Friday evening, post-dinner, and Apollo leaves the warm cocoon of the study with plans to treat himself to a glass of Talisker and a long hot bath.
I can hear the clank of the single malt scotch whisky bottle being removed from its box, the pop of the cork being pulled, the gentle patter of whisky meeting glass. A few minutes more and I hear water running into the tub, and the noise of the fan in the bathroom.
Apollo returns to the study, dressed in pyjamas and holding a book, to give me a kiss before he disappears into steamy privacy. He leans over my chair and takes my mouth in his, and he tastes of whisky, on lips and tongue. I deepen the kiss, drinking him up, dragging more the of divine sharp peaty flavour into my mouth. “You taste good,” I say when we break apart. Then we kiss again.
Apollo might be getting more of a treat than just whisky and a bath tonight … but I’ll let him relax first.