Eli is sleeping on him. It’s nice; Eli, so still and heavy and warm, bathed in watery morning light and completely unaware that Alex is staring at him like a creeper. But how can Alex not stare at his perfect curls and the scar that cups his ear and the lovely slope of his nose; the way his cheek is pressed to Alex’s sternum, his upper lip pushed up a little to expose one white canine. His bottom lip is wet.
