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constant satellite (of your blazing sun)

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Issac awoke slowly, lying sprawled on his stomach as usual with one side of his face smushed into the pillow. He wrenched one bleary eye open, and Xavier came into focus.

The other man lay on his side, propped up on one elbow and smiling softly as he watched Issac scrunch up his face. The light of Now Here streamed in from the open window of Xavier’s little hut, but from inside, Issac could swear it was crisp mountain air rather than the salty sea breeze he knew it should be.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Xavier said.

“Hey, X,” Issac mumbled, and then he added with a groan, “Oh, hell, you’re one of those morning people, aren’t you?” Despite his words, a warmth flooded his chest at the sight of the other man there with him, still there with him.

“And you’re not,” Xavier countered with playful accusation.

“Damn straight,” Issac said. “This ain’t Texas anymore, Cowboy. You can set your own hours.”

“I like seein’ the sunrise. You should try it sometime.” Xavier rolled over on his back and crossed his arms behind him, but he kept his head turned toward Issac.

“I’ve seen plenty. Two suns, three suns, big red suns, small white ones, you name it,” Issac said dismissively. He couldn’t stop himself any longer; he reached out and began walking his fingers across Xavier’s bare chest.

Xavier spared a downward glance at Issac’s roving fingers, and he swallowed. “That, uh, that sounds mighty fascinatin’, but one medium-sized yellow one is good enough for me.”

“If the sun’s so great,” Issac said, his tone turning huskier (an effect somewhat ruined by his voice’s insistence on cracking), “then why aren’t you out there watching it?” The march of his fingers resolved into tracing figure eights—or perhaps infinity symbols—in Xavier’s chest hair.

“You know time don’t work like that in Now Here. But as for the sun?” Xavier paused, shifting so that he could reach his own hand out to stroke across Issac’s cheek, and their eyes met. “I’m lookin’ right at it.”