"Is that my shirt?"
Robert raised an eyebrow as his husband entered the room, the blue polka dot shirt he was wearing oddly familiar. “Is that my shirt?” he asked, realising he recognised it because it usually hung on his side of the wardrobe, not because he spent his life picking it up off their bedroom floor, like he did with most of Aaron’s clothes.
Aaron grinned at him, shrugging as he walked past to turn the kettle on, clattering mugs about as he replied. “I’ve got a meeting, haven’t I? You’re always banging on about how presentation is everything, figured I’d dress like a posh twat today and see if that helps.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “I don’t dress like a posh twat,” he defended himself, glancing down at the jumper he was wearing that day, the dark navy material adorned with elbow patches.
Okay, maybe he did, a little.
Aaron set a cup of tea down in front of Robert, settling into the chair beside him. “What are you doing today anyway?” he asked, practically sinking into the kitchen chair as he drank his tea.
Robert couldn’t reply. Aaron so rarely wore shirts, it felt like an absolute novelty to get to sit and look at him now, the immaculately ironed shirt an almost strange sight on his husband, so different to his usual choices of black and grey.
And his arms.
Whatever it was about the shirt, it accentuated every inch of muscle that made up Aaron’s arms, arms made strong from years of pulling and drag metal up at the scrapyard.
Robert’s mouth was practically watering as he spoke up. “What time have you got that meeting at?” he asked, tea long since forgotten.
Robert glanced at his watch, a grin on his face as he watched the hand tick over to nine. “Because,” he said, grabbing Aaron by the front of the shirt, enjoying the wide eyed look on Aaron’s face as he leaned in, brushing his lips against Aaron’s in a barely there sort of kiss. “You wearing my clothes is a big turn on for me, Mr Sugden.”