I could have taken it as an insult the first time you snuck out in the early hours of the morning. I could have been angry that you didn't even kiss me good-bye or whisper a farewell at the door. I could have wondered why you treated me just like you always do when we went to MacClaren's with the gang. I could have been angry that for the first few months, the only time we got together was when one or both of us was considerably wasted. Usually it was you. I could have been pissed that there was no one else I wanted but you.

Then again, I could have done a lot of things. I could have asked you to go home when everyone else had left or gone to bed. I could have switched to a glass of water instead of getting more beer. If I had done those things, I probably wouldn't have remembered all those suppressed urges. I probably would not have noticed how good you smelled. I probably would not have felt the old scars on my heart and mind when I reminded myself that you were only here because you hadn't gotten lucky at the bar.

On the flip side though, if I had done any of those things, we wouldn't be where we are now. I wouldn't have put my beer down and stared into your eyes, looking at all the familiar details on your face. I wouldn't have slowly leaned over and pressed my lips against yours in a gentle kiss. If I had done any of those things, I would never have felt the glorious sensation of nibble my lower lip and laying delicate kisses along my neck. We never would have slowly parted and looked at each other and known that there was no going back.

We never would have leaned against my bedroom door, exploring each other's mouths. And even as drunk as I was, I can still remember the first time I tasted your mouth. All the kisses I had ever experienced fell by the wayside. Your lips were thin and soft, your stubble rough against my chin. It was a combination that had me moaning into your mouth. Or maybe it was just that you really were legen – wait for it – dary.

If I had done any of those things, I wouldn't have ever felt you moving inside of me, taking me to a place I have never been before. I never would have hissed your name into the pillow I was holding onto for dear life, much like I now hold on to you. If I had done any of those things, I never would have felt you fall down beside me, your heat radiating in waves. I never would have heard your hoarse whisper in my ear, "Not bad, Mosby."

I could have been mad every time you left in the morning. Then again, you always come back. I could have been mad that our first encounters were drunken shags. Then again, fucking eventually turned into making love. I could have been angry and your chaste and hurried kisses when the others have their backs turned. Then again, I'm baffled that you'd kiss me in broad daylight at all.

Sometime my frustration at this whole fucked up situation boils over. As soon as I know we are safe, I drag you to my room and slam you up against the wall. At first, you used to try and say something. Then I would be kissing you, effectively shutting off all forms of speech. And when I would move to kiss, bite and lick your neck and shoulders, if you tried then to speak, I would sink my teeth into your sweet skin. I never drew blood, but you got the message. If not that night, you understood in the morning while you gently fingered the bruises.

You learned to be quiet and let me take it all out on you. It was the only thing I could do. I must say though, you never really had any complaints. I was, if anything, focused in my frustrations. For, despite all your smooth talk, you are putty in my hands. As am I in yours. We're not exactly conventional. We're not 'exclusive' or anything of that nature. If any of our friends know, they're not letting on. What we are is midnight phone calls when we can't sleep. We are the pictures in each other's wallets. We are the text messages sent even when we're sitting in the same booth together at MacClaren's.

If I had done any of those things, we wouldn't be where we are now. I'm slowly waking up, and you're here in my arms. You're looking at me with that self-satisfied smirk and an up-turned eyebrow. You're leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on my mouth. "Morning, Mosby." You're slowly kissing along my jaw and down my neck. "Morning, Swarley." I know you can feel my grin the same way I can feel your scowl. If I had done any of those things, you wouldn't be breathing in my ear, "You're so lucky that I'm in love with you…"

I could have done a lot of things. However, none of them would have any merit if they didn't lead me to where I currently am. Because if I hadn't done any of those things, I wouldn't be with you.