Michael doesn't tip toe when he walks into their bedroom. Alex is sleeping, lips slightly parted, lashes fluttering, hair soft and mashed into the pillow. Alex is sleeping, but some preternatural sense of his goes off and snaps him awake if someone is sneaking into his space. And that ends badly.
But Michael's known and very audible footsteps don't trigger anything but the curl of a smile and Alex cuddling deeper into his pillow. Michael grins himself and slips over to press a kiss against the stubble scraped skin of his cheek. Another against that warm, pink mouth.
Alex makes another breathy noise of contentment and maybe his eyelids slit open, maybe they don't. When he shifts, the soft old t-shirt he's wearing rides up, revealing a stripe of skin, the jut of his hipbone.
It's tempting to touch there. And yet, Alex is obviously exhausted. It's tempting to let him rest. And Alex's entire body radiates warm, contentment, promises rest.
Michael yawns himself like the sleep vibes are spreading and something tight and tired in him loosens a little. That settles it. He takes off his belt, sliding into the warm softness of that bed. Alex curls up against him like he's drawn in, heavy and perfect, and his own eyes slide closed.