Arms. God, Arms. Your husband's arms specifically. You stood in the door frame of the kitchen, watching him as he sat at the table cleaning one of his guns. His muscles bulging in all the right places and the way he concentrated and stuck his tongue out slightly as he tried to get into all the nooks of the gun. Unfortunately, you could only stare so long before he noticed and tilted his head up to see you. "Hey." His rough voice softly spoke, giving you a warm smile.