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There was a loud thud as the door to the Conlon-Higgins residence slammed shut. Spot barely had time to look behind him before his very lanky husband draped himself all over the couch, a dramatic sigh escaping him as his head settled into Spot’s lap.
“Rough day, huh?”
Race looked up at him mournfully. “The absolute worst,” he grumbled, turning to face the TV. “Dance moms are a disgrace to society. Should be eliminated at all costs.”
Spot shifted a bit, moving to calmly stroke his fingers through Race’s hair. As much as it calmed Race down, it did wonders for Spot’s frustration. He could already feel the stress his own day melting away as Race slowly began to relax against him. “You didn’t yell at them, right?” Race didn’t answer. “Right?“
“No, not today.” Race let out a haughty breath. “Al managed to cool me down. I couldn’t let loose in front of the kids.” He rubbed a hand over his face, his blue eyes disgusted. “This “Karen” had the nerve to tell me that her daughter’s arms weren’t straight enough. The girl is nine years old! If her arms droop a lil’ bit it ain’t the end of the world.” Spot nodded in agreement, just listening. There was a pause before Race reached his arm up to gently brush Spot’s cheek. “‘m sorry, enough about the studio. How was your day?”
Spot shrugged before remembering that Race wasn’t looking at him. “You’re fine. Today was...annoying. Not unlike any other day.” A wry smile painted his lips. “Caseloads were okay. Didn’t have to go to court, which was nice... I think the other associates are startin’ to remember I’m not an intern.”
He could see Race’s nose squinch up. “Did anyone ask for coffee?”
“Only Tim.”
“We despise Tim,” Race said, chuckling. “Glad to hear you’re making headway, babe.”
“You too,” Spot murmured. He was still messing with Race’s curls, watching them slip through his fingers intently. A silence drifted over them, comfortable and familiar. Spot felt a small smile creep onto his face, his heart feeling like it wanted to explode. He had no idea what he’d do without Race. He loved him too damn much to think about it. He wanted to stay there forever, just the two of them chatting about nothing while Spot gazed at Race’s silhouette.
Race turned over, cuddling more into Spot’s stomach. “You’re warm,” he muttered, looking up at Spot softly.
“Why thank you,” he replied, sliding his hand into Race’s. He felt the wedding ring on his finger, and his heart gave a little jolt. He never thought he’d get married-it hadn’t really been at the top of his priorities-but he couldn’t bring himself to imagine his life if he hadn’t. “I got the rent for this month mailed out yesterday.” He said quietly, almost whispering.
“That’s good,” Race replied, rubbing his thumb down Spot’s hand. His eyelids were drooping a little bit, his words slowing. “An’ we’re still on for Jack’s this Saturday, yeah?”
“‘Course. I think Kath would kill me if we didn’t show up. She’s been plannin’ that dinner for two months.”
Race let out a tiny laugh. “I wonder if Crutchie’s bringin’ that awful sweet potato dish again.”
Spot pulled a small face. “Dave’s gotta realize that he wasn’t wired for cooking.” The two smiled at each other, before Race pulled himself up, placing himself firmly in Spot’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. He leaned in close, holding eye contact that set Spot’s nerves on fire.
“ ‘m tired,” he mumbled, a small pout on his face.
Spot raised an eyebrow. “Babe, it’s only seven.”
Race shrugged. “Still tired.” He leaned in bit closer, so that their noses barely touched. “In case you didn’t know, I love you Spotty-boy.”
“I know you do, Racer. I love you too.”
Race smiled, and Spot felt his heart lift. Looking at him now, there was a whole lot Spot wanted to say. He wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked in that moment, how he could never imagine loving anyone else, that marrying him was the best decision he ever made. But when it came to Race, Spot always found himself lost for words.
So when Race leaned in and kissed him, he poured everything he wanted to say into the moment. They sat there for a few seconds, totally engrossed in their own little world, Spot’s hand on Race’s thigh and Race’s hand on his shoulder. When they broke apart, Race snuggled into Spot’s chest, nuzzling his neck. “Let’s go to bed.”
Spot couldn’t find it in himself to object. “Alright, Racer. But I call bein’ the big spoon.”
Race opened his mouth in mock offense. “Unfair! We haven’t even gotten off the couch yet.”
“Alright then-“
Race shrieked in laughter as Spot lifted him in his arms. It was quite a sight to see, since Race’s legs almost reached the floor, but Spot managed. He swept them away to their room, the two totally and completely in love.