This morning he slept late, it was all my fault.

I woke in the early, gray hours when light threatened to peep in through my blinds and climbed out of bed to twist them shut. When I climbed back into bed with him, I covered us both with my favorite blanket.
Seeing him sleep so sweetly, I couldn't help myself. I pushed my fingers into his chest and through his breast bone and at last, I tore open the pericardium and fished around until my small hands felt the thudding, muscled mass that is his heart. His real, true heart. I held it close to my face in the shaded room while it shifted and beat between my fingers. I cradled it, being gentle, not wanting to squirm too much on the bed out of fear that I'd wake him.

With slimy fingers that were quickly becoming sticky, I turned off his cell phone alarm and lifted his heart to my face. With my tongue stretched out and flattened, I pushed it against the apex of his heart, letting it linger for as long as I dared, feeling each warm, slippery beat on my lips. He began to stir just then, so I kissed his aorta daintily before tucking his heart back into his chest.

I rested my head on the spot where I'd dug the cardiac muscle out of him as the skin closed up, listening to beats that sounded worlds and worlds away now. I let my gaze drift up past the beard stubble on his chin and cheeks, and watched his sleep crusted eyes blink slowly open, meeting my stare.

"Morning," I whispered, breaking into a warm smile.
"G'morning, babe," he answered back, then, a moment later: "Were you watching me sleep?"
I nodded.
"Creepy!" he said teasingly before kissing the top of my head and grinning. He likes it when I'm creepy.
"Not as creepy as I could have been," I retorted.
"Holy shit! Is that the time?!" He gasped as he looked at his watch. He made a motion to jump out of bed, but I caught his face in my hands and planted a big, slow kiss on his lips. Letting our tongues mingle, hoping he could taste his heart in my mouth.
"Love you, babe," I giggled as he licked his lips, tasting something oddly familiar, but unable to place it.

He responded only by climbing back into bed with me and, under green blankets, our hands rested on the spot where he'd briefly been burglarized.
Nothing else seemed as important for the rest of the day. I've never felt so close to anyone.

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