Work Text:
It was just another day on campus.
George strolled down the corridor, his usual crisp work clothes perfectly pressed, sunglasses perched neatly on his nose. A few students waved or greeted him as he passed, and he offered his trademark polite smile and nod in return—professional, but warm enough to keep up appearances.
He couldn’t be more relieved that it was finally Friday. The entire week had been an absolute whirlwind—exam season was right around the corner, and he’d barely managed to catch more than a few hours of sleep each night. Between preparing test papers, grading assignments, and answering a mountain of student emails, George felt like he was running on caffeine and pure determination.
At least one thing had gone right: the head of department had finally approved his exam paper. The relief that came with that was unmatched. The printers were now handling the rest, which meant one less thing to worry about.
Still, the exhaustion lingered. It was revision week, after all—the bane of every lecturer’s schedule. Students needed extra help, and George, being the dedicated (and admittedly soft-hearted) professor he was, stayed long past his usual hours to go over notes, solve practice questions, and calm pre-exam panic.
Now, as he reached his office, George let out a deep sigh. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get to leave on time today. But with his phone already buzzing in his pocket—probably another “Sir, do you have a minute?” message—he wasn’t holding his breath.
To George’s surprise, the message wasn’t from a panicked student or a fellow lecturer begging for help—it was from his fiancé, Max.
Max: Morning, 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵. Have some good news for you.
George raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking instantly. He placed his bag on the desk and sank into his chair, already smiling as he typed back.
George: Good news? What kind of good news?
For a few seconds, the message was left on “read,” and George’s smile faltered slightly. But then, the familiar three dots appeared.
Max: I’ll be home in a few hours.
George froze. His eyes widened as he reread the message once, twice—just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from exhaustion. Max? Coming home today? That couldn’t be right. The last time they talked, Max was supposed to be gone until next week for work overseas.
George: Babe, did something happen?
He winced after hitting send, realizing how accusing that sounded. But honestly, with Max, he couldn’t be too careful. His fiancé had a knack for getting into “situations”—nothing too wild, but just enough to give George mild heart attacks every now and then.
The reply came seconds later, filled with laughing emojis.
Max: Nothing happened, promise. Just a successful mission.
George leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with an amused sigh. “A successful mission,” he muttered, rolling his eyes fondly. Leave it to Max to sound like a secret agent every time he finished work early.
Still, the exhaustion he’d been feeling all week melted away instantly. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. Max was coming home early—and suddenly, Friday didn’t feel so tiring anymore.
----
The day dragged on at a painfully slow pace, much to George’s growing frustration. Every tick of the clock only reminded him that Max was somewhere nearby — probably already home, relaxed and waiting — while he was still stuck in campus.
Between the endless line of anxious students begging for last-minute clarifications and the department meeting that somehow stretched into two exhausting hours, George was completely drained by the end of the day. His patience had worn thin, and even his usually neat hair was a little out of place.
By the time he was finally free, the sky outside had already turned a dusky shade of orange. Dinner sounded tempting, but the thought of dealing with people again made him sigh. Office first. Food later, he decided.
He pushed open his office door — only to stop dead in his tracks.
There, standing in the middle of the room, was Max. Dressed casually, holding a massive bouquet of flowers that looked ridiculously out of place in George’s bland office.
The Dutchman turned at the sound of the door, his lips curving into a smirk before arching a teasing brow.
“You look like shit.”
George blinked, completely taken off guard. For a second, his brain couldn’t decide whether to scold him for the blunt remark or just melt from sheer relief.
In the end, instinct won. He crossed the distance in two quick steps and slumped right into Max’s waiting arms.
Max chuckled softly, shifting his grip so the bouquet stayed safely upright in one hand while the other came around George’s waist, steady and warm.
“Long day, huh?”
George mumbled something unintelligible against Max’s shoulder, his exhaustion melting away just a little as he felt the familiar heartbeat against his own.
Max grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his fiancé’s head. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”
----
The ride back was quiet — peaceful, even. George had claimed the passenger seat, slumped against the window with his eyes half-closed, trusting Max completely at the wheel. Every so often, Max would glance over, a small smile tugging at his lips at how adorably tired his fiancé looked.
When they finally reached their apartment, George mumbled a faint “thank you” before practically dragging himself inside. Max closed the door behind them, only to watch as George stumbled straight toward the couch and collapsed face-first with a dramatic groan.
Max raised a brow, setting the bouquet carefully on the kitchen counter. “Shower first, 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵. Then rest.”
A muffled sound of protest came from the couch — something between a groan and a whine. George didn’t move an inch.
Max sighed, though the fondness in it was impossible to miss. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered under his breath, rolling up his sleeves.
Before George could even react, a pair of strong arms slid under him, lifting him clean off the couch in one smooth motion.
George yelped — a startled, undignified sound — and his arms instinctively looped around Max’s neck. His face was flushed, and he half-heartedly glared up at the shorter man. “You could’ve warned me.”
