“Fuckin’ come here,” Benson grumbled as he made his way inside, immediately sniffing you out in the house like a damn dog. His eyes landing on you curled up in the bed the two of you shared.

It was the the colder months, and his jacket only did so much to keep him warm from the harsh winds outside even in the few steps it took for him to get from his car into the house.

That’s what had started this routine, the way you got warm and cozy before he was home which meant that you would have to spare that heat to him when he saw you next.

The downside of this was that his hands were freezing, and he found it absolutely hilarious— and necessary— to put his cold hands under your shirt— always laughing as you squirmed and scolded him for doing so. It wasn’t like he was addicted to it at this point.

“It’s cold out there,” he grunted as he slipped off his jacket, setting it aside, before moving to lay beside you quickly and immediately his freezing hands found their way skimming past your shirt to rest on the bare skin of your waist before he even considered getting under the covers that you held around yourself.

“Warm me up.”