#javi asks

Javier doesn’t have women over in the afternoons, nor the mornings. Never has. Even with his few days off it’s just not a thing he’s ever done - to see someone anytime other than in the evenings has always felt too intimate, like he knows them. And they never stay - Javi’s gotten close before and it didn’t end well for either of them so it doesn’t happen now.

So the moment catches him off guard.

It’s not that Javi had forgotten you were there in his bedroom - far from it - but it’s a sight he hasn’t seen in a god-long time. A woman in his bed? At this time of day? The last time this happened must have been Loraine. That’s a thought that single-handedly hits him - the comparison of situations, the realisation that this is significant. But it’s unexpectedly soothed because it’s you.

On your side, curved into and holding his pillow as you doze, the view before him is a picture perfect scene of something gentle and soft and neither of those words are ones he often associates with himself. The sun coming through at just the right angle, it kisses your bare shoulders and slides down your curves. Bare from the waist up - it’s been a hot day - the bedsheets practically draped over and pooling around you and fuck you’re gorgeous. But he’s seen beautiful women in a shared bed before and that’s not what makes him move, the draw compellingly emotional as much as it is unconscious.

Before Javi knows what he’s doing he’s slipping quietly across the room and dipping the mattress with his weight. There’s a cross breeze here, between the open window - where the sounds of life are drifting up - and the old rickety fan (he stole from work) stacked precariously on a few books on his dresser. He smiles softly at the memory of you setting that up a few days ago. At the way you’d clambered out of bed and gone back and forth until the angle of the fan was just right. At the time he’d just snorted at your efforts, already resigned to the heat of the day burning off. But obviously it’d been worth it because now it’s dropped the temperature in the room enough for you to fall asleep in the day.

There was a time when Javi would have hesitated, the nature of his relationships so transactional he would never have touched without the other person being aware. Now he does it without thinking. Allows himself to touch you. But it’s not an instance of him bypassing your permission and that’s not what would have made him hesitate before, your relationship now at the stage where he feels more than comfortable touching. He allows by not holding himself back from the quiet moment scared he might ruin it. (Before he might not have even left the doorway.) But even more so, he allows by not holding himself back from how it’s making him feel and how scared he would have been with this feeling even half a year ago - he would have left the scene too scared if he set foot in it in case he'd ruin it for someone else because Javier Peña and domesticity do not have a strong past. But now? Now all he feels is slow and gentle waves of soft warmth. No heat, no pressing urgency to do something, or even to run away. It’s like being held even without your touch. A peace.

Javi’s calloused hand settles on your bare hip first, watching your face for any sign of waking. For a moment a small frown starts to form - a gentle furrow in your brow, your lips pressing together as some part of you registers the contact and tries to work it out. It fades easily as he rubs his thumb over your hip bone, dipping in long sweeps down to the crease of your thigh and back up, firm enough not to tickle. The movement familiar and soothing you drop back deeper into sleep. Javi pulls the sheet up a little higher, to rest more securely on your hip.

Next he runs his hand open-palmed up your body. Barely touching as it dips down into your curves and back up, Javi has a quiet admiration in the action as he watches his hand go. Soft deserves gentle and your skin is butter-smooth under his touched and unmarred with scars. He almost wants to repeat the action and so he lets himself, allowing his hand to go back and forth along the dip of your waist a few times. It’s something he’s thought of doing many times before, has done absentmindedly enough as he holds you close with one arm, puffing out cigarette smoke away from you. But it’s not something he has done so purposefully before. It feels…vulnerable to do it, in a way, to allow any moment to pause for quiet reverence. But now Javi lets his hand sweep up and down, following the natural curve of your body before coming to a stop over your ribs. It’s a familiar place for his hand to be, landing in a habitual rest of his broad fingers spanning your side and his thumb settling between your breasts. That’s just where it goes, where his hand settles most nights. He presses in just a little to feel your heart beat before he carries on, grazing the side of your breast as he goes.

When Javi’s hand reaches your shoulder he can’t help but to lean forward and kiss it - finds himself inexplicably, inevitably pulled downwards until he’s left resting with his nose against the curve of it, a place he can tip his head back up and kiss you again. So he does a few times until he settles to just breath you in, gently nuzzling down a bit in a kind of gentle content he hasn’t known in years.

Javier will go back to what he was doing in a minute, but for now he just wants to sit here a while longer.

Sometimes you’ll wake to find him wrapped around you; clinging tight, holding you pressed into him with a hand on the base of your ribcage, thumb on your sternum and his head pressed between your shoulder blades. Curled up so tight, pressed in against you so close like only your soft body could block out the harsh realities of the world he occupies, your presence his only respite.

