Chapter Text
Jake woke up gently for a change.
Instead of a blaring alarm clock jolting him out of a deep sleep slack-jawed and bleary-eyed, he woke to the sounds of birds chirping happily outside the bay window, and the feeling of a knot in the pit of his stomach that he immediately ignored. The chill of the ever-running AC made his nose cold, but the rest of him was surrounded by warmth. The sweet puffs of breath against his nape, the little raspy snores in his ear, had him smiling even before he woke fully.
He wiggled further into the duvet to tuck his nose into the blanket, and grunted when his clingy octopus of a husband sighed in his sleep and tightened his hold on him - two strong arms wrapped around his middle and a well-shaped leg thrown over his hips. The rest of Bradley’s solid, dead-weight pinned Jake bodily to the bed, his entire front smooshed into the stupidly expensive Tempurpedic mattress Bradley had insisted they had to have immediately after the wedding almost three years ago.
He had to admit it was one of their better purchases.
Usually Jake would have been up before the sun, vanity spurring him to a yoga session and then a six mile run rain or shine in an effort to keep his body working - and looking - optimally for as long as he could. But perhaps he could afford one morning lounging in bed with his very own smoking hot firefighter.
For a while, at least.
For all they called him Rooster, and though he was three and a half years older, his husband could laze around until noon if he didn’t have a shift, but Jake’s body tended to get stiff and achy if he wallowed in bed past seven. He’d then have to spend the morning trudging around like he was seventy-two instead of thirty-two until he finally limbered up. But judging by the golden sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains and blistering his closed eyelids, it had to be getting close to eight. It was fine, it was his day off - his first in a while - and Bradley’s shift didn’t start until later that morning. His alarm was set for nine, so Jake snuggled back against the solid chest behind him and willed himself to doze for just a few moments more.
It was a luxury these days, getting a little time to themselves. They both had demanding, taxing careers, and their schedules sometimes made them ships in the night, one coming home to pass out just as the other was getting ready for a shift.
Jake had come home late the night before dead on his feet. After having a small but admittedly theatrical meltdown trying to unlock their uncooperative front door, he’d had just enough wherewithal to take a shower and change into his favorite pajamas - Bradley’s threadbare Virginia Tech tee and flannel pants so old he’d had to replace the drawstring twice. But they were soft, and Jake needed soft after long shifts as an RN in Mercy Hospital’s emergency department. He needed soft, and quiet, and several moments to decompress from the overstimulation the job he loved created in him.
Bradley, the absolute saint, understood completely. He somehow knew the moment Jake walked through the door exactly what he needed, and never failed to provide it. Always had a hot, easy, comforting meal already plated up to hand him, a glass of wine or a mug of chamomile tea steeping on the counter to help him relax.
Bradley had even explained it to Jake when he had confessed to feeling guilty that his husband spoiled him so much. It was Bradley who had the dangerous job, Jake felt he should be the one cooking most of the dinners and doing most of the shopping and errands.
But Bradley had just pulled him into his arms that night months ago and sheltered him as he explained - “Sweetheart, it’s not a competition. I get to decompress at the station after calls. I get downtime between tragedies. Hell, sometimes I even get to take a nap. But you’re bombarded with chaos from the time you walk through those ER doors until the minute you leave. I’m not spoiling you, I want to take care of you, baby. Let me take care of you.”
Bradley Bradshaw was a soothing, protective balm to Jake’s constantly frayed nerves, and Jake didn’t know what he’d done to deserve him, but he was thankful every single day of his life that the cute, dopey Navy SEAL had called him from a hospital bed in Naples and stuttered shyly through asking him to dinner.
Less than a year after that fateful call, after Bradley had been honorably discharged and Jake had decided not to reenlist, Jake had moved into the quaint beach bungalow Bradley’s parents had left him. And only a few months after that, after Bradley had established himself as a firefighter at the 86, and Jake had tagged along after him as a paramedic, they’d tied the knot in a private beach ceremony.
And from that moment on, for the first time in his life, Jake Seresin knew what true happiness felt like. He felt it every time he felt those big brown eyes on him.
Jake’s smile widened at the thought, brought his hand to the bigger one spread over his belly, strong fingers tangled in the loose cotton of his tee shirt, and skimmed a reverent finger over the gold band that matched his own. The arms around him cinched inexplicably tighter, and Jake huffed out a happy little laugh and basked in the feeling of being loved and being in love.
Bradley snuffled sleepily and burrowed deeper into his neck, the feeling of his unfairly attractive mustache tickling Jake’s sensitive skin.
“Y‘wake, b’by?”
Jake grinned at the raspier than usual mumble behind him. “Yeah, I’m awake, darlin’. Don’t think you are, though.”
