The scent in the air was wrong. It broke through my lazy sleepiness and pried my eyes open.. I focused, then smiled. Liam lay beside me, totally peaceful. Only the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his true stress and exhaustion. I sniffed again to confirm the unusual musky odour was emanating off my boyfriend. My smile widened as I figured it out. With soap being a rare commodity, the Lynx toiletry set Liam's aunt gave him for Christmas had finally come into use. A very unique smell on him, not that I objected.
I had briefly woken when he climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning. It was not unusual for his shift to over run - especially not now. As the sun streamed through the window, he remained completely dead to the world. He looked cute, hair stuck out wildly, where it had dried after his shower.
I carefully shimmied out the side of the bed, so as to not disturb my sleeping partner. Padding quietly through to the kitchen, I put the kettle on. Tea was always my priority upon waking. The washing machine had finished during the night, so I pulled out two pillow cases, one filled with Liam's scrubs, the other his travel clothes. Dumping them in the washing basket, I shoved the towels and sheet in the machine. After every shift, Liam stripped just inside the flat while standing on a sheet before going straight to shower.
Washing my hands thoroughly, I turned the machine to sixty degrees and set it going. This strange morning routine had become second nature over the last few weeks. Covid hit the UK hard at the end of March and Liam went to extreme lengths to protect me. As an intensivist at the city hospital, he was exposed to ICU patients fighting this evil virus every time he went to work. A scary letter from the Trust strongly advised him to stay away from loved ones, but we had only relocated to Manchester in September. If he moved into alternative accommodation I would be totally alone. I was furloughed from my waitressing job, all my singing gigs had been cancelled, and my family and friends lived over two hundred miles away in London. Having discussed the options, we decided he would stay in our flat. Thankfully, I was not in any high risk groups and he was meticulous with infection control.
From the pillow case I pulled out a set of gaudy cerise scrubs that had clearly been made by one of the local volunteers. I hung them on the clothes horse, then added the jeans and shirt he traveled to and from the hospital in.
The kettle clicked off and I returned to the counter to pour boiling water over the tea bag waiting in my mug. I shivered, even as I smelled the warm, familiar scent. The heating wasn't good enough to be walking around naked on this spring morning, though the day promised to be warm and sunny. Catching one of Liam's sweaters off the back of the couch, I pulled it over my head. It hung down almost to my knees, providing just enough cover to keep warm - at least inside.
Outside the front door was a different matter. Clasping my arms across my chest, I put the front door on the catch and scampered down the stairs to collect our mail. I had to pause at the bottom, and wait for Mrs. Clawthor to step away from the boxes with her mail. I plastered a fake smile on my face, and she glared back, almost tripping in her rush to reenter the ground floor flat.
I let her slam the door before swallowing my smile. Two-faced-bitch. Every Thursday night she stood outside clapping and cheering our NHS workers. Yet when she realised Liam was looking after the unfortunate people this virus was trying to kill, she had set up a campaign to force him to move out. A solicitor friend soon put an end to the residents association's attempts to evict us, but sadly it didn't stop the hate and shaming I felt anytime I saw one of the campaigners.
Liam, always the cool head in our relationship, told me not to worry, but at least he got away from them. Apart from my daily run, I was suffocated by the knowledge of how these people feared us. I'll admit, I did have disingenuous thoughts about Mrs Clawthor getting sick. I was pretty sure she would then be very grateful of the sacrifices and risks my Liam was taking to be able to treat patients.
A little dejected, I walked back up to the second floor and stopped, hearing the door opposite mine open.
"Hello, Claire," Suzy said over her shoulder, as she reversed a buggy out of the door.
"Can I give you a hand with the stairs?" I offered, dropping the mail on the mat.
"Oh you are a saint, yes please," she replied as she turned to point the buggy towards me. Her young son, Bobby, was sucking his thumb, staring wide-eyed from his seat.
"How's the bubba doing now?" I asked, winking at the boy, who pulled his thumb out and grinned.
Suzy reached over to ruffle his hair. "Much better, I can't thank Doctor Liam enough for coming to see him last week. Being on my own I was so scared he had got... it." Her voice dropped at the end, almost like saying covid was a swear word. "I feel like such an overprotective mum for thinking he was going to die."
She looked so sad, I really wished I could hug her. Instead I caught the bottom foot plate and lifted the buggy up as I moved towards the stairs. "I remember my little sister getting croup and the noise she made was terrifying," I tried to reassure.
Suzy smiled again as I stepped backwards down the stairs. "You hang on to that handsome man of yours, he's a good 'un."
I beamed back, nodding. I counted my lucky stars everyday to be with a guy like Liam.
"And ignore those naysaying curtain-twitchers. The likes of the old battleaxe in number one have nothing better to do than be a cow," Suzy added, breathing a little harder from the exertion of carrying the buggy. "And hold off having kids for a bit," she chuckled. "I used to be able to get away with my legs out before I had Bobby."
I blushed, realising I was still only wearing Liam's sweater. Okay, it was modest, but not really clothing to run about wearing in public.
"Have a nice walk," I said, setting the buggy down in the entrance hall. "Bobby, be good for your mum." I gave the kid a little finger wave and grinned like a Cheshire Cat as he mimicked me.
Remembering my half brewed tea, I shot up the stairs and back into the flat. I poked a finger in the mug, relieved to still find it hot. Having removed the teabag and added some milk I flicked the kettle back on. If Liam was awake he would want a mug. Tea in hand I headed back to the bedroom.
I could not help beaming. Liam was on his back, the covers thrown to the side. He smiled, then looked pointedly at his cock, before smirking at me again. He clearly had an alternative idea to tea - the sort of encouragement that no amount of rainbows and clapping would match.
I took a large mouthful of tea and stepped up to the side of the bed. Meeting his eyes, I passed over my mug as I swallowed. "Don't spill it."
I didn't wait for a reply as I crouched and wrapped my hand around his cock and took the head into my mouth, letting him feel the heat from the tea.
"Well, good morning, baby," he chuckled, carefully setting my mug on the bedside unit.
His cock was already responding, growing thicker in my mouth. Softening my lips, I let drool escape. My fingers spread the saliva along the shaft.
I lifted my mouth off his cock and stood up while letting my hand gently play with him. "Did you want some tea?"
"Nah, I'll just drink yours," he replied with a naughty glint in his eyes that made my stomach flip.
He shuffled up the bed, so he was propped on the pillows. I moved with him, keeping hold of his hardening cock. His soft palm ran up the back of my thigh, lifting the sweater, until he squeezed my arse before delivering a firm spank. My fingers fluttered around his cock as I gasped.
