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Your eyelashes fluttered, groggily flicking about the sleep-stagnant bedroom. The first flecks of golden light filtered through flowing curtains, only occasionally disturbed by the gentle bellow of the room's air conditioning.
And despite that, you felt so unbelievably warm.
Shifting against the sheets, a small murmur escaped your lips; taking a brief glance towards the clock that sat atop the nightstand, you turned your head over your shoulder.
With his face nestled against the back of your neck, warm breath fanning across exposed skin; Mafioso's body laid slumped against your own, sprawled over your back with his limbs entangling your frame like a stuffed animal.
"Don, let me get up." You uttered with a drowsy purse of your lips, squeezing the hand that was splayed across the broad of your ribcage; watching his eyes squeeze shut as he pressed his face against your hair.
A half-hearted rumble escaped his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin; somewhat akin to a purr.
"Pretending to be asleep doesn't work when I know you're awake." You muttered, rolling your eyes as you rubbed the pads of your fingers against the peaks of his knuckles.
"..i'm hopin' you get annoyed enough t' give up n' fall back asleep." Mafioso drawled, words pulling lethargically as he took in a noticeably deep inhale; basking in your presence.
"You know I have things to do today."
Granted, it was nothing compared to the job he worked- dangerous, tedious, and all very confidential- but it was still time consuming nonetheless.
"You always say that.." He knew you were an orderly person by design, no amount of begging and pleading would change that- not that he wanted you to change- but that didn't stop him from trying to keep you in bed with him for as long as he possibly could.
"Yes. I fear i'm starting to sound like someone I know." You mused, pressing a hand against the mattress in a feeble attempt to pull yourself from his grasp by yourself. "Now let go."
"Alright, alright..." With a begrudging grumble, Mafioso pulled himself off of you- calloused hands parting with the downy warmth of your skin as you slid out of bed, he watched you walk across the room with tired fervor.
Your hair was tousled, framing your groggy features while bit of drool stuck to the corner of your mouth– his gaze flicked across your frame as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, shuffling towards the bathroom with lazy steps.
Beautiful. As always.
Shaking the hair from his vision, he shifted himself up from your shared bed- the mattress snapping back from the loss of his weight- socked feet pressing against cool wooden floors as he trailed behind you.
He was already away from you far enough as is- so when he had the means to do so, he'd spend every waking hour by your side.
And while not to say that he was planning, or awaiting your inevitable passing– he has already decided that he would love nothing more than to die and rest by your side for all eternity. Regardless of how realistic that expectation may be– a man could dream.
"Hi, handsome." His voice husked in your ear, the weight of his body settling over your backside as he wrapped his arms around your waist; listening to the gentle stream of water as you turned on the faucet.
While the element of surprise was lost on him- it'd be hard not to hear the footsteps of a man so imposing- you could've at least pretended to be surprised. Even with his streak of following you around the house like your personal weeping angel.
"Can't get a moment to myself, can I?" You inquired, tipping your head to the side as you ran a bit of water through your hair- hoping to freshen up just a tad.
"Mm', no." Mafioso rumbled, voice muffled as he pressed his face to your shoulder- cheek affectionately smooshed against the fabric of your shirt as he eyed you through the mirror; watching as you pulled a rag from the counter drawer.
Your lips pursed, eyes flitting over to meet his adoring gaze– there was a lopsided grin tugging the edge of his lips as his arms squeezed you tighter.
His hair laid hashed over his shoulders, frizzy and unkempt; sticking up every-which-way. The bags beneath his eyes were nothing short of prominent, and he could certainly use a bit of a shave.
"You look like a mess."
But that was nothing new. He just happened to be a wildly prepossessing man, as you've come to know.
"Come here." You bent the tips of your fingers, gesturing for his face- which he gladly took the opportunity to rest in the palm of your hand- you dipped the rag under the faucet, warm water seeping into the soft cotton.
