Married life for my favourite couple. This one may get a second part later on, because I like this quite a lot. I hope you do too!

Baiseman; kiss on the hand

I was woken by soft rays of sunlight filtering through the nets that hung across the large windows at the end of the bed. I pressed my nose further into the chest that had become, as usual, my pillow for the night, before blinking my eyes and looking across the bed at the clock that sat next to three framed photos. A smile turned my lips up a fraction as I read the time and realised that we still had about half a hour before the kids would come bounding in, undoubtedly already arguing about what cartoon would get put on our flatscreen. It was a Sunday, family day, but today was extra special. Today was ten years since Toby and I started dating, and five years since we married. Shuffling to the side slightly so I could prop myself up on my elbows while lying on my front, my eyes flickered up to the frame that was hung above the bed. It was one of my favourites, taken by Paige on a outing to the beach one day. It depicted smiles all around, our oldest on Toby's shoulders, our youngest on my hip, and Toby's arm wrapped casually around my shoulders as he pulled me in to kiss the top of my head. My smile spread further across my face as I took a moment to bathe in the happiness which I had finally found. Yeah, it was hard sometimes, and yeah, raising two boys who seem to have inherited Toby's cheekiness and a hell of a lot of intelligence was something that was never a walk in the park, but it was all made worth it in moments like the one that that picture froze in time.

I let my eyes move down to survey the man the so peacefully slumbered next to me. My eyes ran over his chest, re-memorising each line, edge, scar and muscle. I took in his face, committing to memory yet again his features. Those eyebrows that quirked so beautifully with every expression. Those eyes that looked at me with such love, that watched over his boys with a protectiveness I never thought capable, the windows into his troubled and perfect soul. And finally those lips. Those lips that form his articulate speech, lips that gush pride and encouragement to the boys, lips that speak his love for myself and his little family, lips that kiss his boys foreheads every night, lips that kiss mine. Oh the kisses those lips give me.

Kisses. I snorted softly to myself. If someone had told me fifteen years ago that something as simple as kisses would play such an important role in my life, I would've had them committed. But now, after ten years with Toby, they do.

The first time we kissed, I had been on the verge of storming out of the garage in a fit of rage, ready to kill the son of a bitch who had landed Sylvester in hospital with a concussion and badly sprained wrist. Toby and stopped me in my tracks by grabbing my hand and pulling me towards him, bring his other hand up to cup the side of my face softly as he pressed his lips against mine, barely giving me time to react before he pulled back and pulled me against his chest. Wrapping his arms around my spring-loaded body, he had held me and traced patterns up and down my back while whispering that it was going to be okay over and over again until I relaxed into him.

The second time we kissed was late that night, after the same jerk had attacked Toby, dislocating his shoulder and kidnapped him for a few hours before we managed to rescue him with the help of Gallo. Toby had found me on the roof, silent tears falling down my face as I broke down as I realised that I almost lost everything that day. Without saying a word, Toby had held me as I let everything out, years and years of emotion and feelings. He had wiped away my tears and kissed me properly that time, pouring everything he felt into the kiss and making me realise for the first time that day that maybe everything really was going to be okay. That was ten years ago today, and boy have we shared possibly millions of kisses between then and now.

There's the kisses he gives me when he comes back from a night out with his friends, tasting like whiskey and Marlboro smokes, the kind his mates smoke and that he has a few puffs on when he's drunk. These kisses are sloppy and drunk, but somehow he's so much more open when he's drunk, especially in the first few years of our relationship.

There's the kisses he gives me after a particulary long and dangerous case, the ones that he gives me because we were reminded that day of how precious life is and how careful we have to be to come back for our boys, to make sure we are there to see the start school, see them marry and see our grandkids.

There's the kisses he peppered over my face each time I was in labour, encouraging me and supporting me. Those kisses are similar to the kiss he places on my lips the second each of our boys was finally here in the world, that kiss that each time said the same thing, thank you for everything. And then there's always the kiss he gives me a few hours later, when our cyclone has met the new addition and the nurses have left us to be a little family, when baby is asleep in my arms and I'm almost asleep, exhausted from the labour, and he tells me how strong I am and how much he loves me, sealing it with a kiss to my lips as I fall asleep against him in the hospital bed.

There's the kisses that he presses all over me, adoring and cherishing my body. Kisses that he presses to each stretch mark that carrying his boys gave me. Kisses that he always peppered over my growing belly when I was pregnant each time, showing his undying love. Kisses that he dusts along the inside of my thighs, his scruffy chin only adding to the sensation.

There's the kisses that he places on my temple when I'm pulled in under his arm, the normal max of our public displays of affection. A kiss that only ever means that he wants me, and wants me bad.

There's the kisses he uses to wake me up on the rare occasion he's up before I am and before the kids are in bed with us. The kisses that he drapes from my shoulder and down my back before coming to their conclusion on my lips, tounge dancing across my lips, ready to duel with my own.

And then there's the kisses he presses to the back of my hand across the table on date night. The same kiss that he gave as he slipped my ring onto my finger at our wedding. The same kiss that is my favourite, because he looks so deeply into my eyes as he does it, making it seem as if we are the only ones in the room, making me know the I am it for him, his everything. Baiseman.

I am pulled from my thoughts by a finger on my cheek, and I look up from where Ive begun tracing patterns on his bicep, meeting his eyes for the first time that morning.

"Good morning," he softly says, pulling me to him and kissing me deeply and sleepily before pulling back, caressing my face with his hands before speaking again, "what are you thinking about this early in the morning, babe?"

"How lucky I am to be married to the love of my life." I say honestly, turning my head to kiss the soft palm of his hand, then looking him directly in the eye. A smile spreads across his face and he pulls me in for another kiss. We are interrupted by a very welcome patter of feet running into our room and launching onto our bed a few minutes later, and we both share a chuckle before pulling apart to allow the boys to scramble in between us and begin the ritual of arguing over who gets to choose the channel. After a minute Toby intervenes and picks a random channel, and we all relax back into the softness of the bed, the boys sandwiched between us, and our hands linked together behind them. With the boys distracted by the cartoon on in front of them, toby lifts my hand to his mouth and deposits a kiss to the back of it, my heart fluttering and a feeling of utmost happiness filling me.

A/N: Oh the feels. Leave me a review with your thoughts and feelings, was written at 1:30am, so I apologise for any errors, I swear I will go through eventually and fix everything. Hope to get 'C' up within the next few days!