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Her head lifted from the novel nestled between her fingers the second she heard the front door shut close with a little more gusto than usual. She didn’t flinch or wince, but she wasn’t surprised to see her partner rubbing his eyes and sauntering into their living room. It was a little after ten pm. Dean looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in a week, although truth be told, he hadn’t slept great for about that long. With a mechanic short at the garage, Dean was working very hour extra that he could, staying late, heading in early, to manage the work load that had been booked in, but they’d managed to cut back on the intake for the following few weeks so he was allowing himself a full weekend to spend at home, with his girl.
“Hey honey, tough day?”
Dean groaned and slumped back against the sofa cushions, his shoes were immediately kicked off and his eyes drooping shut, “You have no idea, I’m so beat.”
She rubbed her fingers over his sweater covered forearm, soothing and comforting, allowing him to know she was there if he wanted to talk about it all, or if he just wanted to take a brief nap before she helped him into bed.
“Didn’t expect you to still be up,” he mumbled, speech a little slurred that made her lips quirk fondly and one eye popped open.
“Wanted to wait for you, welcome you home.”
“Mmm, you didn’t have to baby, but thank you.”
“Hey, you can barely sit upright, scoot over and rest on me.”
He was easily persuaded when sleepy, pliable and soft, he curled up with his head on her lap and an arm wound around her knee, his face towards the ceiling. These moments were rare, when he was in this calming, languid state where he’d allow himself to be taken care of, almost vulnerable and younger than his years. She relished in being able to take her time letting her gaze run over his features, his hairline, the shape of his eyes, the length of his eyelashes, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks, the bow of his lips, the few blemishes and faint scars by his brow and on his left cheek towards his ear.
His handsome face seemed almost boyish when he was resting save for the dusting of stubble over his jaw.
She picked up her book once again to resume reading, her thumb ever so lightly mapped out the constellation of freckles, the one thing he seemed shy and embarrassed by, convinced he looked less manly with them, but she adored them, the way the sunshine darkened them a little in the summertime, especially on the long days working outside. Her hand moved to reach over to his hair, fingers carding through it soothingly, acutely aware of how much he loved having his scalp scratched and massaged. She applied the right amount of pressure, nails softly scraping, fingers weaving back and forth, side to side, direction constantly changing to avoid irritation.
“God, could ‘ave you do this t’me for’ver, swee’art,” the exhaustion was so thick in his voice, he was barely coherent, just content, but he already seemed relaxed and weightless too.
“I will, don’t you worry,” she smiled down at him and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead and watched his smile form, so fond, “time for bed, darlin’?”
Dean shifted himself to turn over and nuzzled his head into her stomach affectionately, he then took one of her hands in his own to clasp tight and held it against his chest and pressed is lips in a pout over her tee to kiss her stomach, “Five more minutes.”