Morning after - @thecanarylives

[bringstheheat]

Mick is far from a morning person. Normally waking him up involves a good hard shove just to get his attention, particularly when he's sleeping in a large, soft bed with the woman he loved. Sara always slips out for an early morning run and while he might sleepily mutter in protest, throwing an arm out where she'd once been, it's never quite enough to get him out of bed.

So his favorite mornings are the ones when she takes off, skips a run in favor of some other form of exercise or just to laze in bed with him.

Considering the length and duration of Laurel Lance's birthday party last night, Mick is all for staying in bed.

Tequila is just fucking evil.

But there's a warm body curled close, blonde hair tickling his nose and Mick couldn't be happier. He's still on disability from the station, the scars on his arms still healing up, but he can move without stiffness and pain and that's light years from how bad it had been after the fire that had almost taken his life. Third degree burns, physical therapy and his insistence that he didn't give a damn about skin grafts. Save that for the people that really needed it.

He'll ask for a rubdown later, something to ease the lingering stiffness, but not right now. He's got Sara close and all is right with the damned world.

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[thecanarylives]

She'd learned early on not to even attempt to wake him in the morning. There were times he'd sleep through his alarm for work and she'd try to tap him, tug at his arm, pull the blankets from him - all to no avail. The only thing that got him moving in the morning was damn near physical violence, and she sure as hell wasn't going to deal with the grumpiness that settled in because of it.

This morning, with the weight of tequila hanging heavily over them both, she's sure there's nowhere else she'd rather be than curled up next to the big snoring lug she calls hers. She turns to face him, pushing the hair out of her eyes and watching him sleep, her fingertips trailing the heavy scars that warped up and down his arms.

She'd been a damn mess that night. Waking to the midnight phone call every loved one of a firefighter dreaded, bursting into the ER and threatening to raise hell if they didn't let her see him immediately. Pacing the waiting room floor, helpless as she'd ever felt in her life.

Leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, she trails a few slow kisses down his neck, nips at his earlobe, shifting closer against him to trail a few more kisses down his shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way to wake him she hadn't tried yet...