”Hmmm,” he could tell Bradley was trying valiantly to shake off the remnants of sleep that clung stubbornly to him, but Jake knew he’d be snoring again in seconds. They went through this most mornings when they both were able to sleep in. He waited for the inevitable clumsy pawing to begin, and wasn’t disappointed with his predictable husband when he felt the lazy grin press against his neck, and the hand on his stomach trail further south to dip into his pajama pants. “Ya wanna?”
Jake couldn’t help but chuckle, and reached down to lace his fingers into the wandering hand. He brought it back up from under the sheets and planted a quick kiss on it before holding it close to his heart. They’d long since passed the honeymoon stage of grabbing quickies anytime they possibly could. Sleep often took precedence over sex these days, but being able to go to sleep and wake up wrapped up together more than made up for it for the most part. They’d learned that physical intimacy took on many forms, and they both appreciated all of them.
Besides, Bradley only had a short shift today, and Jake was planning to rest all day so he could climb his gorgeous firefighter like a tree that evening as soon as he walked through the door.
He’d already queued up a couple racy photos to text Bradley during the day to get him all riled up and possessive. He smiled wickedly, felt heat already pooling in his core at the anticipation of being thoroughly ravaged by a man strong enough to bench press him. Jake wasn’t small by any means, but being held in Bradley’s strong, muscular arms made him feel soft, cared for. Precious. He’d never felt like that before. It was almost intoxicating and he couldn’t get enough of it.
He patted the hand in his. “Go back to sleep, babe. I’ll make cinnamon buns for breakfast.”
Bradley huffed in his ear. “R’ther‘ve…yer buns f’breakf’st.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but before he could reply Bradley snored deeply, fast asleep, just as he anticipated.
He finally squirmed out from under the furnace that was his husband and rolled over to look at him. It was his favorite thing to do most quiet mornings, just being able to watch Bradley sleep for a while.
He hardly ever slept in anything besides an old pair of boxers. Where Jake would freeze at night in the ever-running air conditioning and had to dress accordingly, Bradley ran so hot he usually kicked off all the blankets in his sleep. The sunlight flickering through the window bathed his snoozing husband in gold, catching the subtle highlights in his dark curls and jagged pink scar on his abdomen from the horrific day they’d met. The worry lines on his face smoothed out as he dreamed, erasing years off his still youthful face, lips slack and parted with soft snores.
Jake knew he was pretty in the sense that people stared at him. Told him outright sometimes that he belonged on magazine covers or movie screens or some other bullshit. Bradley called him gorgeous, and it still gave him butterflies in his stomach and made him blush when he did. He worked hard to keep his figure, his skincare routine was down to a science, and he was the first to admit he took a certain smug, shallow pride in his appearance.
But Bradley, Bradley was effortlessly beautiful. The type of beautiful that could roll out of bed, run fingers through his hair, throw on some clothes and head out the door, and still turn heads everywhere he went. He was beautiful in a way that sometimes, like now, took Jake’s breath away. Brought tears to his eyes, moved by such a work of art.
He was so many things all at once, things that should have been at war with each other but somehow moved together in harmony to create a real life version of perfection. He was a scarily intelligent and capable Navy SEAL who loved Hawaiian shirts and cracked up at his own Dad jokes. Rescued countless hostages and faced danger with steel in his eyes, cried like a baby when they watched Homeward Bound last week, and looked at Jake like he’d hung the moon. Held up collapsing buildings until they were evacuated with the same arms that held him so gently and lovingly and protectively. He was both dangerous and sweet. Hard and so very, very soft.
He reached out and stroked a stray curl off Bradley’s forehead, trailed soft fingertips down a smooth cheek and smiled when Bradley snuffled and smacked his lips, still out like a light. Jake didn’t know what he’d do without this precious, beautiful enigma in his life. He prayed he’d never have to find out.
Jake sniffed, suddenly maudlin, and rolled out of bed, and stubbornly tried to keep ignoring the knot settling heavily in his stomach now.
Shake it off, Bradshaw, he thought to himself. Those buns aren’t gonna bake themselves.
Bradley woke to the pleasant, homey scent of warm cinnamon and fresh coffee six minutes before his alarm was scheduled to sound, and he immediately thanked his lucky stars for the sweet angel he married who loved to spoil him so. Usually they just did quick and easy meals like omelettes or protein shakes, but Jake sometimes liked making something special for breakfast on his days off, something sweet and decadent, a treat to look forward to during their hectic weeks.
He rolled out of bed and fumbled his way into the bathroom for a quick shower, before throwing on a station polo and his dark blue uniform pants. He never really cared too much about taming his hair anymore - not since Jake had told him how handsome he looked with soft waves instead of styling them into submission. His gorgeous husband was always right, after all.
Minutes later he tottered sleepily down the stairs and followed the sweet aroma to the kitchen.
Pausing for a moment in the open archway, he leaned against the wall and basked in the heart-wrenching domesticity of the sight before him.
