Trevor wakes up in bed while Michael’s still asleep. Fluff. Ficlet. No warnings.

Trevor woke up in a comfortable bed, in a mostly clean room, the golden Vinewood sunshine streaming into his face.

But that wasn’t the part that seemed to good to be true.

That part, he thought, leaning up and propping up his chin on one arm, that part was the bastard still asleep right next to him.

Michael, jaw stubbly, face still a little tense even while he slept, Michael was the real fucking miracle. The bastard Trevor never thought he’d see again was sprawled out hogging the bed, covers twisted around his slightly sweaty naked body.

He was snoring. There was a trace of dried drool on his chin.

He’d hit Trevor in the face with his arm three times while sleep, and that was last night alone.

Trevor grinned at him. God, Michael was beautiful. God, Trevor was lucky to be there with him.

He threw his leg around his old partner’s still sleeping form, weaseling it through the covers to get that good, good skin to skin contact.

He snuggled up to him, spooning Michael from behind while he slept. The other man snorted and squirmed in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up. Typical. Mikey could sleep through an earthquake.

Worked fine for him. Trevor loved lazy mornings. Lazy morning with the man he loved sleeping in his arms? Fucking jackpot.

He almost threw out his shoulder groping behind him on the nightstand for his phone.

Damn, he was getting old. They both were.

It was fantastic. Never thought they’d make it this far.

They’d get old together.