Siren's Song

Homebodies

"So," he sets the mug of coffee down on top of the book she's reading, this week. Poetry that she reads lines from when she likes the way the words fit. ("A good poem is like a good recipe, not only does it have the right ingredients, but they fit and complement each other." she'd explained shyly, when he asked her why she loved poetry. Of course, the chef in her crept out in her answer but she'd looked so damn cute, he hadn't been able to fight back the grin."). 

"I canceled our dinner reservations for tonight," climbing back in the bed, he sinks down just enough to let her press the back of her head to his chest. "Eme is taking Christopher to the charity thing and then, they're going for pizza after on Thursday night, and my sister swapped weeks with me on the family dinner so we can stay home on Saturday."

"Hmmm. I like the sound of that." Teri sighs, shifting further back into his arms. "Sorry for not wanting to leave the house."

"Five whole days at home with a gorgeous woman - babe, this is heaven for me." Dean laughs, nuzzling into the top of her head. "And, we're both tired. We need a little break. Some rest. I feel like I've seen more of the gate attendants at the airport than I have my wife."

"I just missed you and I don't feel like sharing you, right now." she turns her head to press her ear to his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart. "We don't get time to ourselves very much."

"I think I'm going to shave a few things from my schedule," he says this, not because he's exhausted - although, he is - but because he's desperate to have more than a few days at a time of being with his wife.

Also, sex.

Sex is a thing, he doesn't have much of, when he's got a full schedule. He'd very much like to reacquaint himself with the whole practice, not just the soft purr of his wife over the phone, telling him what to do, or giving her instructions on how to use her favorite toys to drag out the pleasure in a similar manner to how he does it. It's not quite the same as actual sex, but she doesn't like travel quite as much as he does, and anyway, doing it in a hotel room with the possibility of being heard has never appealed to them.

"Contracts, my love." she reminds him, wrapping both of her arms around one of his to tug it closer; hugging it to her body in a similar manner to how she does his pillow when he's not home. (Thank you, Emerson, for those incriminating, blackmail worthy but completely adorable photos.)

"Two of them don't even have contracts." Dean explains, combing a gentle hand through her hair. "And, they don't start filming for a while so I have time to opt out before they can't replace me."

"You're irreplaceable, my love." Teri tilts her head until she can kiss the underside of his jaw. "If you opt out, just know, the chances of you leaving this bed before your next project are very, very slim."

Dean's laugh rumbles through her; the gentle vibration curls down her spine. "Maybe," there's nothing but breath, barely a sound to his voice. "I don't want to leave."

"Good."

Teri's never been all that heavy of a sleeper but he can feel her slowly giving in. The slump of her body into his, shoulders shifting downward, breath shifting into a deep, even rhythm. The poetry book sits on the table and, somewhere, in the recesses of his memory, there's a poem from his youth stuck permanently in his head.

If he's completely honest, it is permanently stuck in his head because from the moment he saw it, he felt it. It had felt funny reading words that didn't paint pictures of unspeakable tragedies, that didn't describe the nightmares of war, and when he'd dared to speak the words, they tasted foreign; unusual in shape, in context, so sweet, and yet so heavy, sinking into every crevice, feeling warm and unusual and familiar all at once.

"When I saw you first," he greets the words like an old friend, with a breath, a smile, and the hazy mist of tears. "It took every ounce of me not to kiss you. When I first heard your laugh," he feels her drifting off, feels the weight of her sinking into him. "It took every ounce of me to not marry you, and when I met your soul..."

It's that last line that always does him in, always pulls the tears from his eyes, and it is the line that made him realize how deeply he'd fallen in love with Teri. He'd never given much thought to it, even when Sharon pressed him on the issue. Sure, he loved her, but only as a friend. She was a married woman. He wasn't allowed to be in love with her.

"When I met your soul," he hugs her tighter, listening to her sigh, completely content in his arms. "When I met your soul, Teri Lynn, it took every ounce of me."

He presses his face into the top of her head and breathes her in, feels the weight of her like a comfortable blanket on top of him. She's drifting off, maybe, already drifted, and he won't be able to move for a while but he doesn't care. His wife is safe, happy, and comfortable in his arms and he doesn't have any commitments for a while.

Life can move on.

They'll catch up.