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Slow, lazy mornings like these were his favorites.
Part of it was the rarity. There were always animals that needed tending, fences to be fixed, daily chores, and all the other particulars that came with maintaining an active cattle ranch. All of which his father was quick to remind him of. The Abbott Ranch stopped for no one save the Lord… though some days Royal seemed far less intent on teaching Perry that same lesson.
But today was a Sunday, God's day, when Royal, Cecelia, and Amy headed off to church and the less urgent morning chores could be put off for a few hours. Rhett had even talked a reluctant Perry into taking care of the necessities like turning out the horses and feeding the cattle. It left Rhett with ample time to relax in bed with you, sleepy and curled up close against your back, breathing in the scent of your skin where he'd nuzzled into the nape of your neck. Even better? You hadn't woken up just yet.
Not that he'd tell you he'd woken up first.
Not on a morning like this.
Not when he'd found that if he lay here just right, kept his breathing slow and even and his eyes closed, he could trick you into thinking he was still sleeping. And if you thought he was still asleep...
You stirred awake like you usually did, gradually shifting beneath his arm where he'd thrown it over your hip. Then came the familiar pop of your jaw as you yawned, regular as clockwork, followed by a sleepy little stretch in his arms, the lazy unwinding of a cat who'd been dozing in the sun. He kept himself motionless through it all, save for an instinctive tightening of his arm around you. According to you, it was something he did every time you moved around in bed, regardless of whether he was asleep or awake.
There it was: your pause as you processed his lack of response, the absence of his usual rasped, affectionate, 'Mm, good mornin', darlin'' that he should have drawled against the back of your neck. Instead, the silence was broken only by the distant whinnying of the horses in the pasture and the bright chirp of the robins in the nest they'd set up in the eaves just outside the window.
"Rhett? Baby?" you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep. "You awake?"
He didn't so much as twitch.
You slowly rolled over in his arms, your movements cautious, clearly trying not to disturb his hold around your waist or wake him. From there, you edged your way up, inch by inch, until at last you were face to face with him.
It took everything in him not to hold his breath, not to tip his head in a silent request for what he knew was coming next as you just… considered him and his slack face for a long moment.
This was it: the best part, and the part that made the whole ruse worth it.
At last, he felt the first gentle stroke of your fingertips against his face, and down beneath the sheets, his toes curled.
People like him didn't get touched like this, not him, never him—all sharp edges rough as barbed wire, skin marred by years of scars and the scent of the Wyoming soil he could never quite escape. But you'd never hesitated. When you touched him like this, you were so breathtakingly, achingly gentle, far more gentle than he could ever remember being touched. 'Starved for it,' you'd told him once, only half-teasing, and while he'd laughed you off, he wasn't sure he could argue. Hell, his body still wasn't entirely used to the sensation, to soft, tender affection that came so easily, came without strings or the weight of expectation, the reminder that he had to earn it, had to be good enough to deserve it. But God, did he crave the feel of it, this strange thing he still wasn't sure how to ask for more of.
"Pretty, wonderful man," you whispered, trailing the backs of your fingers over his warm cheekbone, tracing carefully around a bruise he'd picked up after a rough dismount from a bull two nights before. From there, your touch glided down slowly until you could cup his face like he was something treasured, your thumb passing fondly over his lips. "How dare you look so handsome when you're just lying here, cowboy? The goddamn audacity of you."
You weren't doing this for him. Rhett knew that. Yet that was… why it meant so much to him, why it soothed some old ache in him: the way you touched him, talked to him or about him even when you didn't think he could hear you.
He knew what people said about him when he wasn't around, had paused instinctively in the hall or around a corner when he overheard his name. Usually it was just passing comments, a quick aside about his latest ride or discussing what the family had been up to lately, little things that could easily be discarded. But just as often what he heard was… harsher. Crueler.
"—nothing but trouble, you keep clear'a him—"
"—not like he's smart enough to make it anywhere else—"
"—good for a ride but not much else—"
He'd told himself he was used to it. Wasn't like he hadn't already overheard it from some of his teachers when he was younger; wasn't like he hadn't picked up on the similar sentiments from his own family, even if they thought they were being a bit more subtle about it. Hell, his dad had said it straight to his face once on a bad night: 'Some days you're just intent on bein' a goddamn disappointment, aren't you?' And while a stiff, awkward apology had come the next day, that moment had only confirmed what Rhett already knew.
