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Carlos wakes up with a crook in his neck. He rolls over onto his back, throwing his arm out to the side in the search of his husband, partly because he doesn’t want to hurt him accidentally, but mostly, really, on a subconscious level.
He knows when TK isn’t nearby. He’s always searching for him.
Sadly, and surprisingly, the other side of the bed is empty. It’s cold, too, and Carlos isn’t exactly freezing himself, but he shivers anyway, hoping for a cuddle. Of course, in an empty bed, he won’t get far, so instead, he ends up utilizing the space to stretch out.
His eyes are kept closed as he does so. He lifts an arm above his head, lightly hitting his hand against the wall, but he keeps stretching out his muscles. He rolls his head from one side to the other, hears the click of his neck, then before he decides to get up in search of TK, he ends up rolling onto his front, his face in TK’s pillow.
It smells like him. It smells like him, and Carlos misses him even though he’s almost completely certain that he’s still in the loft. He doesn’t think he has a shift today, let alone an early one, but he was always off yesterday as Carlos worked until the early hours, so it’s possible he picked up an extra one when Carlos was at work. Maybe he can blame his tiredness or the fact that yesterday’s shift was a long, grueling one, but he hopes TK comes back soon. Preferably for longer. For the whole day.
In reality, Carlos would never spend all day in bed, but a couple of hours extra wouldn’t go amiss.
Similarly, it’s rare for TK to be up before him unless it’s because of work. Which confuses Carlos in his sleepy state as he pulls the covers over his shoulder, pressing his nose into TK’s pillow. He tries to surround himself with smells of his husband. Perhaps, he wonders, in case TK does have to go to work. A comfort.
If he is going, he’ll come back in to say goodbye to Carlos. It’s always the same when TK goes early. He’ll creep in, trying to be quiet, but usually, he’ll end up walking into the door or sliding it roughly enough that it hits the other side with a bang. Sometimes, he’ll curse under his breath, but mostly, he’ll apologize in a whisper, and Carlos will tell him it’s okay. His voice will be rough and gravelly, and TK might comment on it, but always, he’ll pad over to Carlos’ side of the bed, run his fingers through his curls with the excuse of pushing it off of his forehead—Carlos knows he just likes touching it, and he knows that TK knows he likes it, too—and drop a kiss to his forehead. On days he’s more awake, the days when he didn’t have a late shift the day before—he’ll pucker his lips enough that TK will kiss him, and he’ll briefly mourn the fact he’s going to be apart from his husband again. Then, before he goes, TK will tell him he loves him. He’ll say, “Safe shift, baby,” if Carlos has one that day; if not, it’ll be, “Don’t miss me too much,” and, “Have a good day,” and Carlos will attempt to return to sentiment in whatever tired state he’s in.
On the flip side, when he goes to work before TK, the words exchanged are the same, but TK is a whole lot more sleepy, his replies almost inaudible. Those are the times Carlos find impossible to leave TK in bed. Choosing work over cuddling his husband? Yeah, he’d rather not.
Still, what does or doesn’t happen on a so-called normal day does not help him today.
He doesn’t know how long passes. Ten minutes, fifteen, and there’s still no sign of TK. It’s possible, he guesses, that he’s already left, that Carlos was so tired after his shift yesterday that he missed TK coming in to say goodbye. He hopes not. More than he can put into words, he hopes not.
But as if on cue, he hears a familiar spluttering string of curses from the kitchen. It’s preceded by a bang that Carlos didn’t think much of, but now he can hear his husband in there, he recognizes that as a sign TK has either dropped something or walked into something else.
And he smiles to himself, so wide and bright even though it’s hidden against TK’s pillow, as if that isn’t at least partly the point.
He can’t even explain why. He’s just happy TK is here.
For a few minutes longer, he lies in bed, surrounded by the scent of his husband, listening to him in the kitchen. If he pushes the covers down a little, he can identify the noises better. He hears the crackling of the stove, what he thinks is a spatula or something similar against the pan, so with his best detective skills, he deduces that TK is cooking.
If he moves his nose away from his pillow, he can smell something sweet, hopefully pancakes, and, well, if there’s anything that’ll rouse him, it’s the promise of breakfast with his husband.
He’s not sure it’ll ever get old.
Rolling back over onto his side of the bed, he lets out a soft sigh. He stretches his arms above his head again, enjoying the pleasant rippling of his muscles. From there, he stretches his legs out as he rubs at his eyes, then takes in a gulp of air, letting it out slowly.
