Blissful Oneshots

Day of Rest (Scomiche)

In case anyone's feeling a bit Scomiche deprived these days, have some fluffy smut. I blame several people for this.

Mitch slowly wakes to the feeling of gentle hands smoothing over his skin, one large palm sliding down the entire length of his side, just on the right side of ticklish, the other wrapped loosely around the hand he has stretched in front of him, caressing the soft flesh at the base of his thumb.

He hums sleepily, appreciating the warmth and intimacy of the moment. They don't get many of these moments these days, as busy as they are, and this is nice with the sun streaming in through the sheer curtains and no alarm blaring to force them up and out of bed. Which of course is when Mitch stiffens in panic, wondering what he's forgotten and where they're supposed to be right now.

"Shhh, s'okay," mumbles a gravelly, sleep-deep voice near his ear. The hand on his side smooths back up his torso, this time crossing over it and pulling him back against the large warm body behind him. "It's Saturday. There's nowhere we need to be 'til tonight."

Oh thank God. Mitch lets himself be cuddled close, nestling into the bicep under his neck and the broad chest behind him. His hands find Scott's, the bottom one turning to interweave their fingers together in front of them while the other slides along the forearm across his chest, enjoying the rasp of fine blond hairs he finds there. He turns his head slightly to place a soft kiss on a flowered shoulder and gets one in return on the base of his neck.

They cuddle together for a while; it doesn't take long for Scott to fall back asleep. Mitch intentionally matches his breathing to the pace of the soft snores behind him until he also dozes off.

When he wakes again, the sun is even higher in the sky, casting a warm ray across their big white bed. His hands have moved, now clasped loosely together in front of him, but there's still a big palm on his sternum pressing him back into a warm wall of skin. Scott's other arm is bent up and crossed in front of him now, resting on his opposite shoulder. The embrace is loose, comforting rather than confining, and Mitch feels so good and safe and warm.

The peace can't last forever though. A moment later, Wyatt hops up on the bed, stalking around until he locates Mitch's face. Then he sits on his haunches and stares at him with the haughtiest expression ever.

"Are you pissed I stole your snuggle buddy?" Mitch asks quietly.

Wyatt ignores the question and keeps staring.

"Mmmwah?" is Scott's response.

"Our child is annoyed that I'm hogging your attention."

"Sorry Wy Wy," Scott says, snuffling into the space between Mitch's shoulder and neck. He straightens the arm under Mitch's head and reaches over to pet Wyatt, his hand tilting to scratch behind his ear. It makes his bicep bulge slightly under Mitch's neck.

"Hey," Mitch complains. "You're ruining my pillow."

"Sorry Mitchy." He smooths his other hand up Mitch's chest and scratches behind Mitch's ear.

Mitch rolls his eyes and takes the opportunity to roll over. He's confronted by one of his favorite looks: sleepy, half-closed blue eyes, a disordered mop of blond hair, warmth-flushed cheeks marred only by a pillow-induced crease line, soft scruff just starting to exceed its normal length, and a tired but slightly mischievous curve to the bow of those pink lips. Mitch can't help but lean in and try to kiss it away.

He plans for it to be brief, just a light press before he tries to fall back to sleep, but Scott opens beautifully to him, moaning deep in his chest. His arms surround Mitch again, palms against his shoulder blades and as he rolls onto his back, Mitch is pulled with him until he's sprawled half on top, their lips still connected.