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“I’m afraid we’re out of coffee, Martin.” Douglas suppressed the twinge of guilt at his lie, seeing the slight distress cross Martin’s face. The last thing the captain needed right now was a stimulant.
“Oh. Oh well,” Martin sighed. “This log book won’t fill itself out, I suppose.” His jaw split in an enormous yawn, and Douglas grinned to himself.
“You look done in,” he said, crossing the office to run his hand softly through Martin’s curls.
Martin leant into the touch like a cat, flexing his shoulders under Douglas’ attentions. “Don’t feel you have to wait for me.”
“Nonsense.” Douglas picked up his book. “I’ll drive us home when you're done. You’ve been working all hours five days straight – what kind of partner would I be to let you get behind the wheel?”
Martin smiled, but yawned again. “You fed me too well,” he accused, humour dancing in his face. “Not like you to bring the meal along on a trip.”
Douglas shrugged, trying to retain his innocent expression. “I overheard Arthur saying he was thinking of cooking again,” he fibbed.
Martin shuddered in horror. “In that case, I owe you my very life.”
Douglas smirked. “Repay me by getting on with that log book then, since you insist on conscientiously filling it out. Then I can take you home, and to bed.” Martin’s eyebrow quirked, and he added, hastily, “To sleep. You’re not fit for anything else.”
The captain didn’t demur, but bent his head to the paperwork. At first, Douglas acted as if caught up in his thriller, turning pages twice a minute and merely snatching stolen sideways glances when he thought Martin seemed most absorbed in his task. At length, though, he chanced longer gazes; Martin’s breathing had slowed, and his head was nodding gradually closer and closer to the desk. From time to time he’d jolt back upright, to Douglas’ amusement – Martin was valiantly fighting his drowsiness – but it was clearly a losing battle.
Martin’s arm was supporting his chin, now, as he slumped ever closer to the table, the pen moving more and more slowly over the page. His eyelids kept sliding shut, blinks extending for longer periods, so that at last Martin’s eyes were closed for more time than they were open. He didn’t even notice Douglas openly watching his struggle with fading consciousness.
Douglas felt warmth expanding within him at the sight; it was always so difficult to get his partner to relax, to truly unwind, and Douglas felt he was only now mastering the art of it. Feed Martin well, give him a few days of consistently racing around at both his jobs, and then allow him to feel watched over, cared for, as he completed the tasks he took such pride in… and…
Thunk. Martin’s head met his arm on the table. He was dozing, at long last. Douglas sighed in relief, observing the tension that had been thrumming through his captain subsumed in slumber. He quietly stepped over to the sleeping figure, slipping the forgotten pen from between the softly curled fingers. Beneath Martin’s folded arms, he could make out the bottom of the page. Martin had completed the whole entry, right to the last letter, and Douglas chuckled. That’s my captain.
Gently, he placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder, tugging him upright. Martin stirred, sleepily, and Douglas melted as the exhausted man met his eyes with a dopy smile. “Hometime,” he said, quietly, and slung an arm round Martin’s waist, supporting him out to the car. Douglas helped Martin into the Lexus, going so far as to gently lift his legs in for him, and was rewarded with a soft press of lips against his cheek.
“Thank you,” Martin murmured, still sounding lost in dreamland, and Douglas smiled.
“Anytime, darling.” There was, after all, no greater joy than watching Martin slip back into total relaxation as he nodded off once more, trusting Douglas completely to take care of him. “Anytime.”