L.A, California. Dave Striders pent House.

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12:34am.

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You were sat at the kitchen island, scrolling on your computer for work. That's when your husband, Dave, finally walked through the door. He was always home late from filming. The tension in the room hardened as he sighed an took off his jacket.

"Hey Sugar, sorry for keepin' ya waiting.."

he grumbled, irritated. His southern drawl from growing up in Texas clung onto his vocals like a leech, which was rare. You noticed the tension in his muscles and the fact he wasn't being all cocky like usual.

"What happened?"

You asked calmly and he sighed and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him as he buried his face in your shoulder.

"Set was horrible today! Fuckin'- the actors can't act, our main lead called out sick for filming today, some fuck ass camera man got in the way with the fake rain so we broke a camera for the close up shots. "

he rattled off, his voice thickened of pure annoyance. You glanced over at him and smirked.

"How about I help you relax a bit?"

you murmured in a way spoke volumes of something other than just pure "innocent" intentions. He perked up, clearly getting what you were hinting at as a faint flush crept onto his face. Fuckin' 42 and falling head over heels every time despite his big age. He was like a damn dog when it came to attention.

He got that stupid loving awkward smile on his face and chuckled lightly.

"R really? C'mon sugar it's late and surely your tired as hell I mean-"

you cut him orr by grabbing his collar and pressing your lips against his. He flushed more and eagerly kissed back.