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Joel wakes up slowly. The hands on his hair stir him — tiny palms with even tinier fingers to go along tangling between the strands, tugging at his scalp slightly before letting go, blunt nails scratching at his skull.
It's— fuck, it's way too good, unbelievably good, has his eyes shutting closed again and a hum erupting from Joel's chest without him meaning to. He hasn't been this relaxed in… months, probably. Maybe years, he doesn't remember — all Joel knows is that he's laying on his daughter's lap, head resting atop her thighs, she's playing with his hair and he wasn't supposed to have fallen asleep in the first place.
It's still early; he shouldn't even be this tired, but between getting off work early so he could spend time with Sarah, going back out to help with a drunk Tommy and getting his ass handed to him by his daughter in hearts, Joel was worn out. It was a good day — Joel wished for more days like it, to be honest —, and once Tommy was put in a cab and Sarah suggested they watch 10 Things I Hate About You, Joel didn't have the heart to say no.
It's one of his girl's favorite movies and, okay, Joel might have a soft spot for Kat Stratford and, fine, maybe Shakespeare, but if he can't say anything about Sarah ogling Heath Ledger then she's not allowed to complain about his heart eyes at Julia Stiles either.
The thing is Joel was starting to relax a little bit too much, resting against their big couch, his plushie of a daughter warming his side, and Sarah's lap looked more and more enticing by the minute.
Joel is proud to say he lasted fifteen minutes before caving. It just— it wasn't his fault, okay? Sarah was right by his side, all pretty, all sweet and baby-soft, laughing at something on the screen — Joel could only ever give half of his attention to anything they watched together; Sarah tugged at his focus, her sunshine creating an orbit around her that Joel couldn't help but be dragged towards —, and Joel couldn't stop thinking about using her thighs as a pillow, resting his head there and watching his girl smile at him from above.
So, yes, he did take a very old man-like nap, but really, it wasn't his fault. Joel just couldn't resist snuggling up to his baby, is all.
He grunts as he sits up, trying to stretch away the kinks on his back.
"Hey," Sarah greets, pulling her legs from the couch so she can spread them before her, trying to get movement back on her limbs. She liked having Dad nap on her lap just as much as Joel liked doing it. She'd never make him get up, not even if it cost her the feeling in her legs.
She's so small — Joel seems to be forever caught between thoughts of how small and how big his girl has gotten lately, and she still insists she's got more growing to do. The one thing Joel wants, more than anything else in the whole damn world, is to watch her do it.
"Hey," he answers, settling back onto their couch after realizing that no, despite his best attempts, his back is not about to get back into place like that. Joel knows, he should be watching his posture like Sarah tells him all the time, should be more careful at work, but really, he's not about to let her know she's right. "How long was I out for?"
Sarah hums for a minute, stretching herself over the sofa to wrap her arms around one of dad's own. "Half an hour, I think."
"Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to."
"It's okay, Dad," she answers, cheery. "You're an old man, I know."
Joel throws Sarah off of him fast, fast enough she won't have time to react but not fast enough it'll hurt her, an art mastered by all those years as a father. She bounces on their couch, once and twice but then Joel is already on her, kneeling over her legs so she'll have no escape, fingers digging under the sides of Sarah's shirt to find flesh. He doesn't tickle her too often — even if there's little he likes more than seeing Sarah laugh, it's all better if she's not expecting it.
"Who the hell are you calling old?"
Sarah writes beneath him, trying to buck him off, hands grabbing for her father's as she laughs uncontrollably. Her laughter fills the quiet house like buttery morning light, like the scent of muffins baking in the oven and the warmth once you get under the covers; familiar and utterly beautiful for it, so sweet you just can't get enough. Her leg kicks out and the remote is thrown off the couch, movie still rolling.
"No, no! Stop!"
Joel is smiling too, just like he does whenever they do this; he's powerless in the face of his daughter's smile. He's slowing down, just about ready to stop as Sarah's pleas grow breathless; he's also learned, after all this time, when she means it.
Sarah uses that opportunity to grab him by the neck of his shirt, tugging Dad down until his lips are on hers. It works, of course — Joel stops as soon as Sarah's lips are on his, fingers circling her waist now instead of digging into it. She tastes so fucking good — he doesn't think he's ever getting used to it, to how her tongue swipes against his, how their lips fit together perfectly. His girl is just too good to be true.
Sarah wraps an arm around Joel's shoulders, grabs his shirt with her free hand and uses all the strength she's got in her to flip them over. Joel goes willingly, though Sarah refuses to believe he'd let her win — Dad respects her way too much for that. He's still focused on their kiss, on Sarah's weight atop his, and so when she pulls away he drags after her mouth with his for just a second. Damn, he's taught her well.
Joel needs a minute of looking around to realize what the hell he's gotten into right now, but when he does, all he can do is smile.
"You cheated," he tells her, voice soft because there's no other way he can act around her, his eyes even softer.
"Yeah, well," Sarah shrugs, satisfied, "I had a great teacher."
The TV gives her halos, draws kaleidoscopes on her skin, and there, staring up at her bathed by a silly rom-com, Joel thought to himself, by the hundredth time but awed every single one of them, that Sarah is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.