On a few blissful nights Javi’s grip is lighter, his expression relaxed. If he’s curled up behind you it’s almost a guarantee that his hand will be holding you just under your breast; like he’s reaching for your heart but doesn’t want to impose himself on it. He’s all heavy limbs tangled, allowing himself soft physical comforts like it’s an accident; he couldn’t ever ask for them out loud, awake.

But on rare nights Javi sleeps peacefully, flat on his back, spread out and a hand on his stomach. He takes up space - actually allows himself to knowing you won’t take offence at it - but you’re always welcomed, encouraged even, in his half-asleep state to take up his space too. To tuck yourself against his side, a hand over his heart, face pressed into his neck; to fold yourself into him. Sometimes you even get to wake like this - either in the still night or at the first breaking lights - and see him unguarded, see that he does still remember how to be at peace. You think it’s a kindness the universe has offered you both, to have lifted the weight off him for a bit, to carry it for him through the nights.

You’re not sure what woke you up tonight - was it people passing under the window? A car on a street somewhere? Your brain is hazy with sleep but nothing feels a threat, the only thing out of place is that Javi isn’t at your back. You can’t summon the time to your mind, though it doesn’t seem light enough to for him to have already gotten up early for work. Turning over and reaching for his side of the bed you find Javi still there, chest rising and falling easily with soft breathes.

Half his face is in shadow, the other illuminated by the dim streetlights outside. It offsets his profile, the temptation strong to reach up and run a single finger down his hawkish nose, the only thing staying your hand the awakening realisation that tonight Javier sleeps peacefully; the usual furrow between his brows is relaxed, any tension you find in his frame, even in sleep, gone.

It’s been a long time since Javi has slept peacefully like this, most nights lately taken over by too-late work shifts, staring at files until the words merge into one and even the cigarettes and alcohol can’t keep him awake. If he wakes now will he sleep just as well after? You don’t want to disturb him but you can’t resist taking the chance to simply watch him sleep like this. Your fingertips itch to skate over his features, to remember what they feel like when there’s no tension there, but you can’t, shouldn’t, can’t wake him now. So they settle over his bare chest instead, pressing down just enough to feel his heartbeat as you lean propped over him, watching him sleep.

Javi wakes with a jerk, his hand instinctively grabbing at the feeling on his chest, his eyebrows pressing back together. You stop, wide-eyed, frozen and cursing yourself for disturbing his sleep hoping that if you don’t move he’ll simply fall back asleep again.

But there’s no grumble, no tension in him even now as he wakes. Because it’s you. He recognises your softness, your weight on him and your smell. It’s you and you’re safe and he’s safe and he settles back down into the mattress with a soft exhale, tension breathed out.

He mumbles out something incoherent, more a humming sound and a deep vibration through his chest than words. His fingers relaxing their hold on yours to slowly and clumsily interlace, stilling the motions you hadn’t noticed yourself doing, the patterns you’d been drawing on his chest.

“What was that Javi?”

“Tickles.” Is all you get as he makes the effort to enunciate the word, his voice raspy and rough with sleep.

“Oh?” Your reply soft with a hum of a laugh, don’t resist the urge to slide your hand across his chest more, thumb rubbing at the skin over his heart. He shifts under the touch, abs drawing tight for a moment, pulling away slightly like it really does tickle and you can’t help the small tease of rubbing your fingers over his bare nipple just to get a reaction now he’s awake. It works; he jerks and grabs at your hand, holding it a little tighter although his grumble comes with the soft exhale of a laugh and a good natured, half mumbled curse.

Like he’s trying to stop a repeat he hooks his fingers under yours and starts to lift your hand away. Smiling sweetly up at him you find his eyes half open, darker in the night but soft still, peaceful and warm with a spark of mischief. A hint of a smile curls his lips as he slowly raises your hand to his face. He kisses your fingertips so lightly, holding your breath with a feather-touch hold and gentle gaze. Eyes still on yours Javi unfolds your hand to press a single kiss to the palm, his nose catching against your fingers as he moves.

Then he holds there. He holds your hand, smaller in his own, folded back over safe, his lips against the bend of your thumb. He holds your gaze, even as he seems to be drifting back to sleep again. And he holds you so tenderly, a palm on the back of your head you’d hadn’t noticed him placing there and there’s the man you love; with his softness that he keeps hidden away so careful lest the world takes and taints it. The moment holds... then passes, an ebbing tide you’re drawn into, rocking up into him.

“Cm’ere honey.” You do. His words still sleep-rough but a bit clearer, his fingers slipping just as molasses-slow to encompass your hand and wrist, giving a gentle tug upwards. You shift up his chest, pulled by more than his touch and tuck yourself against his side. A calloused palm places your hand flat against his chest, his chin tucked down to watch through half closed eyes as you slip your fingers up and over his heart again. Javi hums softly at the action, pressing his hand down over yours and keeping it there almost as if he’s saying it’s yours. His free arm encircles your waist, the warm and broad hand cupping the back of your head as he turns his own just enough to graze your hairline with a kiss.

