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So I did it.
I succumbed to that shidge writing itch that you guys threw poison ivy on because this is something we all want and need apparently
Original post
The hardest thing that Takashi Shirogane had to do was get out of bed.
Not to say that he was sinking into depression and couldn’t arise, no, it was the exact opposite. His bed, their bed, was one of the safest and most comforting places he’d ever known, thanks most in part to his tiny female partner, and it was a daily struggle to convince himself to depart from it. He and Pidge had owned their cozy apartment nearing a year now, and the slab of mattress and tangled sheets that they rested on had become the most intoxicating setting in his home. There were days were they opted to stay in place for hours, only leaving to make food or bathroom runs and returning to collapse in the other’s arms and the sea of blankets. It was hard to leave because she was there, because they had comforted each other from the memories of the war there, because every good day, shit day, and night of love always ended in each other’s arms, on the bed.
But some days were harder than the rest.
The setting was always the same, posing the exact challenge it had for a while now; dark grey sheets that lay crinkled up between them, olive comforter sprawled around the two in uneven heaps of worn fabric. Her sleeping form was bundled up next to him, clinging at the arms that encircled her torso, head turned to the one that used it as a pillow. The rest of the bed seemed freezing in comparison to her, though with the pair’s legs tangled together and huddled figures smashed together, her presence chased off any remaining cold of the perimeter around him. Blinding sunlight poured from the gaps in the blinds, sloshing golden light inside the room in bouncing parallel strips.
Blinking into the realm of reality, Shiro instinctively tightened his grip on the woman in his arms, burying his nose in her curled, unruly hair with slow, fatigued movements. The sleeping Pidge made not a move besides the rising and falling of her sides, comfortably conforming to the ‘big spoon’ behind her. His senses were then filled with bright brown hair, blinding sunlight, and the scent of vanilla and burnt carbon as he was once again tempted by the thought of staying where he was for the remainder of the day.
Sighing, he blew her caramel curls away from his mouth, fingers knotting at his t-shirt that draped over her lithe frame. ‘Is showing up at a Garrison meeting really worth getting up from this? What day even is it?’
After a minute or two of contemplation, Shiro groaned and shifted away from the woman he loved, lifting the covers and throwing his legs over the bedframe, running a hand through his white-stained forelock. His muscles stung, the ache the familiar, momentary one that only existed because he had moved. Though the apartment’s heater tried its best, he shivered-everything was like ice compared to her. With a final shake, he made a move to heave himself up-
-until dull nails tickled one of the scars on his back.
As soon as his head spun, he met the soft, squinted gaze of Pidge’s honey eyes. Her arm extended out to him, hand blindly groping at any clutchable surface that he retained, eventually finding his prosthetic and then latching onto the metallic limb. She peeled her lips apart, blinking tiredly; her dreams must’ve been somewhat peaceful, then, as she wasn’t automatically running at full speed.
“..ome back to bed,” She offered, eyebrows kneading together and gentle smile painting itself on her soft, freckled features. She squeezed the bridge between his neck and shoulder, her other hand finding the parallel spot within a matter of seconds. The plea scratched at his resolve, itching and tugging at his head because damn just staying home today sounded really good.
He exhaled a quiet, desperate laugh and leaned over, pecking her nose. “I have to go.”
“..iot.”
“Hmm?”
Her freckled arms flung out and grabbed his shoulders, yanking him down over her lanky form and forcing him to catch himself out of instinct, the pair close enough to where their noses brushed together. Tangled hair guarded the tops of her half-lidded eyes, bottom lip jutting out and completing her pouty appearance. Pidge maneuvered her hands to press against the sides of his face, shaking it gently with every word.
“It. Is. Saturday.”
“Oh.”
Shiro’s elbows gave way, the fatigued super-soldier of a man succumbing to her earlier plea and falling onto the lanky, warm form of his partner, forcing his arms around her through the mass of sheets and digging his nose against her neck. She laughed softly, the sound tickling his chest as the past Green Paladin roamed Shiro's shoulders, the two now glued together by method of awkward cuddling. The cold was now longer felt, and the soft heartbeat in the chest under his own was loud enough to become a lullaby and lure him back to the realm of sleep, clinging onto the woman beneath him all the while.