When He Sleeps



Title: When He Sleeps
Summary: A Krycek vignette
Pairing: Sk/K


You wouldn't know it just looking at him, but he can be a very heavy sleeper. If the previous week has been stressful, late and never ending as far too many weeks have, he can sleep like a log. A very tired log. It's times like these, when he can completely relax, comforted in the knowledge that the next day will only bring lazing around and no work that he completely lets go and sleeps like the dead.


It's almost frightening how focussed he can get, even in his sleep. He knows he needs to sleep, he wants to sleep deeply, he's determined to stay unconscious as long as possible, and like most of his goals, he reaches that conclusion through sheer willpower. An emergency can bring him awake, but it tends to leave him disoriented and woozy for days afterwards. I try to avoid those situations by secluding him away when he goes for his power sleeps. All the phones go off, messages diverted, people are informed that he will be incommunicado for the next couple of days. Not that he knows, of course. Although anything spoken in an urgent or panicked tone pulls him awake, regular expected noise will just filter past. I'm always impressed at how he can ignore the stuff that doesn't matter. His brain is on constant watch, checking all the stimuli for anything of importance. It's better to clear the area of such distractions, though, so he can really rest, and a few innocuous phone calls to the pertinent people is enough to get the ball rolling.


He's normally not an overly restless sleeper, and even less so when he really sleeps. His whole body relaxes and moving him is comparable to moving a sackful of sated cats. He sags. Really he does. Granted, it's hard enough for me to lift his weight off the ground in the first place, but not only does he sag, the man *snuggles*. I kid you not. That big burly hunk of a man subconsciously snuggles. He's a fuzzy teddy bear in a grizzly costume. Moving him from the couch to a bed involves about ten minutes worth of manhandling a body that just wants to give in to gravity a lot, while often having violent nuzzles into whatever body part you have in range. I sometimes think that if I lie on the ground nearby and edge my way to the bedroom, he'll inch his way along without me having to try and lift him.


He snuggles into warmth like the way a rock takes to gravity. If I crawl into the other side of the bed, the man gloms onto me, a barnacle on a leaking superglue tanker. It's amazing how fast he can move, while unconscious. Not even direct sunlight can wake him; in fact he's more likely to sleep longer, after rolling into the sunbeam for the warmth. I often have to be careful he doesn't get sunburn sometimes; the man can get a tan without even waking. It's often the best times of the day for me, really, watching him sprawled out on the bed, his naked body interspersed with the sheets, skin dappled in the shadows from the half turned blinds. I can sit there for hours, just watching him breathe. His muscles relax, he looks at least a decade younger, and his forehead loses the tense furrow between his eyes he normally unconsciously maintains. I spend the mornings just relaxing alongside him, reading a book, watching the morning sun paint his body with stripes of gold. If I'm on the bed, he uses me as a body pillow. There's no feeling in the world that compares to his arms around my waist, legs entwined, and his head resting on my belly, fast asleep.


For the majority of my life, I've been starved for touch, always maintaining a certain distance, a certain detachment to maintain my sanity. This man fulfils all my dreams of affection with loads to spare. It fills me with amazement to fully realise how inclined to touch this man is, compared to his normal public façade of professional distance. I admit I take shameful advantage of what he offers, snuggling up whenever I have the opportunity, just to feel his arms around me. At times like these, I too, can relax, and not have to think about anything. Just memorising the warmth he provides, the security I feel when he's around me, the strength hidden under the unconscious docility.


He seems to realise that I'm around when he's asleep, for hours after he wakes he'll continue to touch, caress and hug me casually as if to slowly wean himself from my contact before regirding his professional armour and returning to work. He is masterful with words and speeches, but it is the non-verbal communication that has had the most impact on my decision to stick it out with him. Even if he never spoke another word to me, if he continued to look at me in that way, touch me with such deep affection, unconsciously show how much he wants me, he'll have me until the end of days.


He shows his appreciation for my presence in a thousand different ways, but the method that touches me the deepest is the trust he shows when completely vulnerable.


When he sleeps.

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