Max only smirked, entirely too pleased with himself. “And miss that cute reaction? Never.”
George muttered something about “unfair tactics,” but his head soon dropped onto Max’s shoulder, exhaustion winning over his indignation.
“I’ll just carry you around then,” Max said lightly, adjusting his grip as he carried his fiancé through their bedroom and straight into the ensuite bathroom.
George mumbled against his neck, voice muffled and sleepy. “You’re ridiculous.”
Max chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to George’s temple. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
George only rolled his eyes, though a small, tired smile tugged at his lips as Max set him down gently on the bathroom counter. The cool marble under his thighs made him shiver, but the warmth radiating off his fiancé more than made up for it.
“Do you want a bath or a shower?” Max asked, stepping closer until he was standing between George’s legs, his large hands resting comfortably on the Brit’s hips.
George tilted his head, fingers idly toying with the soft ends of Max’s hair at his nape. “Hmm… will you join me if I take a bath?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
Max chuckled, leaning in slightly, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “Tempting offer, 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵,” he murmured, “but no. You haven’t eaten all day, and I’d rather make you something before you pass out again.”
That made George blink. He raised a brow, looking mildly incredulous. “You want to cook? For me?”
“Yeah,” Max replied easily, shrugging as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’ve worked hard all week, and I thought you might like your favorite dish waiting for you when you’re done.”
For a moment, George just stared at him — hair slightly mussed, still in his dress shirt from work, looking at him like he’d just said something impossibly sweet. Then, a fond smile broke through his tired expression.
He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s cheek. “I do,” he said quietly, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. “Thanks, babe.”
Max grinned, brushing a thumb gently over George’s jaw before straightening up. “Good. Now, take your bath before I change my mind and join you anyway.”
George chuckled, cheeks flushed as he pushed lightly at Max’s chest. “You wouldn’t last two minutes if you did.”
Max only winked, backing toward the door. “Try me.”
----
George emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, feeling lighter and more human after soaking in the warm, scented water. The mix of his favorite soap and bath bomb left his skin soft and the faint smell of vanilla and bergamot lingering in the air.
He towel-dried his hair and grabbed the first thing that made him feel cozy — one of Max’s shirts, oversized and soft, with his fiancé’s name and rank embroidered on the back. Paired with a simple pair of shorts, it was the perfect comfort outfit.
Padding out of their bedroom, George followed the faint sound of sizzling oil and the smell of garlic and herbs drifting from the kitchen. When he reached the doorway, he paused, leaning against the frame for a moment.
Max stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, shoulders relaxed, humming something faintly off-key. The sight made George’s lips curve into a smile. For a man who had once burnt toast three times in a row, Max looked absurdly good doing something so domestic.
Unable to resist, George walked over quietly and slipped his arms around Max’s waist, resting his cheek between his shoulder blades.
Max let out a soft hum of surprise before relaxing into the embrace. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice low and warm.
George nodded, nose brushing against the crook of his fiancé’s neck. “Much better. What about you? Almost finished?”
“Almost,” Max replied with a small grin, turning off the stove. He carefully stepped out of George’s arms to carry the pan to the table, transferring the food onto plates already arranged with practiced care.
When he looked back, George was standing there barefoot and smiling, his hair slightly damp and Max’s shirt hanging loosely on him — and for a second, Max thought he might melt right there.
“C’mon,” Max said, pulling a chair out for him.
George chuckled softly as he sat down, Max’s hand lingering on his shoulder a moment longer than necessary before taking his own seat across the table.
They ate slowly, savoring both the food and the quiet comfort of being together again. Between bites, they caught each other up on everything they’d missed—George sharing snippets from his hectic week at the university, and Max telling stories from his mission, carefully skirting the classified details but still making George laugh.
Their conversation was soft and easy, the kind that came naturally after years of knowing each other’s rhythms. The apartment was calm, the only sounds coming from the quiet hum of the city outside and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.
When they finally finished eating, George offered to help with the dishes, but Max shook his head with a grin. “You’ve done enough for today, 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵. Go on—bed. I’ll join you soon.”
Not one to argue when sleep was calling, George just smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Max’s cheek before heading off to their bedroom.
----
By the time Max entered their room, the lights were dimmed and George was already curled up under the blankets, his hair tousled against the pillow. Max couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
He quietly changed out of his clothes, opting for just a pair of sweatpants before slipping beneath the covers. The mattress dipped slightly, and almost instantly, George turned toward him, nestling against his bare chest like a magnet drawn to warmth.
Max chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around him. One hand began tracing slow, comforting circles along George’s back, while the other tangled gently in his still-damp hair.
George let out a small sigh, the kind that only came from feeling completely at peace. His ear rested over Max’s heart, the steady rhythm grounding him after the long, tiring day.
“I missed this,” he murmured sleepily, voice muffled against Max’s skin.
Max smiled into his hair, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of his head. “Me too, love. Now sleep—I’ve got you.”
And with that, George’s breathing evened out, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling him into dreams, safe in Max’s arms.