[fic: nfl] this good feeling
joe/carson;
g;
500w;
for dinahqueen
he’s not surprised, necessarily, anymore, when he sees joe sitting on the couch in the morning, sleep ruffled when carson settles next to him, but the warmth that blossoms in carson's chest at the sight never fails to stun him.
they don't exchange words, don't have to as the wood crackles in the fireplace and carson hands a cup of coffee to joe, notices when joe's fingers linger on his during the exchange.
it's still dark outside, stays dark until surprisingly late in the desert, and when joe's shoulder presses lightly into his, comforting, it's without thought that carson lifts his arm and joe curls into his chest. he smells warm and sweet, like the cookies the kids made them spend 6 hours baking yesterday; carson hides his soft smile against joe's hair, longer than it used to be, and joe's free hand curls into the fabric of carson's shirt as if in response.
they spend who knows how long just sitting there, and carson feels the tension he's been holding in his shoulders for what feels like the past year slowly bleeding out of him, dissipating in the air around them. he sips at his coffee, feels the way joe's heart beats rythmically against his ribcage, joe's fingers drawing absent patterns against carson's chest.
"hey," joe says quietly, as if remembering something, and carson blinks out of the sleepy stupor he was lulled into, glances down at joe just in time for joe to press up to kiss him, chaste and warm.
"good morning, mvp," he murmurs, sly but soft grin stetching across his face, and god. god but carson loves him.
“good morning,” carson whispers, leans in for another kiss that’s longer, deeper, promising something that carson is very much looking forward to-
“DADDY! PAPA!”
it’s elle, of course, because who else of his children would be up at - carson glances at the clock - 6:34 am, and she comes practically stumbling down the stairs, followed by an excitedly barking honey, and carson sighs, pulls away from joe just as elle topples around the corner.
“hello, sweet pea,” carson greets her as she climbs onto the couch and plants herself squarely in joe’s lap, who’s got his coffee put down and arms wrapped securely around the 7 year old before she’s even got herself settled, and joe shoots carson a look that’s half fond exasperation and half something that carson knows all too well but still sends heat shooting up his spine.
“papa!” elle is shouting, and honey is whining at the foot of the couch, and carson can hear the rustling and yelling of fletch and bries as they fight their way through the upstairs hallway, and joe reaches out and curls his fingers through carson’s without looking up at him and squeezes, and carson doesn’t even have to think about it before he squeezes back.
g;
500w;
for dinahqueen
he’s not surprised, necessarily, anymore, when he sees joe sitting on the couch in the morning, sleep ruffled when carson settles next to him, but the warmth that blossoms in carson's chest at the sight never fails to stun him.
they don't exchange words, don't have to as the wood crackles in the fireplace and carson hands a cup of coffee to joe, notices when joe's fingers linger on his during the exchange.
it's still dark outside, stays dark until surprisingly late in the desert, and when joe's shoulder presses lightly into his, comforting, it's without thought that carson lifts his arm and joe curls into his chest. he smells warm and sweet, like the cookies the kids made them spend 6 hours baking yesterday; carson hides his soft smile against joe's hair, longer than it used to be, and joe's free hand curls into the fabric of carson's shirt as if in response.
they spend who knows how long just sitting there, and carson feels the tension he's been holding in his shoulders for what feels like the past year slowly bleeding out of him, dissipating in the air around them. he sips at his coffee, feels the way joe's heart beats rythmically against his ribcage, joe's fingers drawing absent patterns against carson's chest.
"hey," joe says quietly, as if remembering something, and carson blinks out of the sleepy stupor he was lulled into, glances down at joe just in time for joe to press up to kiss him, chaste and warm.
"good morning, mvp," he murmurs, sly but soft grin stetching across his face, and god. god but carson loves him.
“good morning,” carson whispers, leans in for another kiss that’s longer, deeper, promising something that carson is very much looking forward to-
“DADDY! PAPA!”
it’s elle, of course, because who else of his children would be up at - carson glances at the clock - 6:34 am, and she comes practically stumbling down the stairs, followed by an excitedly barking honey, and carson sighs, pulls away from joe just as elle topples around the corner.
“hello, sweet pea,” carson greets her as she climbs onto the couch and plants herself squarely in joe’s lap, who’s got his coffee put down and arms wrapped securely around the 7 year old before she’s even got herself settled, and joe shoots carson a look that’s half fond exasperation and half something that carson knows all too well but still sends heat shooting up his spine.
“papa!” elle is shouting, and honey is whining at the foot of the couch, and carson can hear the rustling and yelling of fletch and bries as they fight their way through the upstairs hallway, and joe reaches out and curls his fingers through carson’s without looking up at him and squeezes, and carson doesn’t even have to think about it before he squeezes back.