Sometimes Baird is awakened in the middle of the night by the restless press of Marcus's body against his own. Though he's still soundly asleep Marcus reaches for his bed mate; he wraps his arms tight and presses his face into the curve of Baird's neck; he mumbles and sighs and clings like he never would when he's awake.
Baird's sleepy fingers trip down Marcus's spine, slow and clumsy and as soothing as he can muster when the bright green numbers on the clock are screaming three o'clock and his eyes feel full of grit. Marcus presses closer in his sleep, plasters himself against Baird's side even in the middle of a sweaty midsummer night. He gasps a deep breath; it hisses back out to tickle Baird's skin on the heels of another restless grumble.
"Shh," Damon coos, his tongue thick in his mouth and uncooperative when he follows it up with, "I'm here. I've got you."
Marcus sighs again - long and slow - his body relaxing, sagging against Baird's as though they're the words he's been waiting to hear. A moment later his breath evens out, warm and welcome where it caresses Baird's skin. Damon smiles contentedly, his fingers slowing, then curling loosely against Marcus's hip as the haze of sleep creeps back in and makes it impossible to keep his eyes open.
Their middle of the night interludes never last more than a few minutes. Only long enough to make Damon feel warm and needed and loved. He drifts off, falling headfirst into another fanciful dream, safe in the knowledge that he's still able to guard Marcus's sleep in the ways that matter most.