Fic: You Feel Like Home
Title: You Feel Like Home
Category: Suits
Word Count: 835
Rating: Strong T (this is one of those that I struggle with where the line is...)
Spoilers: General series, set in future
A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble (we're talking less than 500 words) but it got away from me and here we are. Enjoy. Title taken from Sarah Darling's Home to Me.
Summary: He highly suspects it’s the latter though; the feel of her skin on his is vivid even hours later.
His first thought the morning after isn’t one of disbelief. Or even that he can’t wait to do this again.
(Though, holy fuck, he really can’t. The words 'mind blowing' and 'amazing' come to mind.)
No, it’s that he really, really needs to fix his hair before she wakes up.
Something is keeping him pinned to the bed though. Whether it’s the sheets tangled around his feet or her hair fanned over his shoulder, he’s not entirely sure.
(He highly suspects it’s the latter though; the feel of her skin on his is vivid even hours later.)
He stares up at the ceiling for awhile, watches the shadows dance and play as thoughts from the previous evening scatter in his brain. She sighs in her sleep, her hand flexing on his back as she unconsciously rolls closer and he can’t help but smile.
Nothing about this was ever easy, but now that they’re here it seems like the most natural fucking thing in the world.
(He remembers the way she pushed him against the door the night before, how her hands were shaking, as she finally-finally-let go.
Some would probably laugh in disbelief if they knew she was the one that had put the brakes on them all these years. She’s always been the one to keep him in line though and, as much as he’d wanted this before, he knew she was right; they had too much to risk on one night. It had to be more.
And hell, was it ever.)
There’s no falling back to sleep now so he slips out of bed, careful to pull the sheets up around her, before sliding into a pair of faded jeans. The floor is cold on his feet and it’s the only thing that can spurn him to the kitchen to make coffee before tackling his hair.
The machine starts to warm up and he shuffles towards the bathroom. He’s almost there when he hears it: a soft chuckle followed by a heavy sigh. He turns and finds her in the doorway of his room, mouth turned up in a half smile, her hair glowing in the rising sun.
“If Louis could see you now.” The smile grows, half in affection, half in pride.
That she gets to see him like this.
That she’s responsible for it.
The thought sends heat skittering down his spine and he presses his lips together in effort to keep himself from tackling her to the floor right then.
“He’d be completely jealous of my view? I know.”
“More like he’d blackmail you with threats of telling the whole firm what a slob you are.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he arches a brow at her. “He’d have no proof.”
"He could easily.” She gestures to her cell phone, laughter and something else-comfort? warmth?-coloring her tone.
Before he even has the chance to consider a retort, she’s snapped a picture of him, her head thrown back in joy as she inspects the result.
He quickly moves to her, attempting to grab the phone, but only managing to fall against her instead. Groaning, he narrows his eyes at her as she flashes the picture at him. He’s shirtless, stubble spreading over his jaw, his hair sticking up in no less than twenty different directions.
"I think I might make it my screensaver.”
“I doubt Jessica would approve.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder and grins as he feels her breath hitch.
“You never know, it might help close some of the female clients and she- Oh, shit...” She gasps, tossing the phone to the couch as his lips hit that spot on her throat and his hips press against hers. “Oh, screw it, that’s...” She winds her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “For my eyes only.”
“Mhmm.” It comes out part assent, part groan, his head cloudy with the feel of her.
Of them.
“Don’t think I won’t hesitate to use it as blackmail though.”
“Wouldn’t... expect... any less...” Her hands are everywhere, on his back, pressing hard into his shoulders, pulling him forward, back towards the bed. He breaks away for a minute, tries to slow his rapid breathing.
She tilts her head towards him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as their eyes meet and he laughs deeply, his hands cupping her hips as they fall to the bed.
“What’s so funny?” Her nails dig into his shoulders, mouth ghosting over his jaw.
"Nothing, just...” He pins her beneath him, eyes dancing in the low morning light. “I have blackmail, too.”
“Hmm?” It comes out an exhale, her eyes slamming shut as he moves against her.
Grinning, he leans closer, hums the word against her throat.
“Tattoo.”
Her laugh vibrates against his chest, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck as he smiles and covers her mouth once again, all thoughts of showering and blow drying, gels and mousses, completely gone.
