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Clive is sober. Really. Please hold your skepticism, even as he pulls out his house key and skitters the tip off the brass plate three times before he gets in it, even as he chuckles under his breath as he enters the house and fumbles to get his jacket off when one sleeve is bunched up to his elbow. He misses the hook and lets the jacket crumple quietly to the floor, and he follows the well-worn path up the stairs to their bedroom. The lights are off. He can’t wait to crawl in with her. He slips into the bathroom first to take a leak and brush his teeth, and then he shucks off his shirt in the dark.

He bonks his elbow off the door and guffaws under his breath again.

He has to be quiet. He can’t wake Jill.

He's not quiet. Jill is a light sleeper when he's not beside her, and she rolls over towards the movement in the room. She doesn't open her eyes as she slides her hand over his side of the bed.

"Clive," she murmurs. "Welcome home."

He's so delighted she's awake, and has to remind himself not to disturb her even as he moves towards her. He can see the shape of her under the blankets and he thinks she's very hot, and he doesn't hesitate to run a hand over the curve of her hip and to the small of her waist as he looms over her and stoops to press a scruffy kiss to her cheek. A match could light his breath.

"Thank you, my love," he murmurs, moving to fumble with his belt buckle.

He smells like a bottle. Jill grimaces in the dark, cracking open an eye.

"Did you have a good night?"

"I killed a particularly stubborn monster and everyone at the bar bought me a drink," he says, pleased with himself, and he pulls out his belt and tosses it aside. The buckle hits the floor with a thunk. "And then I bought a round."

And left his gear at the bar, but that's a problem for tomorrow.

"And then?" She asks, watching him in the dark with an amused smile.

“I drank everyone under the table,” he says, getting a knee up on the bed and putting his arms around her and then not really sure where he’s going from there. “And decided I wanted my wife next.”

She's not sure what he's trying to do either. With a soft laugh, she tries to pull him down onto her.

"I missed you," she tells him. She always misses him when he's not around.

"I missed you too," he mumbles, and he collapses right into her as he moves to kiss her properly on the mouth, his jaw knocking against hers as his full weight sinks onto her.

It might be a cute thing if he didn't push the air out of her, and she huffs, trying to keep their faces from bashing into one another.

"You're heavy," she says. Drunk heavy. It's funny to her, at least.

He cranes his neck to lift his head away from her just so he can look at her, a serious express on his face.

"Then I must have you without laying on you," he says.

Have her? Oh dear.

"My love," she says, cupping his face with another little laugh. "You're drunk."

And still smoothing her.

"Terribly," he says, letting his face sag into her touch, cheeks mashed against her palms. "But all of it for you."

He's adorable. She smooshes his cheeks a little more because she can.

"How fortunate I am to have you all to myself. My treasure indeed."

If he could get it up in this state she'd be impressed.

"It fills me with joy to see you so happy."

"I am often happy," he says, and he kisses her even if it means pushing against her hands even more, and then he hauls himself up on his elbows, easing his weight off her. He finds the floor with one foot so he can get himself up properly, and he reaches for the edge of the blankets. "Take up your skirts so I can make you so happy too."

"Wait, Clive," she laughs, moving over so that he can climb in beside her. "Hold me for a little while!"

He's being so cute she wants a cuddle.

He pauses, looking at her through the dim room with an earnestness that borders on dimwitted.

"You want me to hold you?"

"I do. It's a little cold in here, isn't it?"

She's thrilled to be able to enjoy this winter with her furnace of a man.

“Then you’ll have my fire burning for you,” he says.

Clive gets up just to shuck off his jeans, a mildly clumsy affair that takes far longer than it should, and then he crawls into the space she’s made for him.

Jill just sort of watches to make sure he doesn't trip himself and crack his head on the nightstand.

Once he's safely in bed, she's quick to cuddle up into him, eager to get away from the cool side of the sheets she moved onto.

"What would I do without you to keep me warm?"

Clive slips an arm under her so he can gather her up properly, tugging her right up to his chest. He rests his chin on the top of her head.

“Warm your blankets in the oven.”

She breathes him in, arm wrapping around him. He doesn't smell ideal, but he still smells like him. Good enough.

"I'd miss these strong arms and broad chest," she murmurs. "There's no substitute for them."

Drunk, Clive leans his weight against her mindlessly, embrace tight.

“I am very strong,” he says into her hair. “You will never meet another man as strong.”

Jill takes a moment to move her face so she's not suffocating. Much better.

"Indeed. No man can compare to you. I'm glad you put your strength to good use, Clive."

Slaying monsters and getting plastered.

“I love you,” he says, a valiant attempt at a boner pressing into her leg. “All my strength is yours, whenever you wish for it. I love you.”

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