Jake practically glowed in the natural light streaming through the kitchen windows, his sleep-mussed blond hair alight like a bedraggled halo. He puttered around the stove, still in his adorably oversized flannel pants and Bradley’s own dark blue Station 86 hoodie, the too-long sleeves pushed up past his elbows as he juggled a whisk in one hand and a carton of milk in the other.
The sight of the red-lettered BRADSHAW blazing across Jake’s shoulders never failed to light a possessive fire low in Bradley’s belly. Jake had stolen his station hoodie years ago, back before they’d gotten married. He always gave it back after it was washed, but only long enough for it to start smelling like Bradley’s cologne before it suddenly went “missing” again. Jake had once admitted wearing it felt like he was always wrapped safely in Bradley’s arms. They had both been loose and tipsy at the time, and Bradley had teared up at the sweet, sincere confession, at the sight of Jake snuggled up in his hoodie like a security blanket.
His husband was precious.
This morning the romantic in him warred with the horndog. He wanted to bask forever in this beautifully domestic moment just watching his pretty husband scramble eggs for him while cinnamon rolls baked in the oven, but a baser part of him also wanted to bend Jake over the breakfast table and let the buns burn while he feasted on something more enticing.
He wouldn’t, of course. Jake spent too much time making those cinnamon rolls from scratch. They were Bradley’s favorite, and Jake had perfected them, and he respected and appreciated his efforts too much to waste them over a quickie, no matter how hot that fire in his core burned.
He settled for sauntering over to him and plastering himself along Jake’s back, planting a wet, tickling kiss to the shapely neck before him. He could be respectful, but he’d be damned if he could keep his hands to himself with Jake looking so damn delectable.
Instead of leaning into him like he usually did, Bradley felt Jake tense a bit in his arms. He frowned, but didn’t take it to heart. Jake was often antsy on his days off, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’d never been all that great at relaxing by himself, forced to be alone with his thoughts.
”Mornin’ honey,” he rasped into Jake’s ear, and smiled, a little relieved, when Jake turned to give him a quick kiss. He tasted like toothpaste and black coffee.
”Hi, handsome,” Jake replied easily as he focused on scrambling the pan of eggs, “sleep okay?”
He hummed an affirmative.
Jake gestured to the steaming mug by the coffee pot, and Bradley knew without looking that it was made to perfection - a little pad of butter, a splash of milk, and five M&Ms tossed in to melt into milk-chocolaty goodness.
Jake was the perfect spouse in every way, and Bradley tried not to take him for granted. He squeezed the trim waist in his arms and tucked his face in closer and just breathed him in, falling in love all over again like he did every other morning. “God, sweetheart, you’re fucking perfect. I swear I’m gonna marry you someday.”
Jake snorted as he plated the eggs and handed them to Bradley to set on the table, and then opened the oven in a wave of heat to check the cinnamon rolls. “Promises, promises. Better hurry up,” he grabbed a mit and pulled the two pans out of the oven to cool on the rack. “Harvard proposes to me at least once a week. If I keep turning him down it’s gonna hurt his feelings.”
“I’m sure his wife would have something to say about that.”
”Lainey already said I’m welcome to marry him any time I wanted to, long as I keep baking for her. Said she’d happily move into the guest room.”
Bradley took a sip of his perfect coffee and leaned against the counter, just watching Jake in his element. He loved baking, it was his favorite pastime. Bradley took care of most of their dinners - he liked cooking “real food” as he smugly called it, but Jake loved filling their home with warm, cozy scents, and Bradley loved him for it. He’d lived in this house pretty much all his life when he wasn’t deployed, but it hadn’t felt like a home since his mom had died.
Not until Jake moved in, and brought with him the warmth he hadn’t even known he’d been missing.
He smiled, doting and easy. ”Lainey is eight and a half months pregnant and would eat the legs off a table if they had sugar on ‘em. I don’t know if I’d trust her judgement right now, baby.”
Jake’s smile was tight. Bradley’s brow furrowed.
Something was wrong.
”Don’t disparage a pregnant lady in my kitchen, Bradshaw,” he gave the bowl of glaze one last whisk before pouring it over the piping hot, perfectly coiled pans of cinnamon swirls. Bradley’s mouth watered at the sight.
“You’re right. She’d kick my ass. Don’t tell her about the table leg thing, please.”
Jake nodded in agreement, a little absentmindedly. Whether about the ass kicking thing or the secret keeping thing, he didn’t know, but Bradley frowned as he continued to watch. On the surface everything seemed normal, but years of living in Jake’s back pocket had him honing in on every minute detail of his demeanor.
The tension radiating off him now was palpable. He moved in short little bursts of sharp gestures, paced between stove and counter like a tiger in a cage. Something was eating at him this morning, had him more anxious than usual on his day off.