He'd never be the golden child, never be seen as the good Abbott son. He was Wabang's wild-eyed trouble-maker, good only for drunken bar fights, for ranch work, and for the blood and sport of the arena… at least until the bulls he threw himself atop broke him permanently. Then he'd be good only for pity, one more failure, one more waste of potential, not that he'd ever had all that much.
But you… didn't talk about him like that.
He'd never heard that cold condescension in your voice when it came to him, never heard you talk about him as if he were anything less than your favorite person in the world, someone who made your life better. Always there in the stands to cheer for him rain or shine, through good rides and bad, your pride in him just as steady, just as unflinching as the land itself. Hell, he'd caught you bragging again last week about how he'd finally, finally stopped the sputter in your kitchen sink that three plumbers had been unable to fix—which hadn't been a big deal, he'd told you more than once, even if it had taken him three hours, two trips to the hardware store, and so much swearing he'd been surprised he hadn't peeled the paint in your kitchen. To you, he was your sweetheart, your stubborn cowboy, fearless and resourceful, with a big heart hidden behind his scowl and a dry, wicked sense of humor that had left you spitting out your drink more than once. And God help anyone who said something less than kind about him in front of you. Last time he'd thought you were going to bite Luke Tillerson right there in the bar, half-convinced he was going to wind up having to carry you out of the bar over his shoulder.
As for touch, well… he was pretty sure you were determined to help him catch up on all the physical comfort he'd missed out on over the years.
He hadn't thought all that affection would extend to when he was sleeping, though. It certainly wasn't what he'd been planning on the first time he'd tried this. No, he'd just wanted to see if you'd… stay with him there in bed if he was still asleep, just a little bit longer. The thought of asking for you to stay and curl up with him had been too much vulnerability in that moment, too liable to crack open his armored shell and reveal some tender, soft part before he was ready. But now that he knew what you'd actually do, he couldn't resist doing it again… and again and again, at least until he worked up the courage to ask for it instead.
Your lips brushed affectionately against his forehead, the softest little nuzzle against his skin, your warm breath stirring his messy hair. "I'm glad you're still asleep," you confessed, almost more to yourself than him. Your voice was so soft it was almost lost beneath the deceptively steady sound of his breathing. "I love getting to see you like this, when you can finally rest for a bit. You deserve it. You deserve so many good things. Do you know that? Cause I don't think you do, Rhett."
Your fingers trailed through his hair next, nails scraping delightfully against his scalp. He was grateful you couldn't see his face in that moment because he was pretty sure his eyes fluttered in pure pleasure, a pulse of liquid warmth rolling down his spine, and he knew, he knew if he let out that little moan trapped in his throat, you'd have teased him over it to no end, compared him to one of the damned dogs and that big groan they made when you rubbed their bellies just right. But god, it was just so hard not to react when you were making him feel this good. His whole body almost seemed to hum, a buzz beneath his skin like he was getting drunk on your touch, on the way you loved him so sweetly, so easily. The lingering tension and ache in his muscles from the day before slithered away, and he soaked it in, a dry, parched soil, hungry for every last drop.
"So when you wake up, I'll tell you again—"
Your lips dipped to his still-closed eyes, a feather-light kiss for each lid.
"—that I love you, and that you're a good man. My favorite person in the world."
A kiss to the tip of his nose, and he only just kept it from twitching. He wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. And he didn't want to, tempted to just pull you in and spend the rest of the morning with you underneath him like he hadn't just had you last night, his mouth purring filth into your ear, his palm pressed over your mouth to keep your moans quiet as he'd buried himself in you over and over again. The house was quiet now, and he could take his time this morning, try to show you how much you meant to him, make you feel just as good, as loved as he did. No one was around to stop him, and God knew he could never get enough of you.
But you weren't done.
"And then I'll tell you again, and again, and again. For as long as you'll let me. Because that's what you deserve, no matter how much you think otherwise."
