your heels clicked softly against the polished tiles of the mall, the sweet scent of your cupcake perfume lingering in the air with every step. one hand loosely held your phone, the other intertwined with ellie's. she walked beside you without a single complaint, her free hand weighed down by a growing collection of shopping bags that swung gently at her side.
you'd already insisted you were done shopping. that was... four stores ago.
"baby," ellie sighed, the corners of her lips twitching despite herself, "i thought you said the cardigan was the last thing." she tried pitching down her tone, trying to make it somewhat...serious. though it just came out silly. you glanced over at her with the most innocent expression you could manage. "it was."
ellie could only raise a brow.
"until i saw the shoes." you stammer. a beat of silence. "...and then the bag." another pause. "...and then the lip gloss."
ellie huffed out a laugh through her nose, shaking her head as if she was disappointed, but the smile she was trying so hard to hide gave her away immediately.
"spoiled."
you grinned, batting your eyelashes at her, knowing how flustered she could get. "whose fault is that?" she looked away for half a second, pretending to think about it. "...probably mine."
"definitely yours."
you squeezed her hand, already spotting another boutique further down the hall. the display window glittered with pastel handbags and dainty jewelry, practically calling your name.
"baby!" you pipe up, your eyes lit and you could feel your feet buzzing to check it out. "don't." ellie sighs. "i didn't even say anything!"
"you were about to."
you bite the inside of your cheek, your lips pursing and you put on the biggest, most sorry looking eyes ever. "can we just look?"
she let out the most dramatic groan you'd ever heard, tilting her head toward the ceiling like she was asking the universe for strength.
"you're gonna bankrupt me." ellie murmurs. she acts like this all bothers her, but she'd give you anything if it meant you'd smile. and you knew that.
you flashed her your sweetest smile. "please? baby, i just want to look around."
she didn't even make it three seconds before giving in. "...fine."
your face lit up instantly.
"but we're just looking."
"of course."
ellie knew that tone.
she watched you practically skip toward the entrance, tugging her along behind you, and all she could do was follow with another helpless shake of her head. she'd be walking out with at least three more bags.and honestly? she was already reaching for her wallet before you'd even picked anything up.
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Valko likes to act like he’s got his shit together.
He’ll flash you a charming, confident grin as he slides down your body, kissing along your stomach like he’s in total control. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he murmurs all smooth, like he’s doing you a casual favor. He’s getting pretty good at this boyfriend thing. He’s cool, collected even
But his tail is a fucking snitch.
The second he starts kissing down your thighs, that fluffy tail starts swishing behind him, slow at first, then faster, betraying just how excited he actually is. The closer his mouth gets to your pussy, the twitchier his ears become, flicking and turning toward every little sound you make. By the time he’s eyelevel with your core, breathing hot against your slick folds, his tail is going absolutely crazy.
He buries his face between your thighs with a deep, satisfied groan, tongue dragging up through your wetness like he’s starving. And that’s when his tail really loses it.
Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump.
It’s smacking loudly against the floor, then slapping the back of your calves where your legs are draped over his broad shoulders. The more he eats you out, licking, sucking, moaning into your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, the wilder it gets. His tail is just going for it, thwacking against your legs, the bed, whatever it can reach, completely out of rhythm with how hard he’s trying to look composed.
You can’t help but giggle breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair (right at that stupidly hot undercut).
“Val… your tail is going crazy back there.”
He only growls against your clit, refusing to pull back even an inch. His ears are pinned flat with embarrassment but his tongue never stops, licking deeper, messier, more desperate. The tail just wags even harder, like it’s got a mind of its own and it’s thrilled to expose Valko for how he’s exactly where he wants to be, face buried in your sweet pussy, arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you down while he devours you.
He might not admit with words how fucking desperate he is to taste you…
Summary: You introduce yourself to the bookstore next door.