Plan A: diversion.
”So what’s on the agenda for today, honey?” He asked lightly as he brought his and Jake’s coffee mugs to the table. “Gonna take it easy all day, I hope. You need to rest.”
”What?” Jake shook his head like didn’t hear, but before he could repeat himself Jake’s brain processed the words. “Oh, yeah, no. No plans.” He spooned up a gooey bun and plopped it beside his eggs, smiling sweetly at Bradley’s heartfelt gratitude.
“I’m probably just gonna nap all day. Maybe wash a couple loads of clothes. I think we’re running low on clean towels. I might run to the store and pick up some things for a pumpkin roll. I don’t know yet. I might. If I get in the mood. What do you want for dinner tonight? I think we have all the fixin’s for a pot of chili? I think. Let me look-“
The more Jake rambled, the more he flitted almost frantically between the refrigerator and the table grabbing and setting down random objects, the more concerned Bradley grew.
Plan A failed, on to Plan B: direct strike.
He stood up and intercepted Jake mid-step with gentle hands and eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
”What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I made extra cinnamon rolls for you to take to the squad. Make sure Harvard gets an extra one for Lainey-“
”J,” Bradley interrupted, hands stroking his sides lightly, not holding him still or boxing him in, just grounding him. He ducked down a little to meet Jake’s wide green eyes imploringly. “Please, baby. Something’s got you spooked this morning, now what is it?”
”Nothing, it’s nothing, B,” Jake sagged a little, looking defeated when Bradley amped up what Jake called the “sad baby cow eyes”. He could never resist those. “It’s-it’s stupid.”
”I bet it’s not.”
Jake grunted and leaned a little more into him, and Bradley pulled him close and waited. “I don’t even know. I just… I just have a bad feeling. Can’t explain it.”
Bradley wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss Jake’s “bad feelings.” The man was almost frighteningly intuitive at times. But today should be an easy day, Jake was off, his own shift was blessedly only eight hours due to a scheduling overlap. Maybe he was just antsy about being away from Mercy. He always tended to believe the Emergency Department would go under if he wasn’t there leading the charge. Still…
“It’s really nothing, babe,” Jake pressed on, pulling away to plate his own cinnamon roll and taking a seat. “I’m sure it's just…day-off jitters or something. You know I’ll be climbing the walls by noon. I’m fine. C’mon and eat these buns while they’re still warm.”
Bradley didn’t take the obvious bait for a dirty reply in an effort to lighten the mood, but he did sit back down and dove fervently into his food to make Jake happy.
When he stood at the door later toeing on his work boots, Jake bounded up to him with a giant basket laden with the rest of the cinnamon rolls and shoved it into his arms. He looked up at Bradley, their slight height difference made even more noticeable by Jake’s bare feet and Bradley’s boots. It usually drove Bradley wild, Jake having to crane his neck a bit to look up at him, but right then he was too worried to be turned on.
Jake reached up when his hands were free and took his face in his perpetually chilled hands. Bradley often wondered if his blood was circulating sufficiently - his hands and feet were always cold, even in the balmy LA weather. His face was pulled level with Jake’s and Jake surprised him with a deep, possessive kiss.
He almost dropped the basket.
When Jake pulled away he was flushed and panting, and Bradley felt the same. “I’m fine, B, I promise,” he said, forehead resting against his own. “I’m just being silly, okay? You look after yourself today, don’t you worry about me.”
Gentle fingers scratched through his hair, and Bradley melted a bit. “I’m always gonna worry about you, honey. But I promise. I’ll look after myself and the squad. You don’t worry.”
”You look after you. And Javy. And Bobby. The rest of those shits can look after themselves.”
Bradley’s grin widened. “I won’t tell Trace you called her a shit.”
”Tasha has more common sense than anyone else at that firehouse, including you and Mav. I worry about her the least.”
Bradley shook his head, bent down to give Jake one more sweet, lingering kiss. “I love you, sweetheart. Please just take today off. Rest. When I get home we’ll order out and watch a movie.”
”I love you, too, B,” Jake replied, following Bradley out to stand on the porch to see him off, “but I’ve got plans for you this evening, and watching a movie ain’t it.”
Bradley stopped at the door of his Bronco and turned back with an excited smirk. “Oh, yeah?”
”Oh, yeah.”
”Fuck, baby.”
”Gettin’ warmer.”
“I’m calling in sick.”
For a moment Jake hesitated, and Bradley thought he might agree with him, but he shook his head and smirked, smug and wicked. ”Get your ass to work, stud, I’m the housewife today.”
“Fuck.”
Ten minutes after Bradley finally left, Jake still stood on the porch. He hugged his arms tightly around himself in Bradley’s firehouse hoodie and gazed into the distance where the blue Bronco had driven out of sight, and heaved in a deep, shuddering breath.