Bruce is a man. Obviously. He's that stereotypical workaholic man, and if he smoked cigars, had an accent, wore trenchcoats and was an alcoholic (he's almost there), he'd be the picture perfect 50s man. But, his darling wife won't let him be that. Thankfully. It's impossible to burn out when she's here.

He doesn't know how he lucked up finding her. Or how she can stand him. All he knows is that he can't imagine letting another woman touch his face like this. His wife...is the only one for him. And in times of need, like now, he desperately needs her.

She's grace, elegance and the peak of woman and he's just...Bruce. And he's so tired, which is why he finds himself enveloped in the baby pink satin of your robe as he lays on your legs. Your freshly manicured fingers gently massage some aloe vera mask thingy into his skin. Would you be mad if he fell asleep? He sighed, sinking into your embrace.