As he throws the covers off, he maneuvers his legs out of the bed and forces himself to get up.
He stretches again once he’s standing. His tank top rises up over his stomach, and if TK was in the room with him, he knows he’d get a teasing comment about it. He smiles at the thought, pushing a hand through his hair—not enough to loosen the curls because he knows TK likes them like this—as he kicks down the cuffs of his sweatpants until they hit his ankles again.
On his way out, he grabs his glasses from the nightstand and pushes them into place. Briefly, he thinks about going via the bathroom, but the moment he slides open their bedroom door, he catches sight of TK, and he figures it can wait, padding toward him instead.
Just like he thought, TK is at the stove. He’s poking something, presumably the pancakes, and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but mostly, he’s swaying his hips from side to side like there’s music playing. Knowing TK, there’s a song in his head that he’s subconsciously humming along to, and Carlos would love to know what’s caught his attention today.
Immediately, though, TK looks up and smiles brighter than the sun over Texas. Creases form at the corner of his eyes, and Carlos’ heart thuds like it’s the first time he’s seen TK in the morning.
Oh, he remembers that day so vividly, but this one is wildly different.
(TK shouldn’t have stayed, really. He was injured, still injured after being shot, and injured again for his heroics afterward, but they’d just decided to give things between them a proper chance. Carlos was over the moon, and after a night of watching the green skies of Austin, he couldn’t help but ask. Part of him didn’t expect a yes, but that was what he got.
Nothing happened. TK couldn’t. He couldn’t risk busting his stitches again, but Carlos reassured him ten times over that TK meant more to him than just sex. He was close to admitting he loved him, had done so since the first day they locked eyes, but he held that tight against his chest again, just telling TK part of the true depths of his feelings.
“I want you to stay, okay?” he’d promised. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to hold you in my arms all night,” but the words stumbled out, his voice shy and hoarse in ways he wasn’t expecting, tears pooling in his eyes like he was close to flat out begging TK to stay with him.
I need to know you’re safe, he didn’t say. But in a way, he thought TK heard it anyway.
TK stayed the night, reassured him right back as he spoke about some of his fears going into a new relationship, fears that Carlos had already worked to silence. He’d apologized, for so many things, but Carlos could hardly bring himself to care, simply happy to hold TK in his arms, to have him there after so many nights of wishing just that.
The next morning, it was unsurprising that he woke up first. Because yesterday had been a lot for TK, it was obvious he needed the rest, but Carlos didn’t mind. He spent so long just watching him, watching his boyfriend, basking in their newfound happiness, that when TK finally roused from his slumber, he got to watch every second of it, taking in every detail new detail about the man he loved so much.
His heart flipped so many times that it was a wonder it kept beating.
Eventually, they’d gotten up together, and Carlos got to witness that wonder that was a sleepy TK waiting for his morning tea. Messy hair, one of Carlos’ zip-up hoodies thrown over his sleep shirt, the most perfect smile Carlos had ever come across.
No wonder he fell so hard.)
Now, though, they’re married. TK is wearing his wedding ring, and Carlos doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget how incredible that feels.
What’s similar is the fact that his husband decided against any sort of regular clothes. Instead, he’s got a pair of black boxers with a yellow waistband, ones that seem suspiciously like a pair that Carlos owns, and an unbuttoned shirt over the top. And it wouldn’t be TK if there wasn’t something more: it’s Carlos’ shirt. One of his plaid ones, a gray-blue color with dark blue and white lines. It’s too big on TK. Not by much, but it still hangs loosely on his shoulders, the material swaying as he moves, and Carlos is more obsessed with the sight than he can put into words.
Of course, TK’s ring being visible as he moves his hand up to the pan just makes the whole damn thing, so Carlos doesn’t think he can be responsible for his actions this morning.
“Hi, baby,” TK greets sweetly, but there’s a smirk on his face like he knows, because he does.
“Good morning,” Carlos replies. He smiles back, but he wastes no time in padding across the rest of the room and stepping behind his husband. Wrapping his arms around his waist, he buries his face in his neck, inhaling. “Did you sleep well?”
TK hums. “Once you got back. Did you?”
Even the mere thought makes him smile, and he nods into TK’s neck. “I missed you when I woke up alone. I thought you’d gone to work.”
