close its doors half an hour before.

Only then did Sam realize how long he had let time slip away along with the hands of the clock. So he had quickly finished the fries that had accompanied his veggie burger and had taken down the last few sips of his third beer before warmly taking leave of his friends, unwillingly refusing their offer to move to another pub.

"Sorry, guys, but I have someone waiting for me at home" he explained with a sweet smile. "In fact, the next time you pass, ring me first, so we can organize bettere and I'll introduce him to you."

It took Sam more than half an hour to reach the apartment where he lived with his boyfriend. He could have taken a taxi – surely Luc would have opted to call one – but the sparkling memories of the evening he had just spent and all the malt-flavored alcohol he had swallowed kept him company during the walk, keeping his body warm and his mind cheerful. What an unexpected day.

Arriving in front of the house – an independent, little villa with a few square meters of garden on the front, a luxury he could never have afforded in an area so close to the center – he whistled down the path and went up hopping the three steps that led to the door. Without ceasing to hum a tune that his friends had put in his head, he rummaged in the pockets of the heavy winter jacket in search of the keys and finally approached the lock with a jingle.

He fell silent at the thought that at that time of the night his partner had every right not to be awakened by his disruptive joy. Then he pushed and closed the door slowly, left his coat on one of the available hooks and his shoes on the entrance mat and proceeded on tiptoe along the corridor. It was only when the base of the stairs was no more than a meter away that he noticed a glimmer of light filtering from under the kitchen door. He then stopped, frowning.

Luc must have forgotten to turn it off, he concluded, and then entered the kitchen with the intention of making up for it.

Not expecting anyone, he had a blow to his heart when he realized that one of the chairs in the adjacent dining room was occupied. He held his breath suddenly and brought a hand to his chest, but immediately afterwards he recognized the features of that immobile figure and a giggle of relief escaped from his lips.

"My God, Luc," he panted, shaking his head in amusement. "I think I'm getting old. You scared me to death."

For one more moment, Luc did not move and Sam thought that he had dozed off at the table. Which he wouldn't mind, because he loved to watch him when he wasn't aware of it. Luc Benson – whose parents had had the unwary idea of baptizing with the inauspicious name of Lucifer – was a thirty-one year old who was aware of his charm. In particular, he was able to read and translate every drop of admiration and desire that shone in Sam Winchester's eyes. Sam was a few years younger than him – they would have been twenty-seven in May, once he survived the winter – and had only lived under his roof for a few weeks, but he still hadn't got used to the thrill of sleeping, breathing and fucking in the same bed as Luc. With Luc. His Luc.

A movement from the boy roused him from his thoughts. Luc ran a finger along the chiseled wood of the dining table before standing in one fluid motion. Sam had time to notice his gravy-stained shirt, but somehow passed beyond the shadows of his gaze.