jim street oneshots

comfortable [ ❥ ]

By the time you finally get home, Street is beyond done with the day and you're not feeling much different.

He traipses through the door with you in tow, and throws his bag down by the door with a groan. Duke weaves around his legs, eyes bright and tail wagging as he seeks for attention that ends up coming in the form of a tired pat to the head from Street as be stands by the sofa and tors off his boots, before throwing himself down on the sofa with a deep exhale of relief.

Your laugh at his dramatics doesn't go unheard, and he blindly waves his hand dismissively at you as Duke trots over to you in search of affection. Kneeling down, you dote on the retriever with all the head scratches he could want until he's satisfied and trots away to his bed on the other side of the room.

Street's got his head buried in the sofa cushions the next time your eyes fall on him. As you kick off your shoes, you spy the way he stretches out his back in not a dissimilar way to the stray cats out back do in the mornings and the action makes you smile as you pad over to the sofa and prod him softly in the shoulder.

"What?" He asks gruffly, only turning over enough to allow you to see half the unimpressed expression he's looking up at you with.

"Come on, man." You bemoan him in a quiet voice, motioning with your hands for him to make himself small and allow you room to lay down too. "Scooch over."

After a second of either confusion or hesitation, he obliges. He straightens out his gangly legs and lays closer into the back of the sofa as you gingerly climb on, and shift to lie down with your front flush with his back and your arm snaked around his waist.

He softens up under your embrace, exhaling deeply as you tuck your face into his neck and lay a soft kiss against the exposed skin of his back that makes a light blush dust across his cheeks. He finds your hand where it lays lightly on his stomach and weaves your fingers together, smiling when he feels you squeeze his hand back.

He says something under his breath, and you can't quite make it out. "Hm?"

"This is nice." He repeats, voice sounding uncharacteristically calm for the vulnerability of the moment as his fingers trace delicate patterns over your knuckles. "Really nice."

"I know." And you mean it, too. He smells of a familiar sandalwood and amber and the way all the tenseness drains from his body when you touch him feels distinctly like home, even if it's in a way you're not entirely used to. It's enough for you though, and it must be for Street too as it's not long before his breathing evens out and his hand stalls its movements as he starts to fall asleep in your arms.