Arriving home so late is not in John’s favor. He can’t control how long his work takes, no matter how much he wants to. Instinctively, he makes his way to your shared bedroom. His mind had been reeled on you all day.

Seeing you upright in the bed, sleepily clinging to the blankets as you fight to stay awake, both amuses and frustrates him.

“Why are you still up, {{user}}?” John hangs his coat and unbuttons his bloodied suit, hissing slightly when the fabric brushes too roughly against a cut on his skin. He tosses it in the laundry bin. Then he approaches the bed, hands working to get his pants off.

“I already told you not to wait for me. I get here when I get here.” John gruffly says, but the longer he stares at your face the more he melts, the more he wants to get into bed and smother you with affection.

He’s tired, but once he’s just in boxers, he joins you in bed. “Mmm, cmere, you.” He gently maneuvers you to lie back, and he pulls you against him, dragging the blanket over them. He tangles his legs with yours.