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He tried.
…
What? He did!
He tried so, so hard.
But seeing you like this? He couldn’t help it. The opportunity was too good to pass up.
For the last 10 minutes, he’s stood there, goofy smile on his face, his lip almost raw from how hard he was biting it to keep the laugh from escaping. For the last 10 minutes, he’s stood there, watching as you glared your way through your nightly routine, too frustrated and upset to notice your joyful onlooker. For the last 10 minutes, Gaz has watched, laughed, and almost peed himself. For the last 10 minutes, Gaz somehow became an even more lovestruck fool for you. Was there even a level above devoted? He wasn’t sure up until now. Now, he knew for sure there had to be. How else could he describe the thumping in his chest, the heat in his heart, and sparkles in his eyes.
First, it was your pants not coming down. Who in their right mind made jeans so horrible to get in and out of one handed?! You nearly threw yourself on the floor to bicycle kick your way out, and you would have on any other day. Had it not been for the plaster reminder on your arm to be more careful, you would have easily used the tactical skills you picked up from living with a trained soldier (Gaz didn’t have the heart to tell you that the duck and roll he showed you was, in fact, a move he made up to prank you and not the special ops technique that got him out of a Russian base and save a whole town). Then, it was your shirt not cooperating and catching on every part of your body while coming off (see, once again, the above reason for not launching yourself at anything with a hook). Gaz nearly lost it watching you slam it so hard onto the floor in victory, watching as it bounced a little in retaliation.
Your pajama shirt was no easy feat to get on either, but since it was technically Gaz’s, the extra material meant easy access to neck and arm holes. You nearly cheered at getting your pajama shorts on, looking so cute that Gaz was going to make sure you kept the cute shirt ducktail you accidently made in the back from pulling them up too high over his shirt.
For the last 10 minutes, the sight was funny to the point of a bathroom disaster. Now though? The sight was a little pathetic.
The way the medics had to cast your arm causes it to rest at an awkward 90 degree bend, meaning most of your mobility was hindered. Naturally, your dominant hand was attached to the broken bone, so for the next couple weeks you’d have to get used to mastering the robot in order to do anything useful. Most of your daily functions were easy to switch to your other hand or alter in some way, but the one thing you’ve yet to master is washing your face. The too tall bottle, the stupid pump, the idiotic lathering and cleansing and frothing, and the dumb rinsing were pretty much impossible without bringing you to tears. Broken arm be damned, you were close to giving up all together and become a trash monster in order to never have the embarrassment of watching your face wash pathetically roll across the counter, dodging your hands, until it fell and disappeared under the sink.
Gaz made sure you saw the multitude of photos he took of you helplessly scrambling for it (you repaid him for his kindness with a pillow to the face).
But now, as Gaz watches you reach for the soap, hand slightly batting it back and forth, attempting to push the pump down only for it to spin uselessly in place, his wicked smile turns soft, his eyes filling with adoration as you grumble under your breath. He was only a second away from stepping towards you to help, taking just another moment to appreciate your sleepy figure, when you sighed heavily. Your shoulders slumped forward, lips pouting in the most kissable way, near defeat evident in your stance.
“Oh no!” you said suddenly, louder than even Gaz was ready for. “If only I had a helpful hero here to help me!”
Gaz quickly slammed his hand over his mouth, laughter barely contained. You tilted your head slightly, no doubt trying to have your voice carry into the kitchen where he was supposed to be unloading the grocery bags.
“I’m a helpless civilian in need of assistance!” A beat. “If only there was a musclely, sexy military man to help me.” Another beat. “It sure would be nice to have help from the best soldier in a special task force.” After another moment of silence, you sighed again. “If only there was a sexy man I could give head to-“
“If you shout any louder the whole neighborhood will know how you got that broken arm.” You screamed, nearly jumping out of your skin, body jostling against the sink. Inevitably, the shock sent your face wash sideways, toppling uselessly onto the floor. The rattle of the bottle and the sink was only matched by the wobble of your lips, a shock darting through your hurt arm. The whimper of pain was enough for Gaz to drop his mischievous smile instantly. He hurried forward to cradle your arm gently, the biggest puppy dog eyes searching your face for an indication of pain level.
“Gaaaaaaz-“ you whined, slumping your body into his arms, carefully cradling your arm to your body. Gaz’s eyes switched between your watery eyes and your injury, body nearly surrounding yours in a protective manner. A ping of guilt wracked his heart.
“I know, I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d hit your-“
Your eyes narrowed into a glare. “You knocked my bottle onto the floor, you dweeb!”
Gaz’s dropped jaw barely managed, “That’s what you're upset about!?”
Your lips curled into a pout, still clutching your arm against your body, the pain fading with every passing second. Despite his shock, you watched as his eyes softened the more he gazed down at you in his arms.
“How long have you been standing there? Jerk.” With your uninjured hand, you gently smacked his chest in protest, though there wasn’t any real force behind it. Gaz, reassured you weren’t really hurt, laughed lightly, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against your lips, which you quickly returned. Despite being upset with him, you could never deny his kisses.
He also took the opportunity to lean into you just a bit, his hand batting at your ducktail softly.
“Long enough to enjoy the show.” With practiced agility, he leaned down, kissing your thigh (all teeth, of course) before scooping the face wash up in one smooth motion, returning it to its rightful spot on the sinks ledge. You huffed at his wiggling eyebrows. “Now, I heard there was compensation promised for help from a sexy military man?”
“I don’t know if I want to give it to you now, knowing you watched me struggle this whole time without offering help.” Gaz laughed again, brushing his lips against yours once more. Gently, he pushed your hips against the sink, trapping you between it and his sturdy body. His heat enveloped you in its comforting embrace, though you did have to move your arm at a slightly strange angle in order for your chests to push together just like you both liked. Stupid, stupid cast.
He kissed you gently once, twice, then thrice before pulling far enough away to kiss your forehead.
In his gentle atmosphere, Gaz wanted to kiss every part of you, everything that he loved personified. Press your lips together until you’re breathless. Pull you into bed, holding you close just like he did after every long day, shedding off his duties mentally one by one until he was able to do nothing but lay there and smell your soothing scent, listen to your breathing as it got slower and slower, press kisses onto your nearest body part until he, too, drifted off to sleep.
But, he knew, none of that could happen until your face was nice and clean, that very soothing scent wafting off of the freshly washed skin. He kissed your lips once more, before cupping your face between his hands, eyes meeting.
“Your sexy hero is here to save you, darling. I’ve got you.”
Gently, he grabbed the nearby washcloth, wetting it behind you before lifting it to your face. His caresses were slow and feather soft, letting the water guide along your features just enough to make your face wash work its magic. Without breaking eye contact, he exchanged the washcloth for your soap, bubbling it in between his fingers before rubbing it across your cheeks. His touches were more like a massage than a lather, but you couldn’t complain, not when he was sneaking kisses every couple seconds, lulling you into near enough sleep as you could get while standing. Your eyes were closed, but his were wide open, tracing every feature with his loving gaze. Once he was satisfied with the lather, he soaked and rung out the washcloth once more before bringing it to your face. It only took a few swipes to get the majority of the bubbles, but Gaz continued for several long moments, enjoying the blissed out look on your face more than he could express. He swiped gently over your lips before sealing them once again with his, pressing them there to feel you close to him once more.
What a dangerous wish, he thought, to never want this moment to end.
The next morning, you were pleasantly surprised to find a brand new soap dispenser on the sinks edge, short and square, with a red ribbon tied around it.