Miguel knew Tulio would never admit just how much he loved the things Miguel did to him, but he knew. He knew from the whimpers Tulio made in the back of his throat, from the erratic breathing, from the way his eyelids fluttered and his brow furrowed.

Miguel knew Tulio and knew just what he liked and where, and revelled in the hiss of Tulio's breath between his teeth as Miguel's fingers danced along his stomach, revelled in the way Tulio's hips bucked upwards when Miguel's tongue traced a trail up Tulio's cock before taking it in his mouth slowly, maddeningly, Tulio's fingers fastening in Miguel's hair in an attempt to get Miguel to move faster. The blonde almost never gave in, just to see how far he could push Tulio.

Miguel's kisses varied from soft and sweet to harsh and heavy and almost crass, needy and messy and so full of want that Miguel couldn't even think straight. Then again, he rarely thought straight when it came to Tulio; his inner "little voice" always became stifled by Tulio's body heat, by his scent, by the way his hand grabbed Miguel's arm when he dragged him off to tell him how foolish he was - a venture that usually ended with the two panting and grinning wickedly.

Miguel knew he was better than Chel could ever dream of being, because he knew Tulio in ways she could never imagine (although he suspected she knew just how deep their bond was). He noticed Tulio sometimes gloomy, and knew it was because he was thinking of her and all the what-could-have-beens, but Miguel would plop down next to his friend - his partner-in-crime, more importantly - throw an arm around his shoulders and talk about the adventures awaiting them, their destiny, and even though it was all met with the flat glare Miguel was so used to, he knew it made Tulio perk up, and they would forget about that one woman that one time.

Miguel and Tulio knew how to play the cards, roll the dice, and other overused clichés, but with each other they were honest (except for that one time with Chel, but they never talked about that after making up - and oh, how they made up) and themselves and deliciously candid, like when Tulio would tell Miguel how much he loved fucking him until Miguel spewed out all kinds of creative obscenities, his hands gripping Tulio's shoulders so hard he left marks or gripping the sheets on the bed to where he would swear he could see his fingers' imprints for days afterward.

Miguel was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his days with Tulio and never get tired of hearing him moan or feeling his tongue against his own or his hands gripping his hips, but most of all, he could never get tired of having Tulio by his side, especially as they scammed the townspeople.

It really was the little things in life.