You finished with the lightest brush of your lips against his, soft and tender. When paired with another lazy, loving stroke of your fingers through his hair, he couldn't help but finally let out a glutted moan, contented and relaxed, floating in a thick haze that softened the edges of the world around him.
"Hey," you murmured, nuzzling against his mouth. His eyes finally fluttered open to meet your gaze. This close, there was no missing the affection and warmth in them as you smiled, just a touch apologetic. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up."
"Mmm, maybe I like wakin' up to you all pretty and warm and lovin' on me," he mumbled, voice hoarse and thick with what you'd hopefully think was sleep. He tightened his arm around your waist and then rolled lazily onto his back, bringing you with him until you were draped over his chest. The sweet warmth and weight of you sprawled on top of him made him sigh, his eyes fluttering shut in contentment. That sigh shifted easily to a low rumble when he felt your lips dip to his throat, and he eagerly rolled his head back to give you room, his hands sliding up under your shirt so he could palm the warm, smooth skin of your back. "Whole lot better than that alarm. Can you do this every mornin'?"
"If I woke you up like this every morning, you'd never get out of bed." You kissed warmly down his throat before nipping playfully at the junction between his neck and shoulder, making him grunt, his hips twitching under you.
"Tell me why that's a bad thing?"
"Someone's gotta feed the cows or they'll break in and eat us," you said, very very seriously.
He groaned, rolling his head back. "Goddamn man-eating cows."
You hummed before dipping your head again, kissing your way across his collarbone and over the black silhouette of the bullrider and bull etched across his chest. "Perry took care of them today, so I think we're safe for now at least. We can enjoy the morning while we have the chance."
"Speakin' of which," he asked you innocently, "what were you sayin' a minute ago? I only caught the end as I woke up."
He almost thought you'd caught him then, your mouth hovering over his chest where you'd been making your way over to the scar on the other side. But he just… needed to hear it again, even just a scrap of it. He couldn't quite see himself the way you did, had puzzled over it too many nights to count, why you'd picked someone who had so little to give you, but that didn't matter. Not here, not now. All that mattered was that you loved him, saw him in a way no one else did. Most days, that was enough.
You lifted your head, propping your chin on one hand as you used your other hand to fondly trace the outline of his tattoo. "I was just saying you're a good man who deserves the world," you said easily, and there it was again, that smile, loving and warm and endlessly affectionate—the one that carved through him like a bolt of lightning every goddamn time, made something small and tense and vulnerable inside him finally unwind to breathe. The feeling swelled up again in his chest, tangled and twisted, words knotted and stuck fast in his throat as they all tried to escape at once.
He'd never been any good with words, something he was working on with you, but even so, some of that feeling still found a way out, three rapid squeezes to your hips, his way of speaking even when he felt a little unsure, didn't quite know how to translate his feelings into words.
I love you.
Your smile only grew brighter, fonder. "That's also what I was telling you, by the way. Though I hope you know by now."
"I don't know about that," he said reluctantly, opening one eye to glance down at you. Your brow had already furrowed in confusion. "You only kissed me once that I remember."
The corner of your lip quirked, but still, you tried to keep up the act, narrowing your eyes at him. "I definitely kissed your neck repeatedly. And your chest."
"Doesn't count. I was still half-asleep, so my memory's a little fuzzy."
"Oh please."
"And I got thrown off that last bull pretty hard two nights ago," he told you solemnly. "Might've affected me. Gave me a concussion. I'm just sayin', you might need to do it again, make sure the memory sticks this time."
"I suppose I can do that," you said in amusement, rising onto your hands and knees, clearly intending to crawl back up his body.
You didn't get very far, though, before his calloused hands shot out. With a single playful swat to your ass that made you shriek, he hauled you easily up his body until you were sprawled out right where he wanted you, your face even with his, his nose nudging against your cheek. "There ya go, darlin'. Right back where you belong."
"Then I guess it's time to say good morning, Rhett," You leaned down to kiss him happily, your lips slotting easily with his. "Love you."
These words, at least, he knew.
"Love you, too, pretty girl."