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It's late when David comes to bed. He's tired and a little grumpy; there's a scene that seems so clear in his head but every time he tries to get it onto the computer screen, it eludes him. He's tried procrastinating--the dogs are fed and the dishes put into the dishwasher--and finally, around 2:30, he has to admit defeat.
There's still a light on in the bedroom and as David comes in the door, his mouth is already opening to complain about his inability to write. Before he can launch into it, he pauses and takes a good look at the bed.
Joe's book is face down on the floor, obviously having fallen off his lap. His head is bolstered up by a messy pile of pillows and he's still wearing his glasses. He's not exactly snoring, just making that sort of weird snuffly noise he makes when he sleeps on his back.
David leans in the door way and just looks at him for a long moment. For all the silver in his hair and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes--or maybe because of them--Joe's still so devastatingly handsome that sometimes David's breath catches at the sight of him.
"How did I get so lucky?" he murmurs now as he comes over to the bed.
"Huh?" Joe blinks and raises a hand to rub his eyes, frowning a little as his knuckles meet his glasses. "Time izzit?"
"Late," David says, bending down to pick up Joe's book. He puts it on the nightstand and then reaches for Joe's glasses, pulling them off Joe's face before putting them on top of the book. "Go back to sleep."
"'Kay."
By the time David finishes getting ready for bed, Joe's asleep again, on his side this time. When David slides into bed, he wakes up enough to mumble something that might be David's name before he rolls over, slings an arm across David's chest and goes back to sleep.
The last of David's frustration fades away.