Work Text:
"Jesse.. Jesse." You whisper, calmly placing your hand upon his forehead, feeling the smoothness of his skin segue into his hairline and eventually into strands of brunette hair.
You cusp his temple in the ball of your hand, moving each finger slowly into that soft hair of his. He didn't have much of it, but God were you envious of its thickness. You leave your thumb out of it to trace his hairline down.
He stirred, briefly, readjusting his head so your hand would slide more towards his cheekbone. You watch the burning sun of early morning Albuquerque summer make brush strokes through his hair, revealing the chocolate brown color that collapsed under a sea of shadow. His hair moved almost like a cat's, like when you'd run your hand against the grain.
You let your hand press against his face a bit harder and dragging it down. You want to see how the folds of skin around his eyes would react to this. You want to see if that'll make him open those pretty eyes of his.
To your blessing, it did. Everytime he looked at you was the same feeling as if a hummingbird stopped and stared at you. That same buzzing feeling in your abdomen, just below your heart but just above your diaphragm, that almost feels surreal. That moment where they decide to check on you before continuing their daily lives, zipping about and blessing others.
You feel the muscles shift under you as he curls his mouth into a smile. Cheekbones become obvious. You bury your hand in his hair briefly, before dragging it back out and fixing it.
You feel that buzz in your abdomen again and naturally smile back. You whisper out a good morning. He reciprocates.
You brush some hair behind his ear, watching most of it bounce back to its original spot. Cat's fur, brushed the wrong way. He confidently places his hand on your neck before moving into kiss your jaw.
Jesse was a stomach sleeper. Not a very good position to snuggle in. This makes sense. He doesn't like being held very much. Still, you make efforts to show him you love him. Placing a hand on his shoulder blade while he sleeps. Rubbing his spine, feeling every vertebrae pass under your touch. Even just glazing your fingers gently over his bare upper arm, feeling how warm he was.
Being a stomach sleeper, the gesture he's making right now requires a lot of shifting on his part. You feel greatful for it, even though you know you shouldn't. He moves onto his side. A chain necklace he was wearing the previous night slides down his neck and touches your skin. It's cold.
You feel him inhale sharply as he kisses you. It's like a hint of intentions to give you a hickey, or maybe it's like he's yawning.
He remains there, next to you, after he finishes his kiss. "You want to go to Denny's?" He asks, his voice gravely and filled with a genuine intention. He moves his hand from your neck to your waist and hip. An innocent move.
You look down on his angel-like face. He's closed his eyes again. Shuttered them from the world. It just so happened a sunbeam was moving over the bed to where your faces were. You could've cursed the brilliant light for hiding his eyes. He was still tired, and wanted to sleep more. But you knew it must've been at least 10 in the morning. He needed to get up.
"Sure." You smile with your words. He slides away from you, an action which anguishes you, no matter how temporary. "I want pancakes. Dollar pancakes." He grumbles out, lurching out of bed to find a pair of pants suitable for Denny's.
You shift onto your back to watch him. The light moves away from your eyes and you can see him more clearly. You watch his soft features get tucked away. First his ankles and calves, then the lower half of his thighs. You admire his tummy and his sternum while you can. Your eyes dance over his collar bone, the next thing to be hidden, as he slides on an underlayer. His unshaven face shifts as he moves his jaw around, stretching. He looks over to you, and sees you're completely starstruck.
He smirks, satisfied with himself. You wonder if he worships you in the same way as he slides on socks and shoes.
You decide it's probably time to get out of bed and get dressed as well. Somehow, he'd convinced you to go to sleep without pants on. You stand up, and search the floor for them. Just then, you felt his cold hands on your love handles and hips as he kisses your forehead.
You look at him, eyes blessing you once again as he leans in for another kiss. This time, though, it was the fated lips who were gifted. You feel the warmth irradiate off of him, both physically and emotionally as he explores every canyon and valley between the folds of your lips.
You feel his hands massage into you as you wrap both your arms around his neck, holding onto him like a child. You feel the tips of your noses touch as he shifts the angle at which he's kissing you.
This was confirmation, in your opinion. That he thinks the world of you. That he praises every inch of your being just as you do. That he thinks every strand of your hair is priceless silk, that every wrinkle or fold is gorgeous landscape. It felt so nice just seeing him, but it feels euphoric to be wanted and chased in the same way.