“Sleep.” A second kiss, followed by a third for luck. Javi settles back into the mattress with a contented sigh, his hold on you heavy and drifts back off.

On rare nights, Javier Peña sleeps peacefully. He sleeps with you safe in his arms and the only weight on his chest.

Din doesn’t actually have any pjs so…pass? Sorry! Plus he’s not really one to even think about that kind of thing? Because all things - clothes included - have to serve a purpose in his life. They need to have functionality and clothes in particular need to be protective. Because while maybe Din doesn’t quiiiite sleep with an eye open - he’s more of just a very light sleeper - he does need to be ready to go as soon as he needs to be, whenever that is. This is, after all, the man that goes to bed in full armour, explosives and all strapped to him. So that armour probably only really comes off out of necessity or when he feels particularly safe, like maybe back when he had the covert to visit on Nevarro. BUT! That all being said, he truly appreciates you bringing softness into his life. True, he doesn’t quite know how to take it and is very confused by it all but he does appreciate the gesture.

With Ezra…well to start with good luck finding a matching set anything in the ass end of space that isn’t absolutely horrible. Like, your options are something terribly garish or basic utility and there isn’t often something in-between. So let’s be fair here; you guys probably already match because variety is in short supply this far out. You don’t have a choice. One of you has definitely had to buy up stacks of standard underclothes and compression suits for jobs and you can just count yourself lucky that they are not all a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. Most evenings this doesn’t register because of course you’re wearing the same thing? What else exists out here in the Fringe? But on other evenings when he’s in one of his very good moods? There’s a high probability that at some point Ezra has made a comment about you both matching and has commented on how you wear it far better than him. To which he gets a bits bar lobbed at his head because “Oh yeah Ezra, this is real sexy.” (read: sarcasm) but also “Really? The utility underwear everyone this side of the Fringe wears does it for you?” Yeah he can’t take his own shitty joke seriously either, already breaking off into that dumb wheezy laugh he has when he’s being a deliberate ass but it doesn’t matter, it served it’s purpose - you’re hiding a smile and he’s standing right next to you.

And matching underwear? Again, you’re already matching! But if he thinks you’re wearing his? Well that’s just an excellent excuse to come over and try and take them off you.

Firstly, I feel like Frankie is the type of guy who doesn’t really mind that much if you do it? It’s kinda cute but more importantly if it makes you happy it makes him happy. But also? He maybe accidentally already did it and that’s what prompted the thought?. It’s just he saw you really like that one shirt of his - you’re always stealing it to lounge around in during the day or to sleep in - so he thought hey, maybe she’d like her own one? Not realising, of course, that the main reason you really liked that one shirt was because it was his. So it’s bedtime and your quietly pouting away to yourself because Frankie has the shirt this night and when he catches your face he suddenly remembers! He had a gift for you! He presents it, all kinda proud of himself but then a little upset when you don’t seem quite as excited as he thought you’d be. It takes a soft explanation as you finger the hem of his shirt for him to get it. His solution? Simply that’s he’s going to have to wear them both so they’re both his and yours, swapping the one he was wearing for the new and handing you the old. And yeah. He gets it. And he’d rather see you in his clothes than something matching.

Javier’s reaction is definitely just why? That or simply "I sleep naked, you don't have to buy anything to match me”. Sorry, he’s just not the kind of guy for that kind of thing at all. Though it can be said that he doesn’t hate it quite as much as thought he would so he’s more in the boat of “is the biggest grouch about it ever but also kinda lets it happen?” At least a bit. Oh I’m not saying he really wears a set if you get it, more of what I am saying is that your set totally goes missing so you have to wear his all the time and that’s better. And if you mention matching underwear? Well he’ll just give you a look (and I mean a Look™, all the way down to your ass and back up again) and a “I don’t think I’d fit in your underwear cariño.”

Whiskey…ok…so. SO. This man is a menace and he is forever going to be a menace, ok? So when he sees an opportunity for a well meaning gag? He grabs it with both hands and he fucking takes it. Oh he’d never mock you for your love for him and he’d be horrified if he thought you felt that - when you’re in a relationship with him that bit he takes deadly seriously it’s just…well he’s a menace. So sure. Matching pjs. That’s cute. But you let him pick stuff out (mistake? You decide) and his turn out a lot skimpier than yours. Let’s just say he enjoys being an ass and showing his ass ;) So as for matching underwear? If you wanna wear a thong let’s just say the man is not opposed to matching you. At all. He is, in fact, rather proud of his ass, thank you very much darlin’.