Fic: And Breathe Her Deep and Smile
Title: And Breathe Her Deep and Smile
Beta: alias424
Rating: k
Spilers: none
Pairing: A/R
Series: Domesticated Sexay
His skin slides along hers, fingers brushing her stomach in his sleep (beneath the tank that she has claimed as hers, above the boxers that she stole to match). He is spooned into her back, holding her close, his mouth against the join of her shoulder and neck. He kisses her sometimes, while he's dreaming, places his lips more firmly in contact with her.
She touches the back of his hand lightly, moving it away as she tries to sneak from the bed without waking him. She fails, as always - he always wakes when she rises. (She knows that it is because he worries; she thinks also, it is because he doesn't want to miss a second of their time. She loves him).
His grip on her tightens as he mutters a sleep-clogged "You ok?" while starting to pull himself awake.
She laughs softly and drags herself up, turning to kiss his still-closed eyes (even as he attempts to sit up, to follow her if she needs him). "I have to pee. Go back to sleep." He laughs with her (they both know he is overly protective; most days she lets it pass without comment, some days she laughs - this is just how he loves, how he keeps hold).
"If you're not back in five minutes...."
Her "I know" lands over the end of the sentence, this new refrain they have. (Some nights her words are laced with bitterness, some with impatience, mostly though - with thanks). If she's not back in five minutes, he'll be in after her, to see she is alright. (She passed out once, five minutes and forty-two seconds after she had left the bed. He treats her delicately because there are days when she is delicate. Their bathroom door is never locked.)
She is back with time to spare (three minutes, sixteen seconds). To anyone else he would appear asleep, sprawled on his back (migrated to her side of the bed) with his eyes closed. But she knows better. His internal clock is more precise than the one that hangs on the wall. He has never once fallen back asleep while she is gone.
She sits by his hip and nudges gently (weakly, she is tired) against his chest. "Bill, this is my side." Her words are soft and good-natured, but she wants to be lying down before she wakes up fully and can't get back to sleep. Her reaction time is slow and she does not anticipate his arm snaking around her waist, dragging her lightly (and carefully - too much of her weight has been eaten by illness) across his body, flipping her easily onto his side of the bed. He has her wrapped in the blanket and his arms with his mouth on her shoulder before she can even eek out a protest. The laugh escapes on its own. "What if I have to get up again?"
"You won't." His arms cocoon her further, pulling her closer.
She starts to voice her objections but he pre-empts her concerns and mumbles (through kisses to her exposed shoulder blade) "You never get up twice. And we're both up anyway in ninety minutes. Sleep." He is (annoyingly) right. He knows her completely (it is infuriatingly wonderful). She offers no further argument. Their fingers twine, and she feels herself relax, sleep creeping back into her frame, her mind.
She turns her head enough to catch his lips with hers, once, twice, before settling again. "Sixty minutes. I can think of better things to do than sleep with the other thirty."
He chuckles into her skin. "Better make it forty five, I can think of a couple of things myself."
Beta: alias424
Rating: k
Spilers: none
Pairing: A/R
Series: Domesticated Sexay
His skin slides along hers, fingers brushing her stomach in his sleep (beneath the tank that she has claimed as hers, above the boxers that she stole to match). He is spooned into her back, holding her close, his mouth against the join of her shoulder and neck. He kisses her sometimes, while he's dreaming, places his lips more firmly in contact with her.
She touches the back of his hand lightly, moving it away as she tries to sneak from the bed without waking him. She fails, as always - he always wakes when she rises. (She knows that it is because he worries; she thinks also, it is because he doesn't want to miss a second of their time. She loves him).
His grip on her tightens as he mutters a sleep-clogged "You ok?" while starting to pull himself awake.
She laughs softly and drags herself up, turning to kiss his still-closed eyes (even as he attempts to sit up, to follow her if she needs him). "I have to pee. Go back to sleep." He laughs with her (they both know he is overly protective; most days she lets it pass without comment, some days she laughs - this is just how he loves, how he keeps hold).
"If you're not back in five minutes...."
Her "I know" lands over the end of the sentence, this new refrain they have. (Some nights her words are laced with bitterness, some with impatience, mostly though - with thanks). If she's not back in five minutes, he'll be in after her, to see she is alright. (She passed out once, five minutes and forty-two seconds after she had left the bed. He treats her delicately because there are days when she is delicate. Their bathroom door is never locked.)
She is back with time to spare (three minutes, sixteen seconds). To anyone else he would appear asleep, sprawled on his back (migrated to her side of the bed) with his eyes closed. But she knows better. His internal clock is more precise than the one that hangs on the wall. He has never once fallen back asleep while she is gone.
She sits by his hip and nudges gently (weakly, she is tired) against his chest. "Bill, this is my side." Her words are soft and good-natured, but she wants to be lying down before she wakes up fully and can't get back to sleep. Her reaction time is slow and she does not anticipate his arm snaking around her waist, dragging her lightly (and carefully - too much of her weight has been eaten by illness) across his body, flipping her easily onto his side of the bed. He has her wrapped in the blanket and his arms with his mouth on her shoulder before she can even eek out a protest. The laugh escapes on its own. "What if I have to get up again?"
"You won't." His arms cocoon her further, pulling her closer.
She starts to voice her objections but he pre-empts her concerns and mumbles (through kisses to her exposed shoulder blade) "You never get up twice. And we're both up anyway in ninety minutes. Sleep." He is (annoyingly) right. He knows her completely (it is infuriatingly wonderful). She offers no further argument. Their fingers twine, and she feels herself relax, sleep creeping back into her frame, her mind.
She turns her head enough to catch his lips with hers, once, twice, before settling again. "Sixty minutes. I can think of better things to do than sleep with the other thirty."
He chuckles into her skin. "Better make it forty five, I can think of a couple of things myself."