Category: Suits
Word Count: 835
Rating: Strong T (this is one of those that I struggle with where the line is...)
Spoilers: General series, set in future
A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble (we're talking less than 500 words) but it got away from me and here we are. Enjoy. Title taken from Sarah Darling's Home to Me.
Summary: He highly suspects it’s the latter though; the feel of her skin on his is vivid even hours later.
His first thought the morning after isn’t one of disbelief. Or even that he can’t wait to do this again.
(Though, holy fuck, he really can’t. The words 'mind blowing' and 'amazing' come to mind.)
No, it’s that he really, really needs to fix his hair before she wakes up.
Something is keeping him pinned to the bed though. Whether it’s the sheets tangled around his feet or her hair fanned over his shoulder, he’s not entirely sure.
(He highly suspects it’s the latter though; the feel of her skin on his is vivid even hours later.)
He stares up at the ceiling for awhile, watches the shadows dance and play as thoughts from the previous evening scatter in his brain. She sighs in her sleep, her hand flexing on his back as she unconsciously rolls closer and he can’t help but smile.
Nothing about this was ever easy, but now that they’re here it seems like the most natural fucking thing in the world.
(He remembers the way she pushed him against the door the night before, how her hands were shaking, as she finally-finally-let go.
Some would probably laugh in disbelief if they knew she was the one that had put the brakes on them all these years. She’s always been the one to keep him in line though and, as much as he’d wanted this before, he knew she was right; they had too much to risk on one night. It had to be more.
And hell, was it ever.)
There’s no falling back to sleep now so he slips out of bed, careful to pull the sheets up around her, before sliding into a pair of faded jeans. The floor is cold on his feet and it’s the only thing that can spurn him to the kitchen to make coffee before tackling his hair.
The machine starts to warm up and he shuffles towards the bathroom. He’s almost there when he hears it: a soft chuckle followed by a heavy sigh. He turns and finds her in the doorway of his room, mouth turned up in a half smile, her hair glowing in the rising sun.
“If Louis could see you now.” The smile grows, half in affection, half in pride.
That she gets to see him like this.
That she’s responsible for it.
The thought sends heat skittering down his spine and he presses his lips together in effort to keep himself from tackling her to the floor right then.
“He’d be completely jealous of my view? I know.”
“More like he’d blackmail you with threats of telling the whole firm what a slob you are.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he arches a brow at her. “He’d have no proof.”
"He could easily.” She gestures to her cell phone, laughter and something else-comfort? warmth?-coloring her tone.
Before he even has the chance to consider a retort, she’s snapped a picture of him, her head thrown back in joy as she inspects the result.
He quickly moves to her, attempting to grab the phone, but only managing to fall against her instead. Groaning, he narrows his eyes at her as she flashes the picture at him. He’s shirtless, stubble spreading over his jaw, his hair sticking up in no less than twenty different directions.
"I think I might make it my screensaver.”
“I doubt Jessica would approve.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder and grins as he feels her breath hitch.
“You never know, it might help close some of the female clients and she- Oh, shit...” She gasps, tossing the phone to the couch as his lips hit that spot on her throat and his hips press against hers. “Oh, screw it, that’s...” She winds her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “For my eyes only.”
“Mhmm.” It comes out part assent, part groan, his head cloudy with the feel of her.
Of them.
“Don’t think I won’t hesitate to use it as blackmail though.”
“Wouldn’t... expect... any less...” Her hands are everywhere, on his back, pressing hard into his shoulders, pulling him forward, back towards the bed. He breaks away for a minute, tries to slow his rapid breathing.
She tilts her head towards him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as their eyes meet and he laughs deeply, his hands cupping her hips as they fall to the bed.
“What’s so funny?” Her nails dig into his shoulders, mouth ghosting over his jaw.
"Nothing, just...” He pins her beneath him, eyes dancing in the low morning light. “I have blackmail, too.”
“Hmm?” It comes out an exhale, her eyes slamming shut as he moves against her.
Grinning, he leans closer, hums the word against her throat.
“Tattoo.”
Her laugh vibrates against his chest, fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck as he smiles and covers her mouth once again, all thoughts of showering and blow drying, gels and mousses, completely gone.