Soft fic numbers: 1, 4 & 26. David and Patrick (of course). Only because I KNOW you write the MOST adorable things. You don’t have to do all three! ❤️
1. slow dancing. 4. neck kisses. 26. bed hair
It’s been an exhausting few days, but they’re just about settled in now.
Between moving the things from Patrick’s apartment into the new house, hauling David’s clothes and possessions from the motel, and setting up the basic things around the cottage - the bed, the kitchen, some shelving in the bathrooms - they’re both beat. Luckily they had some help.
Patrick’s hand meets cool mattress when he flips over that morning to pull David closer. He shifts himself into an upright position. David’s not there, and checking the time on his phone, it’s eight in the morning.
Where is his husband and why is he up this early?
Their bathroom door is open, so he’s not there, and their office still needs some setting-up, so David wouldn’t be sketching away in there just yet.
With those crossed off the list, Patrick makes his way sleepily down the stairs. There’s soft music trickling up from the kitchen, low in volume. As he pads through the living room, Patrick can hear David’s humming along to the music.
The kitchen light is off, save for the one above the stove where David is shoveling scrambled eggs onto a plate. Patrick can smell the freshly-brewed coffee as he leans against he door frame. It takes a second for David to notice that he’s standing there, and when he does, his shoulders fall a bit.
“Why are you up,” he asks.
“Why are you up?” Patrick steps further into the kitchen, keeping his eyes trained on David’s crestfallen expression.
“I wanted to make you breakfast,” David replies, gesturing to the pan and plates piled high with toast and eggs. “I was going to make omelets, but we still need to go food shopping, so I just opted for a simple scramble And there’s coffee for me and I made your tea, and-”
Patrick’s hands find David’s waist. “You didn’t have to do all of this,” he says.
“I wanted to,” David mutters. “I wanted to surprise you with it.”
He hums. “Your hair’s a mess, baby.” Patrick brings a hand up to tussle it.
“Don’t,” David whines in protest, dodging the touch. He brings his arms up around Patrick’s neck and sighs.
The music playing from their little bluetooth stereo echoes around them, the soft sounds of Aaron Espe’s voice playing as they sway together in the middle of the kitchen. David brings himself impossibly closer to Patrick as he wraps his arms tight around him.
Patrick presses a kisses to that spot on his neck once, and then twice, and then a third time, just loving the feeling of David melting against him each time he does it. They hold each other like that until one song fades into the next, it’s Making All Things New, and Patrick notes the slight humility of that song in this moment.
When David nuzzles into his shoulder, he speaks up again.
“Thank you.”
“Hm?”
“For breakfast.” He gives David’s hips a squeeze. “Let’s go back to bed, yeah?”
Patrick’s not happy to lose David’s warmth when his husband steps away to collect , but he drinks in the sight of David Rose. Soft, unkempt, and a sight saved just for Patrick to have each morning. He loves the mess of dark hair without product. He loves it when David’s face is still sleep-worn and there are marks from the sheets pressed into his skin.
Patrick’s sure he’s a little worse-for-wear, but David Rose is gorgeous in the morning. How did he get this lucky?
“Grab the mugs?”
He does, and Patrick silently hopes more mornings like these are in their near and distant future.
