ALEXANDER
I watched my little anomaly as he slowly made his way down the stairs, fresh from a bath.
His hair was still slightly damp, curling softly at the ends. He was wearing one of his favorite oversized hoodies, soft, light gray, the sleeves too long so they covered half his hands paired with loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips. The outfit was simple, comfortable, and made him look smaller, softer, more edible. His bare feet moved quietly, occasionally rising onto the balls of his toes the way they did when he was tired or thinking.
He looked beautiful.
And completely unaware of how badly I wanted to ruin that softness again.
I raised my hand slightly from where I sat on the couch. Dashiell noticed immediately and walked over without hesitation, stopping in front of me.
I didn't give him time to speak.
I grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, pulling him down onto my lap so he straddled me. He let out a small, surprised sound as his knees landed on either side of my thighs. My hands settled on his waist, holding him in place.
Dashiell blinked at me, cheeks already turning pink. His fingers started tapping lightly against my chest.
"Alexander," he said bluntly, voice still a little hoarse from earlier. "You can't just yank me like that every time I come near you. I almost lost my balance."
I smirked, one hand sliding up to stroke the side of his neck slowly, thumb brushing over his pulse point.
"You didn't fall," I replied calmly. "And you like it when I manhandle you."
His cheeks flushed darker but he didn't deny it.
After a moment, he shifted on my lap, clearly trying to ignore how hard I already was beneath him.
"Okay… how do you want me to make it up to you?" I asked, voice low. "For leaving you at the hospital today."
Dashiell hesitated, then reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small notebook, the one he used for lists and schedules. He flipped it open, looking adorably serious.
"I want us to have date nights," he said directly. "Every Sunday. Since we both usually have Sunday off. We will take turns planning them. One week I choose what we do and where we go, the next week you choose. No canceling unless it's a real emergency. Real dates. Not just… sex on the desk."
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
"Date nights," I repeated, tasting the word. "You want structured romantic outings with me."
"Yes," he said, nodding seriously. He tapped the notebook. "My schedule is mostly stable. I have outpatient clinic on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, inpatient consults on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on-call every fourth weekend. Yours is similar, except you have more surgeries. But Sundays are usually clear for both of us."
He looked up at me, eyes bright with that particular mix of stubbornness and hope that always made my chest feel strangely tight.
"I think it would be good for us," he added. "Routine, but still… couple things. I read that consistent positive shared experiences help with relationship satisfaction."
I was quiet for a few seconds, just watching him. Then I let out a low chuckle and pulled him closer, pressing my lips against his temple.
"You continue to surprise me, little anomaly." I stroked his neck again, fingers tracing his throat. "Fine. Every Sunday. We take turns. But if I plan it, you wear whatever I tell you to wear."
Dashiell narrowed his eyes, though his cheeks stayed pink.
"And if I plan it, you have to actually talk to me. No silent brooding."
I smirked, pulling him closer until our foreheads touched.
"Deal."
He relaxed slightly on my lap, fingers still tapping lightly against my chest in that soothing rhythm he did when he was content but overstimulated.
I kissed him slowly, possessively, tasting the mint from his toothpaste.
"You're going to regret asking for dates," I murmured against his lips. "Because once I start taking you out… I'm not going to want to share you with anyone."
Dashiell shivered, then smiled shyly against my mouth.
"Good," he whispered. "Because I don't want to be shared."
Fuck.
This boy was going to destroy what little sanity I had left.
My perfect, strange, brilliant husband.
Date nights.
Who would have thought?
I tightened my grip on his waist and pulled him harder against me, one hand sliding up under the oversized hoodie to stroke his bare back. My cock was already half-hard beneath him.
"Careful," I warned, voice low and rough. "Keep saying things like that and this conversation is going to end with you riding me on this couch instead of planning dates."
Dashiell's breath hitched. His fingers tapped faster against my chest, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly on my lap, deliberately brushing against my growing erection.
"We can do both," he said, blunt as ever, cheeks flushed. "Plan first. Then… the other thing."
I let out a dark chuckle and nipped at his jaw.
"Negotiating with me while sitting on my cock. Brave little anomaly."
He opened his notebook again, trying to look serious even as I slipped my hand lower, gripping his ass possessively.
"Okay," he continued, voice a little breathy. "This Sunday is my turn. I was thinking… something quiet. The planetarium has an evening show. It's dark, not too many people, and they have a new exhibit on constellations. Then we could get takeout and eat at home. Or… if you want something else, we can change it."
I squeezed his ass harder, grinding him slowly against me.
"Planetarium sounds perfect," I murmured, lips brushing his neck. "Dark room. You sitting next to me. No one else around. I can touch you under the seat if I want."
Dashiell's breath stuttered. His tapping turned erratic.
"You are not allowed to touch me inappropriately in public," he scolded, even as he tilted his head to give me better access to his neck. "That is against the rules."
I smiled against his skin and sucked lightly, leaving a faint mark.
"I make the rules when it's my turn," I reminded him. "But fine. Your Sunday — planetarium and takeout. My Sunday…" I dragged my teeth along his pulse point. "I'm taking you to the private observatory outside the city. Then I'm fucking you in the car on the way back while you look at the stars through the sunroof."
Dashiell let out a soft whimper, hips twitching against me.
"That… that is not a proper date," he protested weakly, but his voice was already husky.
"It's a perfect date," I countered, sliding my hand into the back of his sweatpants to grip bare skin. "You get stars. I get to watch you fall apart while I'm inside you. Win-win."
He squirmed on my lap, clearly affected, but still stubborn.
"We should have rules," he said, trying to focus. "No… no sex in public places. And we have to talk. Actually talk. Not just… this."
I pulled back slightly so I could see his flushed face, eyes glassy with arousal.
"You want me to talk while I'm deep inside you?" I asked, voice low and filthy. "Tell you how tight you feel? How pretty you look when you're trying so hard to be good for me?"
Dashiell's face turned bright red. He hid it against my neck, fingers drumming rapidly against my shoulder.
"You are impossible," he mumbled, embarrassed but clearly turned on. "We are supposed to be planning dates."
I chuckled and kissed the top of his head, still palming his ass.
"Alright. Sunday dates. Rotating choices. No canceling without notice. And we talk during them." I squeezed him. "Better?"
He nodded against my neck.
"Yes. That is acceptable."
I tilted his chin up and kissed him again, deeper this time, slow and claiming.
"Good boy," I whispered against his lips. "Now… about that 'other thing' you mentioned earlier…"
Dashiell let out a shaky breath, eyes half-lidded.
"…After we finish planning," he said, stubborn even now.
I smiled darkly.
Negotiating with him might just be my new favorite game.