Cozy drabbles: Karrilver and AU of your choice?
Mauisse, I hope you don’t mind, but lazy mornings/sleeping in/cuddling in bed shall always be my choice AU, I don’t care how often I end up writing or reading it! Hope you don’t mind? :) <333
He wakes alone, which isn’t entirely unusual, even on days when he has Kara and Barry.
Barry’s the worst out of all of them. His speedster composition means he generally only needs about four hours of sleep at night. And when he’s awake, he’s restless. A creature of crackling energy for which time’s passage always crawls too slow, he can’t always bring himself to just laze in bed with them. He’s too prone to fidgeting, pointless shifting and turning that inevitably wakes Oliver about two or three hours too early. So, Barry usually gets up at some point after he wakes, ethereally stalking the floors of the other rooms like a nocturnal animal. He reads, or catches up on shows, or, more recently, wanders to the roof where he’s coaxed and nurtured a vegetable garden to thriving life.
Kara lasts a little longer, but her hunger makes an early morning necessary and still earlier than Oliver is willing to get up. Barry usually makes her breakfast and they may talk quietly over coffee or she may walk up to the garden with him, sit on one of the chairs, and watch him work. More often than not, her burst of morning energy only lasts the length of time it gets to pour a bowl of sugary cereal, and then she’s all about curling on the couch and watching TV, the box of cereal and carton of milk in reach on the coffee table for easy refills.
Oliver likes sleeping in. For so long, sleep was a luxury of the safe and the ignorant, neither of which he was after the Queen’s Gambit capsized. Even for years after he returned home, safe sleep was an elusive hope. He’d felt hilariously open to attack in the room of his youth with so many entry points and variables. He’d lie awake on the floor, waiting for it all to be taken away from him again and wondering how he could have ever missed his too-soft bed. And, anyway, he was busy as the Green Arrow on most nights, often well into the mornings.
It was different with Barry and Kara. It was kind of hard to feel uneasy and vulnerable when he had the strongest and the fastest people in this universe and the next sleeping with him. With them, he hoarded sleep like a starving man.
But now he’s awake and alone. The sun is up but just barely, indicating that it is a truly heinous hour in the morning. He gets up, eyes heavy, head a bit achy, and a little grumpy that he has to leave a warm bed to go and reel in his wayward lovers. He shuffles to the bedroom door—closed in an effort to keep from waking him—in nothing but his underwear, fully intending to crawl right back in bed. He hears them as soon as he eases open the door.
It’s hushed, because they’re trying to let him sleep. But Oliver is glad he’s caught them. He doesn’t hear them sing often—they goof off, occasionally, exaggerate the latest pop song or songs from Hamilton (which none of them have actually seen because they’re always too busy for such things, and Oliver makes a mental note for potential birthday or Christmas gifts)—but they rarely sit together and try to harmonize.
When they do, it’s the most hauntingly beautiful thing Oliver’s probably ever witnessed. Oliver wishes he had the words to describe it, wishes he could paint how Barry’s voice trembles in his bones while Kara’s can lift his heart to soar above their heads. It almost makes him jealous sometimes, makes him wish he could sound like them and share this with them. Mostly, he covets the moments when their laughter tapers off into song, or when a quiet moment gives way to their sweet voices. They are indiscriminate in their song choices, too. They’ll start off with a Disney song, bridge Johnny Cash or Ella Fitzgerald right into a verse from their favorite musicals. Even rarer, they’ll sing old hymns or folk songs that Oliver has never heard but still resonates in his marrow.
Today, he finds them in the kitchen, where the remnants of their breakfast are evidenced by the warm sweetness of the air and the dishes in the sink. Barry’s sitting on the counter with Kara standing between his legs, hands resting on his knees. Barry’s only in his sweatpants while Kara is just in one of Oliver’s old shirts. One of Barry’s hands is on top of hers, long fingers loosely wrapped around her wrist, his thumb tapping her forearm in the measure they’re trying to keep.
“Mornings and evenings were all the same,” they sing. “And there was no music till I heard your name…”
They become aware of Oliver gradually, their song fading as they turn to him. Their smiles bloom wide and bright like he’s the best thing they’ve seen all morning.
“Mornin’,” Kara says, a light lilt still softening the edges of her voice.
“Damn,” Barry says appreciatively, eyes trailing slowly over Oliver’s body like he hadn’t used his tongue to map the skin between scars just the night before.
He doesn’t hesitate to step toward their smiles and heated looks, feeling, like he always does when he sees them together, like he’s simultaneously stepping off a ledge with one foot and towards home with the other.
Oliver reaches out, runs his fingers down the curve of Barry’s spine. Kara is the first to kiss him, pushing a little against Barry’s knees as she stands on her toes. She tastes of syrup. Barry’s lips taste of sugar and coffee.
“Want breakfast?” Kara asks.
“I can make you that kale omelet thing,” Barry adds, with a wrinkle to his nose to express just exactly how he feels about a breakfast that doesn’t feature French toast, pancakes, or waffles.
“I want,” Oliver says, placing a kiss on Kara’s temple. “To go back to sleep.”
With you, you ridiculous morning people.
They seem to understand what is unsaid, because Kara nods before yawning reflexively. Barry pushes himself off the counter, one arm slinging low around Oliver’s waist.
They shuffle back into the bedroom. The sheets have already cooled and Oliver scowls when he crawls in. Kara giggles and kisses the crease between his brow.
Kara burrows into him, sticks her cold toes between his ankles because she knows she’ll get away with it. Barry plasters himself to Oliver’s back, his arm snaking around Oliver’s side so as to pull himself impossibly closer.
Oliver runs his fingers through Kara’s hair, reveling in the soft and adoring look he doesn’t deserve. Barry breathes warm air against his shoulder, presses his lips against Oliver’s neck. Kara’s eyes drift close. She fights it, like she’s trying to stay awake and capture this moment, but she eventually gives in. Oliver follows, falling gently to the sound of Barry’s humming.