Warnings: none
"𝒪𝒽, 𝐼 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃"
The air is chilly as you pull your jumper over your shoulders, balancing your silver tray in one hand. You blow some hair from your eyes and close on the door to your small cafe, the bell chiming after you. While technically you don't officially open until 10 am for brunch this morning, you had planned an assortment of mini-drinks and pastries to bring to the neighboring businesses so you could introduce yourself to them.
Your first destination is the bookstore across the street. It's an old red-brick building, accompanied by a worn-out wooden door and a wooden sign where the name, "Moony's Library" is proudly displayed in chipped white paint. It looks homey and antique and when you walk over and can see that the small plaque on the door says closed. You knock anyway.
You receive no answer.
Biting your lip, you hold your tray tighter against your sides, frowning as you raise your arm awkwardly to try again. Still no answer. You try the handle this time. You could have sworn you saw someone in the window. The door opens with a creak as you tentatively push on it and hesitantly, you step inside.
Just as you do, your shoe hits the slightly raised step of the entrance, bending your ankle awkwardly as you almost fall over. You gasp, catching yourself just in time as none of your drinks spilled or pastries fall.
Thankful no one saw you—
"Clumsy, aren't you?" a voice drawls from the corner of the room and you jump, almost dropping the tray again. When you turn, you see a man sitting in an armchair in the corner, his left foot bound in a medical boot. His crutches lay against the side of the armchair.
The man is strikingly handsome, with his round glasses resting on his nose and his messy dark hair curls framed around his sharp hazel eyes. He isn't smiling, instead he is simply smirking like he knows something you don't know.
"You scared me." Your voice sounds more intimidated than anticipated, and you walk towards the counter, placing the tray near some old books. You're careful not to ruin them as your cheeks burn warm. "I knocked," you point out, afraid he'll accuse you of being a trespasser.
"I heard," the man says with a chuckle.
Your eyebrows scrunch and he reads your mind.
"We're closed. Didn't want to stand and open the door when we are closed." The man shrugs and as handsome as he is, you don't like how he's practically making fun of you. His eyes land on the drinks and trays and his lips curl, his voice a little more lighthearted this time. He makes a guess. "You own Whisk and Whims Cafe?"
You nod and walk over, holding one of your drink samples to him. "This is a Caramel Cappuccino. It's called Autumn Swirl," you say and then pause a moment. "My name is Y/n," you add quietly.
The man takes the drink and drinks it all in one go. He smiles and looks at you again. "Decent," he teases, wiping the foam from his lips. "Hint of cinnamon?"
You nod again as another voice interrupts you. "James. Be nice, will you?" The man, James, rolls his eyes at this and leans back in the armchair, adjusting his boot with a grunt. You look behind you at the newcomer and your heart leaps. It's another man, just as handsome as this one. He looks taller and lankier and he has deep scars adorning his skin, accompanied by faint freckles you can only see if you focus very hard. Which you are. His dusty dark-blond hair swooshes almost perfectly. He's breathtaking and you lose your train of thought.
"Hi, I'm Remus," the man comes up and holds out his hand, "Ignore my friend here, he can be grumpy in the morning."
You nod, looking at Remus and then James.
"Shut up, Moony."
"Moony," you whisper, referring to the bookstore's name. You look at Remus directly and smile. "You're the owner."
Remus chuckles and hums, strolling behind the counter. He looks around the old-fashioned bookstore; the books are arranged on tall bookshelves all around, wooden ladders accompanying the slightly dusty shelves. The ceiling is painted mural style, adorned by golden trim. His hand smoothes over an old book and then he looks at your tray of pastries and drinks.
"And you must be my new neighbor."
You smile and point to one of the small sample cookies. "Chocolate chip," you say and smile at Remus, "you seem like a chocolate kinda guy."
"Couldn't have said it better myself, love," James interrupts from behind you. He's leaning on one of his crutches, his broad shoulders flexing as he rolls them. He's smiling at you, towering over you as he leans one of his arms on the counter.
Your cheeks feel warm again. "Are you partners?" You ask.
James laughs loudly, his pretty lips turning into a smile. "No," Remus answers, finishing the cookie as he wipes the crumbs from his lips. "Jamie here is just helping while he recovers from his injury."
