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If Bradley never sees the inside of a commercial airport again, it’ll be too fucking soon.
Three delays had pushed his arrival time back nearly seven hours, much of it spent cramped in bench seats next to loose charging ports and pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with equally exasperated fliers. The sandwich he’d commandeered in Chicago was barely edible – in spite of the ten dollars Bradley had shelled over for it – and the inside of Denver International had been one of the biggest headaches he’d experienced in his life. By the time they touched down in San Diego, Bradley was dead on his feet, shuffling slowly to his car where he’d left it in the lot.
A small part of him is thankful he’s not coming off of a deployment, but a bigger part of him is cursing the Navy for the week-long retreat they’d stuck him in. Six days spent peacocking around at the behest of admirals in the hopes that they’d invest more in the manned-flight programs was vying for the top spot of the most draining experiences he’d ever been through.
His Bronco is a sight for sore eyes when he slides into the well-worn seats, bag tossed carelessly into the back, and he takes a deep breath as he leans back against the leather. His body comes back to him in pieces, the tension in his limbs from stress and small spaces slowly draining until he feels like his chest can relax.
Exhaustion washes over him in waves, but he doesn’t let himself succumb just yet. The promise of home is enough to keep him going.
——
His boots land heavily on the steps of his porch, fumbling for his keys until he can drag himself over the threshold. The lights are off in the kitchen and the living room, but there’s just enough moonlight spilling in from the windows to illuminate his path to the bedroom.
In spite of the exhaustion, his heart gives an anticipatory flutter. He thinks he knows what’s waiting for him; there wasn’t much left in the way of surprise when he’d already seen the faded maroon of a Silverado as he pulled into the driveway.
He’ll never get over the sight of it, though. It never gets old.
There’s a pair of regulation boots at the foot of the bed, laces tucked in at the top in a neat, perfunctory way that Bradley can only ever smile at. The fan whirs softly from the corner, blows a gentle stream of air next to the comforter that lifts just a fraction with every rotation. Pale blue sheets pool haphazardly around the curve of a slim waist, the light of the bedside lamp casts a warm glow over the slope of golden shoulders. Jake’s back rises and falls with slow, even breaths that tell Bradley he’s likely been asleep for a while, now.
He hates that he’s made Jake wait, but he wouldn’t trade it now that he’s here– not when he’s gifted with the sight he’d started missing the moment he stepped foot on the plane. His chest tightens with a heavy warmth that starts in his toes, moves over his skin until he feels it in the crease of the smile on his cheeks.
He tries to undress as quietly as possible, careful to avoid the spots on the hardwood that tend to groan under both their weights. His boots go first – laces tucked – followed by the rough drag of his fatigues, letting out a sigh of relief when he’s finally standing in his undershirt and boxers. He keeps his socks on long enough to pad into their bathroom, autopilot taking over as he goes through the motions of brushing his teeth, scrubbing a damp towel over his face to wipe away the feeling of airport grime. Part of him worries he might fall over as he makes his way back over to the bed, exhaustion finally present enough in his limbs that he feels heavy with it, leaden, but he manages to remain upright long enough to slip his socks off, flipping the lamplight off before he pulls back a corner of the comforter.
Jake stirs, and Bradley feels his heart catch in his throat as the muscles of Jake’s shoulders shift, blue-green eyes peeking up at him as he slowly blinks awake. “Bradley?” he mumbles, voice sleep-soft and deep. “What time ‘s it?”
“Late,” Bradley replies, tracing a finger over the shell of Jake’s ear. “Go back to bed, baby.”
Jake makes a dissatisfied noise, nose scrunching up as he tries to fight off the grogginess. His arm shifts out from beneath the blanket and grips loosely at Bradley’s shirt, tugging him closer without using any real strength. Bradley doesn’t need any coaxing– he folds over the space between them until none remains, gathering Jake up in his arms and pressing a kiss to his temple. Jake’s body is sleep-warm and pliant, softened edges and a softer smile as he tilts his head back to meet Bradley’s eyes.
He’s haloed in the moonlight, strands of hair haphazardly sticking out of place from where he’d fallen asleep in the bed. There’s a pillow line along the bottom of his jaw, and his cheeks are flushed rosy and pink– he’s a loose sprawl of awareness pressed head to toe against Bradley. He’s the most beautiful thing Bradley’s ever seen.
When Bradley finally drags his gaze up to Jake’s eyes, he’s met with an aching openness– a love that spills over until Bradley feels it deep down in his bones.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Jake murmurs, nudging their noses together. Their lips nearly touch, each breath Jake takes a ghost on Bradley’s own. He smoothes a thumb across Jake’s cheekbone, tracing underneath his eyes before settling on his jaw.
“Glad to be home, baby,” Bradley replies, tilting enough to properly slot their lips together. It’s a warm press that Bradley falls into, a slide home that wraps Bradley’s consciousness up until it’s encased entirely in Jake. He doesn’t register when they pull apart; they’re pressed together at every seam, and Bradley doesn’t feel any less attached. “Go to sleep. ‘M going with you.”
“M’kay,” Jake replies, and Bradley feels it more than he hears it. Jake tucks his chin in the crook of Bradley’s neck, nose against his pulse, and Bradley tightens his arms around his waist.
He’s dragged quickly under the wave of exhaustion and contentment, and they fall asleep like that: twined together by skin and soul, a reunion overflowing in all its simplicity.