Who Do You Love - Dean Ambrose

Chapter 38: Night Moves

Being back at home was the tonic we both needed and that became fast apparent as we walked through the door. Inside was our stuff, our smell and our memories, not forgetting our excitable rescue pooch as well. In fact Boomer was so damn happy to see us that I totally forgot about the thumping in my head and about the asshole backstabber who had caused it because I all I could focus on was the fluffy black hair and the slobbering tongue trying to creep across my features with such determination that I couldn't help but laugh.

"Boom-Boom stop, you great big idiot."

Life it seemed, was still ticking away and although I had lost plenty in the general scheme of things, the people that mattered were still right there with me and I also had a home and a pet and a network.

It was okay.

They were everything I would ever really need.

Having waved goodbye to our elderly house sitter, who had thankfully never watched wrestling in her life, I hauled myself up the stairs to our bedroom then collapsed face down with a moan onto the sheets.

"Ugh."

It had been a pretty hectic twenty four hours and I was ready to head back into the soothing world of sleep. In fact I could barely even take off my jacket I was so completely worn out by the whole thing and noticing it Dean walked in with a chuckle and leant against the doorframe with a wry brow raised up,

"Gotta say, I prefer when you sleep naked."

I waved a hand at him groggily,

"Too tired."

"Princess – ,"

I twisted my face into the comforter and whined at him a little like a petulant child,

"No, don't make me move."

He stepped across anyway with a fond sort of snort sound and then very gently nudged me until I tipped over onto my back. His face was hanging just inches above me and his blue eyes were twinkling in the dimmed orange light. I reached up a hand and traced a finger across his jawline and he responded by teasingly snapping his teeth, making me squeak as he dragged down my zipper and pulled my arms gently out of the sleeves.

"Not gonna let you sleep like this baby, looks like a hobo crawled into our bed."

I frowned at him,

"Hey – ,"

"But a really fuckin' cute one."

He took the opportunity to gently kiss my head and I reached up on instinct and hooked his chin nearer which he responded to at once by fusing our lips. It wasn't a passionate or hungry sort of meeting, but instead something sweeter and infused with deep love.

"Mmmm – ,"

I couldn't help the way it made me feel though and he moved his head back with a tiny little smirk. He had heard that sound before a whole bunch of times and he knew what it meant.

"You've got concussion."

"I don't care."

Nor was I lying since it didn't seem important and nor had the doctors mentioned not making love. In my mind therefore it meant that sex was a good thing and more than likely fundamental to my recovery process.