Your gaze falls to James's boot and he catches your gaze, his jaw clenching as he captures your chin in his hand, keeping your eyes on him. Fuck, you think as you look at him and his touch sends a jolt of electricity, he's so handsome.
"Eyes up here, darlin'," he grumbles. The boot is obviously a sour subject for him and your eyes snap up.
You nod, entranced. James smirks and drops your chin, his hand lingering in the air. Remus clears his throat and your attention is pulled to him again. "Y'know, I was thinking we could do something fun with our businesses—" Remus offers, stealing your attention as James's smile disappears and he clears his throat, turning to look at some of the books on the shelf.
You turn to Remus fully now, fiddling with the small sample cups. "Oh?"
Remus nods. "I mean, a cafe and bookstore? A match made in heaven," he explains his plan, "I'm thinking we could host some events. Perhaps an evening tea book club? And we could have opportunities to blend our businesses, for example, one book purchased here could earn them one coupon at Whisk and Whims and some bonus coupons if they read the book in your cafe. I could also have James build you a bookshelf, he's my personal handyman, with sample books from here to bring in more customers, ones they could buy potentially—"
"Who said I would build you the bookshelf— I'm injured—" James interjects.
"James," Remus sends his friend a glare and you smile.
"I'd like that," you interrupt, loving Remus's plan. You feel happy that you've found him and your smile widens. "Thank you," you say honestly.
Remus's heart leaps at that smile you wear and he has to shake himself, clearing his throat. "Oh, y-yeah, no problem," he says, his Welsh accent slipping out because he's nervous and James sends him a curious look.
When you return to your café, the interactions replay in your head. You switch the open sign, humming as the mental image of James's curly hair and Remus's smile causes you to feel an unfamiliar giddiness in your chest. The morning is slower, which you'd expected from your first day, but you don't mind as your mind wanders.
Eventually, the clock strikes one, and that familiar bell rings. You look up from where you're rearranging the cookies in the window. There are only a few customers and you only have a few staff so you see him instantly.
You jump up, rushing to the door to open it for him since he does have crutches at the moment. However, you almost slam into a doe-eyed redhead as she holds the door open for James. Your eyes widen and you stumble back, hand finding your apron as you suppress the embarrassment coursing your veins.
The girl turns to you, skin pale and eyes a shiny emerald green. Her cherry red hair is braided to the side and she looks behind her, smiling as James helps himself through the door. He lifts his head, staring at you.
"Y/n," he says your name, a little surprised to find you here and not behind the counter. Where you should be. He turns to his girlfriend—friend? And for the first time since you'd met him today, he smiles warmly, "Thanks, Lils,"
James looks at you again and this time, the smile stays. "Remus is still busy but I wanted to stop by and see how business is," he looks around the mostly empty room and his smile falters just enough for you to see the change. Your embarrassment grows.
Lils interrupts him, "For your first day, it's quite good! It took Sirius months to fill out his store, right, Jamsie?"
You look at her, grateful for the kind words, and unclench your hands from your apron. You push away the embarrassment and gesture to a small table near the window, "This one is free," you back away, your voice a little shaky as you ask them, "What can I get you?"
"I'll have another Autumn Swirl," James teases you as he staggers over with the girl's hand around his muscular arm. "Lily will have anything with matcha." He laughs and Lily rolls her eyes at him, but then she nods at you.
"Thanks," she says and then smiles. Her smile is the prettiest thing you have ever seen and when you return behind the counter to make their order, you feel stupid. Of course, someone like James is already in a relationship! What were you thinking—developing a school-girl crush on a guy you'd met only hours ago?
You shake your head, successfully diminishing the warmth from your cheeks but only worsening that pit in your stomach as you do your best to focus on the drinks instead of hearing James's, already intoxicating, laughter from across the room.
tags: @nubigenouss
~ THANK YOU FOR READING! this is my first series. I'm nervous but hopefully you like this! very slow burn ;) ik Sirius isn't in this one, but he will be soon! ~
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I imagine cass who grew up poor, and it shows in the way he never shares his food, like, EVER its part of his childhood trauma.
