Work Text:
I've got an angel
She doesn't wear any wings
“Claire, are you serious about these fucking paddock changes? She’s not gonna be happy about ‘em!”
The plans had been left on the bedside table when he awoke alone, turned to the exact page meant for him - for the Rex to be specific - leaving him with no other option than to read that precise section of the small folder the woman had put together the night prior. Needless to say, he was not ecstatic about the changes.
Plans in hand, he left the bedroom, apt on getting the details of the folder changed to what he was positive would be beneficial for the Rex and the structure.
That small map in his head was instantly rewritten, the objective changed and remarked the moment he stepped into the kitchen, eyes landing on her.
She wears a heart that can melt my own
She wears a smile that can make me wanna sing
A cup held in two small hands, hair mussed and eyes half-lidded, and all argument went out the window. She stood against the counter, leaning on it with her feet pressed into the counter opposite to keep herself from sliding in bare feet on the smooth linoleum, completely sleep-wrecked with a faintly steaming cup the only indication that she was ever anything but asleep.
He set the folder down on the counter opposite her, walked the short distance to her, and leaned against the counter beside her, his right arm coming to rest around her lower back, fingers gently dancing against her partially exposed skin, just above the waistband of her pajama pants - his to be exact - without having the room to dip into them as he often was guilty of doing.
With ease, he stole the cup from her hands and took a small sip before handing it back to her, a tiny smile settling on her lips. Like clockwork, she followed his lead and took her own small taste of the burning coffee, lips coming up in a miniscule smile that threatened to take his heart in a grip tight enough to strangle.
She gives me presents
With her presence alone
“Masrani insisted the plans be finished by this morning before I go in. I barely completed them by midnight.”
Her words registered for but a moment, as her beauty took over his mind much easier. Silently, his hand raised against her back and began rubbing slow circles along her upper back, thumb unevenly going in it’s own circular pattern, against his hand’s movements.
“I know the conditions are not ideal, but they are an improvement on paddock 19--”
“Rex, Claire. She’s not just an asset.”
“--and Masrani believes they will be beneficial to her continued performance.”
He knows he should be upset - furious, even - but he cannot bring himself to such emotion when that always smooth, crystal clear voice is so sleep-ridden, so scratchy and obviously strained with dehydration and deprivation. He wants to fight her reasoning, fight Masrani’s argument that such ideas would be perfect for the Rex, that her happiness is what is ideal, not her performance around the visitors. But she tears those arguments down like a wrecking ball; her beauty is unarguable.
She gives me everything I could wish for
She gives me kisses on the lips just for coming home
“What time is it?”
He wants to lie, to insist it’s not 4 am, that she has another two or so hours before they both must go into the park, but he can’t resist wanting to give her anything she wants, even if it means watching her suffer and doze when he spends his lunch breaks with her.
“Quarter to 4. Half hour before we have to leave.”
And despite her strict ideas on being early, on going to work an hour before they need to truly be there, so she can ensure everything's running smoothly and he can tend to the little things he enjoys doing before the staff decide to come along and do their own jobs, she always manages to truly surprise him.
The quiet clink of the porcelain cup echoes through the dark and silent kitchen, his eyes land on hers once more, and before he can protest what she’s doing - because he’s always a half-step ahead of her when it comes to such things - he has those soft lips upon his. It’s not overly aggressive, nor is it overly lazy. It’s somewhere in between gentle and tired, laced with such minimal amounts of passion that it is truly a kiss he wants to remember.
She could make angels
I've seen it with my own eyes
It lasts merely a few seconds, and he already wants it back; wants more of that gentle kiss to steal time and leave them separated from the world, even if for but a minute. And yet, it’s gone for now; broken and replaced with a gentle pressure against his chest, one he knows all too well. His lips draw up and he thinks for but a moment that he is luckier than he’s even been. More than when she ensured his main job be the Rex paddock; more than when he danced with her at Prom; more than first hearing that she loved him, even if it was a casual slip in their morning routine, not meant to be heard yet. He’s luckier now than ever before, enough so that he damn near feelings like gambling.
Easily, his arms raise to wrap around this gentle weight, hold it close, keep it locked in his mind as his best morning with her to date. She stays against his chest, leaning there, head upon his breastbone and her eyes shut ever so lightly, as though their lids were feathers.
You gotta be careful when you've got good love
Cause the angels will just keep on multiplying
“How many hours did you get?”
“3. I couldn’t sleep much past that.”
And he leaves it at that, because he knows he cannot rightly scold her for something he too is guiltier than sin for doing, despite it being for a rather decent cause. Instead, he hums an answer and presses a shallow kiss to her head, the sweet smell of her shampoo invading his thoughts and leaving him in complete awe that she is truly here, in his arms; that for once, he isn’t dreaming.
But you're so busy changing the world
Just one smile can change all of mine
“You sure you can’t call in sick one day? It’s gonna suck goin’ in this tired, ya’ know.”
It’s her turn to not answer with words, instead releasing that same hum, the quiet indication that she’s far too tired to truly fight him, nor is she too determined to agree with his offer. After all, she is the boss; it’s not as though she can truly call in without there being a decent enough reason. Sleep is not one of them.
“Want me to bring you something on my break, then? Get you some coffee, see if that little place by the Mosasaurus tank isn’t too crowded; swing by that little burger stand behind Margaritaville and grab you a salad or a double-meat with cheese, extra bacon, no lettuce?”
And that smile comes back full-force this time, easily brightening the entire room, as though it replaced the sun with no argument. It’s enough to draw a tired chuckle from his own lips. His chin raises to rest atop her head feather-lightly, eyes flitting closed and hands gently squeezing the skin they rested upon during his initial embrace on her form.
“I’ll even make sure they add extra sugar to your coffee, so you don’t end up falling asleep.”
We share the same soul
Oh oh oh oh oh ohhh