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This is his favourite time of the week.
It’s been a long night, one in a string of long weeks filled with late night cramming sessions, practice tests and bad take-out - although they would be the first to dispute that title.
Tonight’s poison of choice is pizza and wings, a greasy, indulgent mess that happens to be their favourite. The kitchen is a mess, the recycling bin already overflowing with empty food containers, but this - this signals the end of it all.
Friday night. The end of classes. Not quite the end of the semester, but close enough that the last few lectures on the schedule really don’t mean much at all.
And after they’ve cleaned up the mess - and left the pizza boy with another memory to keep himself warm at night - Gavin gets them all to himself.
No more school, no more assignments, or texts from harried group project members - just him, and his little freelancer, and the magic they make together.
And it’s always magic.
It’s not a magic he can say he has much personal experience with. He knows, of course, the power of it. He’s seen it, and felt it, in others - humans, mostly. For them, it’s easier - with their boundless freedoms, their ability to choose their purpose, whatever it may be.
This is the first time he’s experienced it himself, and he’s grateful for it.
Grateful for them.
--
It’s warm, in the afterglow.
The sweat drying on their skin, his hands on them, warm skin and heated breaths and soft kisses against the curve of his throat. The way their body curves around him, chest-to-chest, a familiar weight as his fingers trace the length of their spine and down, navigating their softness like its second nature - and by now, maybe it is.
It’s been over a year since they started this. Six months since his confession.
It feels longer - like he's always known them.
“You're perfect for me, you know that? Exquisite. The best I’ve ever had.”
He doesn’t mean to say it. At this point, his words are running together, tangent after tangent, sweet nothings and whispered truths breathed into warm skin as they lay tangled around each other.
It’s only when they pause, and the silence drags for a moment that he even realises what he’s said, and he could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.
He’d meant it. In all honesty, the best he’s ever had - as an incubus, a literal sex demon.
“You’re - you’re not serious.”
Their eyes are wide and dark, glittering in the flickering light from the multicoloured LEDs they have strung across the mouldings of their apartment. He can feel the flutter of their heartbeat against his chest, faster than it had been seconds before, and oh, that got a reaction.
His hand finds the curve of their cheek, his thumb tracing along the arc of their cheekbones, the flush that’s rising there. Their emotions are in flux, almost impossible to track - he gets flashes of surprise, disbelief - and he leans forward until his mouth hovers just over theirs.
“I’m serious, my little deviant.”
Their exhale is shakier than he thinks they intend, their dark eyes flickering between his, so frantically he has to bite his lip to smother a chuckle, instead pressing forward to close the distance between them, stealing a kiss before they shake their head and pull back far enough to speak.
“How?”
Of all the responses he thought he’d get to that statement, ‘how’ was not one of them.
“Do you want me to… elaborate in more detail?” He trails his other hand back down their spine, spreading his palms there, warm and teasing. “I can give another demonstration.”
He rocks his hips under them, reminding them of his earlier demonstration, and that does it, a small sound that he’s sure they’ll never admit to slipping from their throat before they clamp their lips shut.
“I- you know what I mean.” He does, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love teasing them like this, watching the way they react to his touches, so deliciously responsive. “Just- please.”
He can feel the sincerity of their question as they sit back, their hands slipping down his chest to prop themselves up. They look good. Hair mussed, the marks from his mouth glowing warmly on their skin, matching the colour on their cheeks.
He slides his hand back up, settling onto the neutral territory of their hip. Goosebumps have started prickling along their skin, the air cooler than usual with the cold snap that’s hit the area, and he warms the air around them with a click of his fingers.
“It’s you. The way I feel about you. You make it… more.” He hums, low and considering. “I never thought it could be like that. Not before you.”
Their breath hitches. When he meets their gaze again, their eyes are soft, tender in a way he’s still not used to, no matter how many times he sees it. It makes him ache.
“Come here.”
His hands slip up their back, tugging them closer, until he can kiss them properly, and fuck.
He can never get enough of this. The sweet sounds that escape them as the kiss deepens, the way they whisper his name, Gavin, and the sense of love and identity that comes with it.
They’re breathless when he pulls back, their pupils blown wide, their hands roaming, restless, leaving trails of fire behind them.
“I love you, little deviant.”
A small smile curls up their lips at that, and it’s like the sun breaking from the clouds, dazzling and beautiful all at once.
“I love you, too.”
Shifting their weight, they lean in a little closer, until their lips are brushing his, whispering the words into his mouth.
“Just so you know… you’re also the best I’ve ever had.”
It feels almost like a secret, honest and sincere, their aura imbued with it, and it warms him, a curling heat that saturates his chest, settling above his heart.
Still, he has a reputation to upkeep - and he keeps his voice light, teasing his hands down their sides.
“I’d hope so.”
They release a soft snort, their hands pinching into his sides, before he curls his hand around the nape of their neck and pulls them into another deep kiss, heated and consuming, until there’s only their mouth, and the way their body arches into his.
There’s not much else to say, after that.