Shifting in his grasp and turning against the weight of his arms to fully face him instead; you swiped the damp piece of cloth across his face. Tracing along the thistly stubble that lined his lower jaw– you wiped the sleep from his eyes.
It was pointless to do this for him, not just on his days off but on every account. Most of the time you found that he came home just as dirty- if not more so- as when he woke up.
And given the fact that he looked just about ready to fall over and sleep for the next decade to come- you knew that all your hard work would be tarnished the moment he hit the sheets.
But seeing him happy made you happy.
"Alright, be still.." You uttered, trailing off as you released his chin- you sat the rag to the side, instead reaching to pump a bit of cleanser into your palm; rubbing your hands together to warm the gel before scrubbing it into his beard.
Normally, he would've listened to you– he was good at that– however, he couldn't resist the urge to push his face into your hands, leaning into your touch; to which you could only click your tongue, suppressing a fond smile.
He was just that much of a sucker- you really did have him whipped.
As his eyes fell shut under the tender movements of your hands, you paused; palming over the bathroom counter, you took hold of a face razor- lapsing as you held it up to his jaw.
"Okay, now seriously- be still." You cautioned an you began to gently swipe the blade along the uneven edge of his facial hair, you cleaned up the stubble that lined the lower-half of his face like a shadow– using your thumb to brush away any excess hair as you went.
The last thing you wanted was to nick him by accident. But so-long as you were keeping a firm hold on his face- you could trust that he would stay put.
And by the end of it, he was just as dozy- and entirely cosseted. What more could you ask for?
When you were finished, you casted the razor aside- landing haphazardly in the bowl of the sink as you retook the wet rag in your hand, wiping off any excess hair, soapy residue.
"There we go," You cooed, gently patting the side of his face as you leaned in to press a light kiss to the bridge of his nose. "..much better."
While his hair was still a bit tangled and all over the place, pruning up his beard truly did make all the difference.
Usually, he didn't bother with grooming his facial hair- apart from a routine shave when it grew a little too long for his liking- but that was before he met you.
Now he certainly could appreciate how much a bit of self care could do for one man's face. Especially when it was done at the hands of someone so captivating.
"..Thank you, pretty." Taking a peek at himself through the mirror- eyes barely propped open- an appreciative murmur left his lips. Tilting his head to the side as you brushed a few loose strands of hair behind his ears so he could get a better look at himself.
Nodding, a muffled ' mmhm ' riveted against your pressed lips whilst pushed a few extra fly-aways from his face; though ultimately deciding to run your fingers through his hair instead, scattering generous kisses across his cheeks.
A low hum escaped his throat, his eyes threatening to close as you peppered kisses against his face- simpering under the warmth that came with your lips- Accompanied by the sensation of your hands carding through the strands of his hair had him gripping the edge of the counter– no doubt he would've toppled over if he hadn't.
And while yes, he didn't need to be told twice- he knew you had things to do- the only thing he could think about was spending his waning hours of freedom with you.
He was a patient man on all accounts, but there were some things in life that he'd rather have now.
Mafioso's arms tightened around your waist, hands trailing down your sides to cup the underside of your legs- hoisting you up against his chest, with the sole purpose of carrying you back to bed.
You didn't care to protest, resigning your fate to a lazy sunday morning; you wordlessly wrapped your arms around his neck.
He had successfully distracted you- partly because of your allowance- so you'd allow him this one, singular victory.
You'd get him back, just.. not today.
Pressing his back against the mattress with a satisfied grunt, he shifted to rest your body atop of his own like a glorified weighted blanket, his hands spread across your lower back- hugging you close whilst his legs entangled yours, he pulled you impossibly closer.
Your head fell limply against his chest as a hand came to gingerly cradle his cheek; mindlessly brushing your thumb across the alp of his cheek, your fingers trailed behind his ear.
He was, without a doubt- the most pampered, spoiled man in the world.
But so, so lucky to have you.