Appeal - Tom Keefer x Reader
Your boyfriend is a man of many talents. Cute, smart, brave, many people would be lucky to have him. Which is why you don't mind hogging up your free time together
"Ocean blurs into sky, blue as boundless as the stillness running through me -ooh I like that." You said pointing off towards your boyfriend down past the main hall. "Its like that paragraph in the first chapter, you gonna do that alluding thing all throughout? I hear that's a smart tactic," You cleared your throat then continued. "It's not always quiet like this. Not even the type of hush that brings with it a relaxing ease -Typo, you put the word 'ease' twice."
The reading went on for a few minutes more. You lounging on the couch by lamplight while Tom was busying himself in a nearby room -currently up to his elbows with soap in the kitchen. A review of his rough drafts, something that became routine during late nights after he first shared his short stories with you.
He was a writer. Always scribbling away in his free time. With how little he had of it you'd think he'd only have one or two manuscripts in his desk drawers, a notebook full of ideas he never got around to. But no, he'd already written and published dozens of short stories, even had a big novel he was just starting on. A promising one, already had a few companies interested in taking a look for development.
He was so sharp. Works all based on his real experiences, kind of autobiographical fictions. That type of genre you didn't naturally find yourself reading. But going through his rough drafts you consistently found yourself hooked. He had such a way with words. No wonder he was getting such good representation on his stories.
You were so proud of him. Doing what he loves and getting acknowledged for it. He deserved it, you really thought so.
I mean, what other Navy man do you know who was skilled enough to become third ranking officer, instructing such a large crew, defending the county, and still keeping his wits about him enough to be writing essays with few editorial mistakes. And to still be able to come home and care for you as if the time away had done nothing at all except pause the good times you'd left off on. He never made you feel forgotten.
Even opted to write you monthly letters when deployed despite the fact that you spent plenty of time calling and texting.
It was sweet. You kept every single one. All packed neatly into a red tin box on your nightstand.
Maybe you were a little biased towards him.
But you couldn't help how much rosier the lenses he created kept on getting.
"Hey, Babe, where'd you put the drain cleaner?" Tom called from the sink.
"Same place as always."
"Haven't been here in a while but I'm not seeing it. Y'sure you didn't put it somewhere else?"
You peeked over the back of the couch. "No. It should be in the cabinet under there. Left side."
He sat crouched in front of it, one hand on the door, the other nudging aside cleaning products.
"Nope. Still ain't seeing it." He stood, rinsing his hands off one final time before heading over to you, towel in hand. "I'll pick some up when I go out tomorrow."
"I can get it." You sat up a bit more, laptop slipping onto the leather of the couch. "You're supposed to be resting up. Lay in bed. Stay at home. Relaxing."
He chuckled, lips quirking up into that half smile of his. Never quite full, almost like he was picking fun at you. Some joke playing in his eyes that he never let you in on.
He leaned over the back of the couch, strands of his neatly done hair falling over his brow. "What? Don't think I can handle a supermarket trip?"
"No. I just told you why. Besides, I was due to buy groceries anyways, I'll just add drainage to the list."
He flicked his fingers your way. Not touching, but rogue droplets of water flung over you.
You held back a grin, pushing his hands away.
"You so do not trust me to handle such a simple thing." He playfully teased, arms moving down to fold over the couch. "With all my know how and clean record of escorting you in and out of such busy establishments, you still don't think I can do it? Need letters of recommendation? Lieutenant Keefer, comes from modest beginnings, but we'd greatly recommend him for the service of ever important tasks such as cleaning up your shopping list."
"I do trust you," you smiled, "I just think I'd be happier knowing you were in a place long enough to rest. And if you complain of lack of sleep after that then it'll be entirely your fault. Lieutenant Keefer."
He let out a breath of a laugh, eyes closing as he hung his head down. "Mm, so you're trying to tell me I talk too much."
"No." You corrected.
A hand moved up to brush the hair from his face, fingers lightly grazing sea kissed skin. Blue eyes opened up to meet yours when they did.
"I'm trying to tell you that you do a lot while you're working. You're home now. Go ahead and take a moment cause you have one."
"I could take it with you," he'd placed a cheek in his palm, words coming out warbled from the push. "Rest doesn't always come with shut eyes. M'recharging just from this for example. Bein' near you."
Your eyes rolled but your mouth curled up happily. "You want something. What is it?"
"Nothing." He made a disinterested face, shrugging. "Nothing. Never want nothing. My little editor's doing enough bearing through all my inky nonsense."
He folded the damp towel over the coffee stand, walking around to sit beside you on the couch. Then lifted the laptop and leather-bound note book, pens and pencils tucked inside it, onto the table as well. He slouched down, back half against the arm of the couch, and pulled you with gentle hands to follow him into a resting position.