So everyone is flabbergasted when he a taste of everything he eats to reader. Thats how they figured out he liked her way before he even did
You're too polite to ask, but Cassian sees you looking. You'd delicately lifted two thin slices of meat onto your plate amongst a valley of greens and potatoes, but Cassian had snatched eight pieces without remorse and was now gnawing through number seven. There's an especially juicy piece laying against the side of his plate closest to yours, and Cass can practically smell the way your mouth is watering, regretting your choice to withhold.
Azriel sees it too. He's halfway through commanding a shadow to smuggle a piece of meat off of his own plate and onto yours to avoid the bloodbath that will ensue if you so much as breathe in the direction of Cassian's plate - really, the man is centuries old and still resource guards - when Cassian swallows with a gulp and knocks his plate away from him.
"Stuffed." He grins, teeth glinting in the light of the dining room as he winks at Mor. Her face had contorted in some sort of confused grimace, not only because Cassian had nearly knocked over her wine glass by shoving his plate into it but because he'd left food on it.
"Anyone want the rest? You want it?" He doesn't give anyone else a chance to reply before direction the question towards you, and while you're blinking bewilderedly, trying to figure out whether he's gone mad or not, he lifts it onto your plate anyways, "Here, take it."
There's meat on your plate now, and Azriel's shadows drop his own piece back down with something of a disgruntled huff.
"Oh. Thank you," You stammer, stabbing at it with your fork and knife like Cassian might take it back if you're not fast enough- a valid concern, honestly. You're wolfing it down as gracefully as possible, but Cassian doesn't move an inch towards you to take it back. Instead he settles back in his chair, sighing aggressively and glancing sideways at the wine.
"Got anything harder, Rhys?"
Cassian knows where the liquor is stored. He's just vying for something out of Rhys's personal stash, begging like a dog beneath the table, and Rhys's brows rise as he takes in Cassian's calm beside your satisfied chewing. He's constantly fighting Cass off from stealing the good stuff, but apparently tonight is a night of firsts all around.
"Actually, yes," Rhys stands, and Azriel watches curiously as he heads for his personal reserve, "Wait here."
Cassian turns to you in his wake, peering down at you as you finish the slice of meat, "Good, hm?"
You nod, cheeks bulging, and wipe the corner of your mouth with your napkin to rid it of sticky red juice.
"You've got a good appetite," Cassian observes, and Azriel instantly understands. It's attractive to him, Azriel realizes, Cassian's hot and bothered by the way you could house a steak faster than him, or at least put up a good fight. His brother's always been wild, brutish- he thinks Cassian's ideal relationship may be tearing into a piece of meat together like two rabid animals after a hunt. Rhys's footsteps click back up the staircase he'd descended and interrupt Azriel's brief vision of you and Cassian living in the woods together, stripping game and tearing into each other afterwards.
"We'll have this," Rhys passes the bottle directly to Cassian, an aged liquor that's surely older than everyone in the room combined, and the House politely provides glasses that appear next to the dinner plates.
Rhys settles back into his seat as Cassian gets to work on the bottle, using his teeth to crack it open in a characteristically aggressive sort of way. It's disgusting, but you seem both mortified and intrigued where you're sitting beside him.
"Here, honey." Cassian tips the amber liquid into your glass first, and Azriel and Rhys meet eyes from across the table, "Tell me when."
You hum, "Oh- that's good," and Cassian pours for two more seconds before filling his own glass.
He takes the same amount for himself, and only then relinquishes the bottle to the rest of the table.
Rhys strikes when Cassian takes his first sip, aiming to make his brother choke on his drink, speaking into his and Azriel's mind wryly: "Congratulations on learning to share, brother. Perhaps next, she'll teach you how to put a shirt on."
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I imagine cass who grew up poor, and it shows in the way he never shares his food, like, EVER its part of his childhood trauma.
