The front door clicked shut with a soft thud that echoed through the quiet house, a stark contrast to the cacophony of noise and flashing lights that had followed Chan throughout his day. He’d been looking forward to this silence all afternoon, craving it with an ache that went beyond the usual exhaustion. It wasn’t the silence itself he craved, not really. It was the promise it held – the promise of you.

He hung his jacket on the rack, the familiar motions doing little to soothe the restless energy thrumming through his veins. God, he was touch starved. He'd been running on fumes and stolen kisses for weeks, his schedule a cruel mistress keeping him from the one thing he needed most. Your son was hopefully sound asleep, the little guy work out from a day of kindergarten adventures. The thought of your son brought a soft smile to Chan’s lips, but it was quickly overtaken by a more primal urge. Right now, he needed you. He needed his husband.

The sound of the faucet running and soft humming drew him towards the kitchen like a moth to a flame. And there you were. A vision in sweats and an old t-shirt, your back to him as you scrubbed at something on the counter. His breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He was gone.

Taking advantage of your distraction, he crossed the distance between you in three quick strides. His arms snaked around your waist, caging you against him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like a lifeline. "Hey, baby. I missed you," he mumbled against your skin, his voice rough with longing. He couldn't help the way his hips instinctively rolled forward, pressing the evidence of his arousal against you. "So fucking much."