TK places one of his hands over Carlos’ arm. “Nope. I just wanted to surprise you.”
“You definitely did that.” Tightening his grip, Carlos nuzzles his nose against TK’s skin. His hair tickles him, but he ignores it in favor of pressing a kiss to his neck. TK shivers, so Carlos drops another one there, dropping one hand to trace along the placket of the shirt. He tugs at it slightly and smiles as he drops yet another kiss to his neck before murmuring, “What’s this all about?”
TK shrugs as he pokes aimlessly at the half-cooked pancake in the pan. “It’s yours.”
“It’s mine.”
“You like it?”
“On me or you?”
“On me,” TK decides. “‘Cause I do. It smells like you.”
“Love it,” Carlos replies. He continues trailing kisses along TK’s neck, letting his mouth fall open as he moves along his shoulder. He pushes the shirt out of the way as best as he can, then sucks at the delicate skin there, TK stifling a moan. Happy with himself, Carlos kisses over it, making sure he pays it enough attention before kissing back up his neck, nipping at his ear, and whispering, “You don’t have to be quiet, babe. It’s only us.”
TK just lets out a shaky breath. He grips Carlos’ arm, the other, his left, dropping the spatula into the pan. His ring catches the light as he rests it against the worktop, but Carlos can’t stop himself from taking it in his own left hand, slotting his fingers through TK’s so their rings sit next to each other.
As if it’s too much, TK uses the leverage to turn around in Carlos’ arms. He keeps their hands intertwined, even as they’re stretched across each other, using the other one to cup Carlos’ cheek.
“And you call me the menace,” he says with a smirk, but before Carlos can come back with a retort, TK is capturing his lips, immediately parting his lips and asking for more.
In this instance, Carlos thinks they’re both menaces.
If he ever tires of kissing his husband, he’s certain he’ll need his head looking at because it’s one of his favorite things in the world. TK as a whole, of course, but there’s something purely intimate about kissing him. It can be soft and sweet, a greeting, an unspoken declaration of love. It can be rough and needy, teeth bashing as they beg for more. Or, it can be like this: still needy but with a gentler, slower undertone.
Carlos just loves all of it.
He pushes TK back, plastering himself against him, but TK curses before Carlos can kiss him again. Instead, he pulls back, frowning when TK moves with him, but TK gestures to the stove in a vague explanation that prompts him to say, “Shit.”
“Shit what?” Carlos mumbles because he’s trying to kiss him again, but TK bats him out of the way, quickly turning the knob to kill the heat and pushing the frying pan off.
“Shit,” he repeats as he grabs the spatula “No. No! They’re burned.”
Carlos hooks his chin over TK’s shoulder once more, but sure enough, he finds three burned pancakes in the pan. Charred. Definitely not passable. And next to it is an empty jug with only the remnants of batter in, and TK sighs, even as he rests his hand on Carlos’ arm again.
“What about those?” Carlos asks. He points to a plate with three perfectly golden brown pancakes on.
“Three each,” TK explains. “That’s your fault.”
Carlos taps his hip, and once again, TK spins around in his arms. There’s a small frown on his lips, but Carlos just thinks he’s adorable, so he smiles right at him. Of course, TK smiles back, huffing out a laugh as he slumps his shoulders.
“We can share,” Carlos murmurs, leaning in to press his nose to TK’s cheek. “You can have half of mine.”
This time, TK hums. He leans into Carlos’ touch, but still, he sighs.
“I’m sorry for distracting you,” Carlos offers, but he shakes his head.
“I’ll take the blame for that. I wanted you to distract me.”
Carlos raises his brows despite the fact TK can’t see. “Oh, did you now?”
“Yes,” he mutters. “But it was meant to be after breakfast.”
“That’s a shame.” He presses a kiss to TK’s cheek, then pulls back enough to catch his eye. “What are we going to do about that then?”
TK smiles. He tries biting on his bottom lip to stop it from widening, but it doesn’t work, and Carlos can’t say he’s mad about it. Second to kissing him, seeing TK smile is his favorite thing. Knowing he’s the cause of it is, well…
“What do you suggest, baby?” TK asks, already trailing a finger across Carlos’ chest.
He hums like he’s thinking. “Back to bed?”
“You? Sleeping in?”
“Who said anything about sleeping?”
TK lets out a loud laugh, and it’s like music to Carlos’ ears.