Johnny doesn’t let himself go there. Curling into Brett’s embrace, he traces one of the photog’s eyebrows with his thumb. He watches the way those eyelids flutter in sleep, and that mouth parts in a barely audible sigh Johnny silences with a kiss. Nuzzling Brett’s nose with his own, Johnny murmurs, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Brett’s response is a slow stretch. He rolls onto his back, away from Johnny, his arms rising above them to bump the wall before falling to the pillow. His cheek now rests on the top of Johnny’s head, and he moans, a contented sound that warms Johnny down to his toes. The tension in Brett’s body fades as he drifts back to sleep.