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The early morning is quiet. You’re usually up at this time--whether it’s because you wake up early, or because you stay up early, is anyone’s guess. What usually holds true, however, is that you’re wrapped around Hanzo by this time. He’s broad--his torso is, anyway--so it’s a little difficult to get your arms around him, but you find that it’s worth it as your chest presses against his bare back. He’s like a furnace, and he easily chases away the early-morning chill.
You pull your legs closer and gently lay one between his. You bury your nose--only slightly cold from the air--between his shoulderblades, losing yourself in his scent as you close your eyes. It’s heavy and woodsy, though it has the light overlay of lavender--his body wash. It instantly relaxes your muscles and makes you feel even warmer and safer than you already are.
You press a small kiss to the skin on his back, but he doesn’t stir. You know he’s a light sleeper; it won’t take much to wake him up. You slowly slide upward, to his arm, pressing another kiss to the spine of his dragon tattoo. You can only feel a shiver run through his arm because you’re holding him so intimately, and a smile quirks your lips against his skin. His tattoo is sensitive, the dragon itself even moreso. He told you once that it’s as if he’s feeling your touch twice over whenever you brush against it.
With this in mind, you slowly untwine one arm from around him. You bring your hand up to his wrist, slowly dragging your fingers up the painted skin, careful to jump over the scales of the dragon. Once you reach his shoulder, you keep going, your fingers following the gentle curve of his neck, and up behind his ear. He shies away from your hand a little once you pass over the soft skin there, and you smile against his shoulder--you’d forgotten he’s ticklish there--before your fingers slowly trace their way into his hair.
His hair is thick, and your digits nearly disappear among his inky-black locks. It’s unbound--a rarity reserved for when he’s asleep. You wish he’d leave it down more often, but you can’t help but admit that you’d be jealous if he did; this is yours, and yours alone. You gently run your fingers through his hair, brushing it towards you and away from his face. When you encounter a snag, you pull your second hand up to carefully pull it apart, not wanting to hurt him. You continue brushing your fingers through his hair, gently working away the snags, until it feels like water between your fingers.
As you’re brushing all of his hair onto the pillow, he lifts his head a little, twisting his neck to glance back at you. You still your hands, giving him a soft smile in an attempt to not look so guilty as you murmur a good morning to him. He exhales softly from his nose, his entire chest falling with the breath as he carefully turns over to face you. You pull your hands back, giving him room to move.
Once he’s settled, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest and burying his nose between your neck and the pillow. He grumbles into your collarbone, his breath warm, that you’re up far too early.
You chuckle softly, quietly informing him that he’s just too much of a night owl to enjoy the morning. You slide one arm under him, holding him closer, while your other hand gently traces patterns on his broad shoulder.
You feel him huff softly against your neck, and your smile widens; he’s just like a cat. He murmurs against your skin that he went to sleep early last night.
Three in the morning isn’t early, you say, only barely able to contain your laughter.
He grumbles something else, but it’s too quiet to hear. He pulls his head out of the crook of your neck then, watching you for a moment. His umber eyes--usually bright with alertness--are heavy-lidded, and dark with the remnants of sleep. He blinks slowly, slowly, until his eyes slide shut again, his arms relaxing around you little by little.
You’re tempted to let him fall back asleep, but mischief within you wells up and forces you to lean forward a little, pressing a kiss against the bridge of his nose. He scrunches his face up, though he doesn’t open his eyes, and you laugh silently as you press soft kisses to the wrinkles that have appeared, smoothing them out.
When you pull back from the last one, his gaze is on you again. He tiredly informs you that you’re a menace.
You let out a small, delighted chuckle. You apologize as you press forward, burying your nose in the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder, his head blocking any and all light. You murmur that you’ll let him sleep now, if he wants; he deserves it.
He thanks you for the kindness, a mocking edge on his tired voice.
You tell him, a smile on your face, that you could keep bothering him, if he’s just going to be sarcastic about it.
He hums, his chest rumbling with the noise, before you feel him press a kiss against the top of your head. He stays there for a long moment before he pulls back to tell you in a murmur to go to sleep.
You smile to yourself and press a kiss to the tail of the dragon on his chest before settling back down. He grows relaxed in your arms, his chest rising and falling rhythmically against your own. It takes you significantly longer to drift back into the world of dreams, but when you do, your heart is swollen with love, and you’re nearly drunk with Hanzo’s woodsy scent.