"You want me to rest, I'll rest. No biggie."
You giggled and braced your hands on his chest. "No, there's something up with you. What is it? Been invited to another party Mister Popular?"
He shook his head, eyes shutting, and just made way to pull you to lay against him. "No plotting, no partying. Just taking your orders ma'am. Resting like there's no tomorrow. Captain's pretty strict, you'd wouldn't like to find out what she does when we don't listen. So just shh and go along with it."
Smiling, you closed your own eyes and settled against him, just listening to the steady thrum of his heart.
"Okay, if you you say so."
This was what you liked.
Just you and him in the snug alcove of your home. His body pulsing under your ear, chest lifting you to rise and fall with every breath. Close and warm, the silence that's ever present in these walls finally filled by him. He was home. Your home in a way he couldn't imagine. You couldn't imagine what life would be like without him. If he didn't return from sea for whatever reason.
Your hands lightly fisted his shirt.
He had to keep coming home. Whatever he faced out there and couldn't tell you about, those things that worried your mind every day are what pushed you to keep trying harder to make his time on land a little more memorable. Taking care of the little chores like shopping and proofreading was your way of showing how much it meant to you that you still got to see him. There was probably a better way to show it, but he'd be away again sooner than you'd think, and you only wished that by doing those things he'd be able to remember them when he was on his own, out there doing those little things himself. Hoped they'd at least be enough to put a little smile on his face when he picked up his pen or set out his clothes to fold or searched for supplies. He was the world for you.
You could only hope you were the world for him.
"You're stressing 'bout something," he murmured, voice low, slight drawl coming out now that he wasn't focused on keeping it in check. His hand rubbed up and down your back, wrist rolling to maintain the repetitive motion. Warmth from his palm seeping past the cloth to your skin. "What'd I do?"
"Nothing." You said clearly. "Just missing you is all."
"I'm right here darlin'. Right here. Ain't goin' nowhere." He assured calmly.
A sigh blew out. One of those long, low ones. The kind that come from genuine relaxation. That sleepiness was finally rearing its head. He'd be able to get some good rest tonight.
You hummed softly and snuggled closer.
Nearly drifting off before he spoke again.
"Speaking of, you think it'd be a good idea to clear your calendar this weekend? Host a celebration for a couple chums of ours? Just a little welcome back type thing? Get those neighbors to back off from spying on us over that picket fence? They always seem to be lurking around more once I'm home. Won't gotta deal with another of their friendly pies they make just to gain entry past the threshold. At least with a party you won't have to feel bad tossing em out. Just feed it to the guests."
You shifted your head to look at him.
His eyes were still closed, hand still caressing your back, looking like he was half asleep. You knew better.
"You already got it all set up and scheduled don't you?"
He shook his head, a convincing frown following. "No, no, just bringing it up now. Why, you ain't up for it? I'll admit I don't think it's a great idea, but if it'll help you out I'm all for it."
"Help me out with what? Don't try that twisty stuff on me. You've fooled before, it won't happen again. If you want a party say it. And, by the way, if this is that twisty stuff, you're doing awful. Heard way better convincing tactics from you before."
He laughed slightly. A little jump of his chest with a half smile that followed. "Nah, it ain't that. I just know that you're an excellent host and it gives you some time to show off and me some time to admire you, that's all."
You narrowed your eyes, searching as if the look would make it any easier to pin him.
Sensing your staring he opened his eyes and looked down at you. "Listen, if I ever wanted to try 'twisting you,' in any serious way, you'd never know it. Please, I know better. Plus, you're easiest to appeal to."
He hooked a strong finger under your chin and flicked it upwards. A playful gesture.
You scoffed and grabbed his wrist. "As if. But, since you brought it up, maybe I will host a little get-together for you. You probably don't get many of those on deck, huh? At least not in the traditional way." You looked off pondering.
"Great idea, hon," he kissed your forehead. "And you just proved my point."
"What?"
He turned, knocking you back to lay trapped between him and the couch. He shut his eyes, arm draping over you. "Saturday at eight, Marina Hotel, lobby's all ours for four hours, catering staff has been scheduled, wear that nice number you bought for yourself my last birthday."
"What? Tom." You pushed his shoulder.
"Night, Babe."
"Tom!" You said again
"Resting. On your orders. Shh." He cooed, laying more of his weight on you.
You decided to sigh and settle back. Simply reaching an arm up to play with honey colored hair. And although you were now wondering if what he said held any truth, if he'd ever got you to do something big while you thought it was your idea, you were ultimately distracted by the feeling of his nose burrowing into your neck. Content breaths left your lips, smile spreading, and you pulled him closer.
Questions for another day.
For now, he was home, he was safe, and he was all yours for the evening. What more could you ask for?
