Priorities (JC x Reader)

You woke to the sound of the shower in your bathroom and flipped over to look at the clock. It felt much too early, but the hands read 11:17, to your surprise. It wasn't often that you slept this late. You turned over, yawning and stretching, and felt the slight warmth of the bed next to you, also seeing the disheveled look of the sheets. He must not have slept well.

While you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stretched and groaned a few more times for good measure, you heard the shower stop and its curtain slide across the rod. Steam wafted from the shower into your room, leaving the air warm and sticky.

Before long, you heard the patting of feet on the slick tile of the bathroom, so, obviously, you closed your eyes and pretended to sleep while you peeked through your lashes to watch the show.

He came out, his waist wrapped in a towel, his hips and their indentations playing a game of peek-a-boo with you as he walked. You glanced over his belly and his slightly toned chest, covered in still-damp, glistening hair and continued up past his shoulders to his face. His jaw as prominent as ever, he glanced at you, who he assumed was still dreaming, and his thin lips cracked a smirk. His slightly sunken eyes were soft, his brow unfurrowed, which wasn't very common, as he glanced at you, melting your heart. You'd always wished you could be a third party to be able to see his face when he looked at you when you weren't paying attention, and now you finally had an opportunity that ended up being exactly how you'd hoped.

You continued on, observing that he hadn't managed to give his hair any thought yet, apart from towel-drying it, because though it was thin, it stood up in every single direction possible. He turned to the dresser to find some boxers, and you watched the slight muscles of his arms and back as he rifled through the drawer. Once he dug around for a bit and found a pair that he was satisfied with, he dropped his towel and slipped them on, pulling them up for what seemed like an eternity because of the length of his legs.

He turned and walked toward the closet, giving you a perfect view of his side profile. He was an absurdly tall and lanky man, but he had enough muscle to discern him from a twig, so you had to give him some credit. The part that interested you the most was that this angle seemed to enhance your ability to see his member, snugly resting against the fabric of his shorts. The two of you hadn't engaged in any strenuous activity in a good bit because of your schedules, what with you being busy with (insert occupation) and him spending more time writing sketches with the boys, as Flying Circus had become increasingly popular. You did long for him when you had spare moments to think, and you knew he did the same for you, hence his tossing and turning at night.

He then emerged from the closet with a button-up and a pair of slacks, throwing you a bit, because you swore that he'd told you he wasn't meeting the other boys to write until later in the week. You'd been looking forward to today because you'd expected it to be the two of you at home without any concrete plans, which you hoped you could talk him into changing (wink wink, nahdge nahdge).

You decided to intervene before he put too many layers of clothes on. You sat up slowly and quietly while his back was to you. You paused for a moment, preparing yourself, and then cleared your throat obnoxiously, but only once. Because that was just enough. You'd never seen him jump so hard in all the time the two of you had been together.

"Fahck!"

He whipped his head around, his eyes gigantic. "Thought you wuh sleepin, love. Scared the shit ou' of me."

You laughed and asked, "Where are you going?"

He paused, looking at you with a most puzzled expression. "It is Monday, innit?" he asked.

"It is. But I thought you said you weren't meeting to write until later in the week."

"Ah, that's next week, dear."