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You woke up to the feeling of sun on your skin. Though the warmth was nice, you were missing the feeling of your partner lying beside you. You smiled at the thought, though you had only been in an established relationship with Sniper for a few weeks, you found it so easy to claim him as yours.
You groan as you stretch, sitting up in bed just in time to be met with the sight of Sniper standing at the van kitchenette. You take the time to admire his morning appearance, dressed in a simple white tank top and plain black boxers. You can see just a bit of the large scar on his torso creep above the neckline of the top, the pink tone contrasting his tanned skin. Your gaze trails down to his arms, beautifully toned from his years of mercenary work. Then his hands, prominent veins raised above his skin.
Sniper sets a kettle down on the burner, snapping you out of your focused admiration. It’s then that he finally realizes you’re awake. He approaches the bed, sitting down to face you.
“Good morning, love.” His morning voice is just a bit raspy. He reaches his hand forward, the rough and warm pad of his thumb stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch, the warmth of his hand is far more welcome than that of the sun.
“Just put the kettle on, would you like some tea?” His touch trails down to your shoulder, he’s more than happy just to touch you, seemingly enamored with your presence.
“Yes, please.” Your words come out croaky, though Sniper stares at you as if you had the voice of an angel. Your gaze trails down to his hand, which you gently pull from your shoulder. You bring his hand up to your face, pressing a gentle kiss to the bruise on his thumb, a result of his work with his rifle. His face flushes, and he pulls away when the kettle starts to whistle.
You allow yourself a couple more seconds in bed to stretch before you follow Sniper to the kitchenette. You come up behind him just as he starts to steep your tea. You wrap your arms around him, the side of your face pressing against his back. Your hands trail to the waistband of his boxers, your fingers toying with the elastic, and even though your intentions are pure, Sniper still shivers.
Sniper clears his throat, “What sweetener would you like in your tea?”
“Honey.” You answer.
Sniper makes a choked up noise, struggling not to stumble over his words. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I want honey in my tea?” You reply, your hands stop toying with his waistband, and you wondered if you had said something wrong. Then, you giggle. “You want me to call you honey?” You laugh as you run your fingers up his sides, not quite tickling him.
Sniper sighs, “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” He shrugs you off of his frame, stirring the sweetener into your tea as you continue to laugh. He was embarrassed of course, but seeing you smile so brightly was worth making a fool of himself.