The Silence Of Metawin.

Our Tale

It was on rare occasions that Win woke up before Bright did—because last night Bright hasn't wake up yet. Win peeled his eyes open, waking up to the cream-colored ceiling of the bedroom he and Bright shared, with slivers of warm early sunlight creeping in from the curtains staining its surface. He turned his sight towards the wall clock on the other side of the room—6:00 am. Bright normally would already be up and about, doing things around in the house like cleaning and other basic household chores, then to making breakfast—ready just as soon as Win woke up.

Bright had arranged his morning routine specifically around Win's body clock.

It was a Saturday morning and he knew his wolf had had a long and tiring day previously. The room was silent, nothing except Bright's steady breathing, only visible because Win was close to him.

He looked at the man lying next to him—or rather, on him. Bright lay with his cheek pressed against Win's chest, his ebony hair tousled around his face—the only time Win ever saw his hair unkempt and his eyes puffy from crying. Even then, he looked glorious. Win could feel his hot breath blowing over his naked skin with each exhale. He stared at him a few moments, wondering to himself how one person could look so perfect even in their sleep. Gently, he caressed one cheek with the back of his hand. Bright did not stir. It occurred to Win that for once, he would get out off bed first and set the morning in order.

Gingerly, carefully, he slid off the bed and hoped it would not wake Bright up. (This being a method he was already used to doing by now, whenever he struggled to pry Bright's body away from his own whenever he had to relieve himself in the middle of the night.) Win was finally standing up. Bright shifted and Win quickly placed a pillow under his head so as to not disturb him further. Bright was still once again and Win, naked from the waist up, stripped off his loose, tan-colored pants—along with his underwear—and folded them, setting the discarded clothes neatly on one chair in the room. He then proceeded to the shower.

The black marble-patterned tiles felt cold against the soles of Win's feet. He slid open the clear glass divider and turned the lever on the shower and stepped back to wait for the water to turn hot.

When steam had begun to rise from inside, Win stepped in, letting the hot streams relax and loosen his rigid muscles. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and felt the locks straighten and plaster against his face, the tips touching his eyes. Win had barely begun to clean himself before he heard the door creak open, then the divider slide open as Bright stepped inside with him.

"You're up early." Bright said, his voice still a little hoarse from having just woken up and crying last night. He kissed the back of Win's neck.

"You're up late." Win retorted, smiling to himself, but not turning around.

"Did I wake you up? I was hoping I hadn't." Win continued as he tousled his hair some more, pushing the stray locks away from his face.

"Don't worry, you didn't. You know I always prefer to be up and about early." Bright replied.

Bright took a bottle of body wash from a shelf on the wall—cinnamon and anise scented—and generously squeezed the viscous, amber-colored liquid into the palm of his hand. He walked towards Win, his footsteps making splashing noises from the water on the shower floor. Win still had not turned towards him, and Bright began to lather the soap onto Win's torso. Win reflexively stretched his neck—the water was warm, but somehow Bright's hands on his skin felt warmer. He let out a long sigh of pleasure, Bright's hands still working, now up on his neck.

"That feels good." He said.

Bright smiled, moving his hands down to both of Win's arms, the motion of his fingers thoroughly going over every inch of Win's skin. Then he moved back up to Win's chest, the palms of his hands running over his nipples.