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There’s nothing Asher loves more than a night in with his mate.
Curled up amongst the blankets wearing matching snuggies, the ones Milo had bought them last solstice as a gag gift - but the joke’s on him, as they both look rockin’ in ‘em.
His babe, especially. Although it never took much to make them look good. In fact, it took nothing at all. They just had to look at him, sweet lips curling into a soft smile, and he was moon-eyed all over again.
Their eyes are on him now, warm and glittering in the fairy lights he’s strung up around them - pillow fort version three point oh, now with improved structural stability! so it doesn’t collapse on top of them halfway through the film like last time.
He’s pretty sure he’s got the ratio of pillow anchors to blankets right this time. Ninety five percent sure. Just within the limits of scientific acceptability, as his mate would say.
“Ash.” They’re still looking at him, a subtle brow raised above the steaming thermos they hold clutched between both hands, and right. The movie.
“We’re going back to a classic. Generations.”
Their nose wrinkles, just that bit, and he loves them all the more for it. “Didn’t that have mixed reviews?”
“The critics don’t know what they’re talking about. Plus, you gotta love the nostalgia.”
Not that they’ve seen any of the original series, anyway. He’d barely gotten them to agree to watch the entirety of Next Generation - I see the appeal, they’d admitted eventually, but it was rough going. He’s fully aware that it’s only their love for him that got them through season one.
They release a low hum, considering him over the veritable mountain of blankets and snacks he’d buried them in - and hey, it never hurt to be prepared.
“Does this one have Whoopi in it?”
He grins, a bubble of warmth rising in his chest. They remembered. Of course they did. “Yeah.”
They hum again, satisfied. “Put it on, then.”
God, he loves them so fucking much.
It takes a bit of jigging - he only has this version on blu-ray, which means he’d had to dig out his old Xbox 360 from underneath all the junk - but he gets the movie menu loading before finally taking his place beside them, slipping beneath the blankets until he can curl an arm around them, bringing them in close.
The moment he’s settled, they nestle in, resting their cheek on his shoulder. They’re soft and warm against him, fitting just right, and it settles something deep within him, like it always does.
And then their hand slides down to his hip, slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie, until their palm finds his skin, and fuck.
“Babe…”
They hum, soft and low, their thumb running along the slope of his hip. Their hands are so fucking warm. “Aren’t you gonna start the movie?”
He’s very glad they can’t see the heat that rises to his cheeks at that, although they can definitely hear the way he has to clear his throat twice before replying.
“Sure, Babe” he says, all casual, like he’s completely unaffected - which couldn’t be further from the truth, and their lips curl just enough to tell him that they absolutely know it-
He presses the start button before they can fluster him even further.
–
It’s later, during one of the slower parts of the film, that their attention shifts back to him.
They’ve kept their hands to relatively neutral areas since the movie started, and he doesn’t regret it, exactly. He likes this film, and he wants to watch it with them. But that tease of something more has sparked a flame in him, one that lingers still, simmering just below the surface.
He misses their hands on him. But he much prefers what they’re doing now.
Featherlight kisses pressed against the curve of his throat, right above where the collar usually sits, their breath warm against his skin. Their fingers curled in the hair at the nape of his neck, moving in gentle circles, and it feels so fucking good he can’t help his choked groan, or the way his hand finds their waist, pulling them in closer.
“Fuck, Babe.”
His breath hitches as their lips find the hinge of his jaw, so fucking soft, and he makes a snap decision, hitting the pause button on the remote.
The screen freezes frame on a wide shot of William Shatner on horseback, mouth open, mid-speech, but Asher doesn’t give a damn about whatever he’d been trying to say. He could care less about anything other than his mate, in this moment.
He can feel the curve of their smile against his skin, before they draw back, their movements slow. Their eyes glitter as they track across his features, lingering on a few choice areas - the arch of his nose, the bow of his lips - and the thrill of it makes his heart race, adding to the simmering heat building within him.
They feel it too, he can see it in the way their eyes darken, the subtle hitch in their breathing. It’s more than that, though - they’re his mate. He can sense it, the flux of their emotions, the way their arousal pools and floods beneath their skin.
He feels it almost as keenly as his own.
He expects them to lean in again, close the distance between them and kiss him properly, but they don’t. Instead, they shift back a little further, until their hand can reach up to cup his jaw, their palm soft against his cheek as their thumb traces the line of his cheekbone.
“Do you wanna continue watching the movie?”
Does he? Fuck no.
But he thinks he knows why they’re asking, and his heart melts a little at that, at the care there. It’s been - a while since they’ve had a night together like this. Just the two of them, casual and easy, free from any outside stresses. It had been their idea in the first place, and they'd even let him pick the movie.
He knows that all he has to do is say the word, and they’d go back to their quiet night-in, catching up on the adventures of the Starship Enterprise.
And he’d be happy with that, he would.
But he doesn’t want that. He wants them, all of them, on top of him, under him, under his hands and tongue and lips. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want anything else.
He shifts his hands to their waist, lifting them until they can slide onto his lap, their thighs bracketing his hips. Like this, he can feel more of them against him, soft and still so fucking warm as they settle in, their free hand rising to rest against his chest, right above his heart.
“I can think of better things we could be doing, babe.”
“Yeah?” Their lips are curled into that infectious grin he loves, their eyes bright with it, and they look so fucking good right now, their profile cast in the flickering glow of the fairy lights. “Like what?”
“All alone with my mate?” He lets his hands splay across the tops of their thighs, fingers spreading wide and squeezing, just a bit. “I can think of more than a few things...”
Their smile grows as they lean in a little closer, narrowing the distance between them. Their gaze drops back down to his mouth, holding there, and christ, he wishes they would just kiss him already.
“Then beam me up, Scotty.”
He almost chokes on his own tongue. “Babe.”
A wide grin spreads across their features, their nose wrinkling with it, and they’re adorable and such a fucking dork, just like him, and he has no idea how he got so lucky.
They open their mouth to say - something, probably another Star Trek-themed pun - and he cuts them off with a kiss, chasing the softness of their lips until they melt against him, fingers curling into his hair, and all he can think of is finally.
They never end up finishing the movie, but Asher doesn’t think it’s that great of a loss.