So everyone is flabbergasted when he a taste of everything he eats to reader. Thats how they figured out he liked her way before he even did
You're too polite to ask, but Cassian sees you looking. You'd delicately lifted two thin slices of meat onto your plate amongst a valley of greens and potatoes, but Cassian had snatched eight pieces without remorse and was now gnawing through number seven. There's an especially juicy piece laying against the side of his plate closest to yours, and Cass can practically smell the way your mouth is watering, regretting your choice to withhold.
Azriel sees it too. He's halfway through commanding a shadow to smuggle a piece of meat off of his own plate and onto yours to avoid the bloodbath that will ensue if you so much as breathe in the direction of Cassian's plate - really, the man is centuries old and still resource guards - when Cassian swallows with a gulp and knocks his plate away from him.
"Stuffed." He grins, teeth glinting in the light of the dining room as he winks at Mor. Her face had contorted in some sort of confused grimace, not only because Cassian had nearly knocked over her wine glass by shoving his plate into it but because he'd left food on it.
"Anyone want the rest? You want it?" He doesn't give anyone else a chance to reply before direction the question towards you, and while you're blinking bewilderedly, trying to figure out whether he's gone mad or not, he lifts it onto your plate anyways, "Here, take it."
There's meat on your plate now, and Azriel's shadows drop his own piece back down with something of a disgruntled huff.
"Oh. Thank you," You stammer, stabbing at it with your fork and knife like Cassian might take it back if you're not fast enough- a valid concern, honestly. You're wolfing it down as gracefully as possible, but Cassian doesn't move an inch towards you to take it back. Instead he settles back in his chair, sighing aggressively and glancing sideways at the wine.
"Got anything harder, Rhys?"
Cassian knows where the liquor is stored. He's just vying for something out of Rhys's personal stash, begging like a dog beneath the table, and Rhys's brows rise as he takes in Cassian's calm beside your satisfied chewing. He's constantly fighting Cass off from stealing the good stuff, but apparently tonight is a night of firsts all around.
"Actually, yes," Rhys stands, and Azriel watches curiously as he heads for his personal reserve, "Wait here."
Cassian turns to you in his wake, peering down at you as you finish the slice of meat, "Good, hm?"
You nod, cheeks bulging, and wipe the corner of your mouth with your napkin to rid it of sticky red juice.
"You've got a good appetite," Cassian observes, and Azriel instantly understands. It's attractive to him, Azriel realizes, Cassian's hot and bothered by the way you could house a steak faster than him, or at least put up a good fight. His brother's always been wild, brutish- he thinks Cassian's ideal relationship may be tearing into a piece of meat together like two rabid animals after a hunt. Rhys's footsteps click back up the staircase he'd descended and interrupt Azriel's brief vision of you and Cassian living in the woods together, stripping game and tearing into each other afterwards.
"We'll have this," Rhys passes the bottle directly to Cassian, an aged liquor that's surely older than everyone in the room combined, and the House politely provides glasses that appear next to the dinner plates.
Rhys settles back into his seat as Cassian gets to work on the bottle, using his teeth to crack it open in a characteristically aggressive sort of way. It's disgusting, but you seem both mortified and intrigued where you're sitting beside him.
"Here, honey." Cassian tips the amber liquid into your glass first, and Azriel and Rhys meet eyes from across the table, "Tell me when."
You hum, "Oh- that's good," and Cassian pours for two more seconds before filling his own glass.
He takes the same amount for himself, and only then relinquishes the bottle to the rest of the table.
Rhys strikes when Cassian takes his first sip, aiming to make his brother choke on his drink, speaking into his and Azriel's mind wryly: "Congratulations on learning to share, brother. Perhaps next, she'll teach you how to put a shirt on."
The couch dips under Jason's weight, and he's already reaching for you before he's even fully settled. It's unconscious and routine at this point—the way his arm finds the back of the couch behind your shoulders, the way his thick, muscular thigh presses against yours like he's making sure you're still there.
You are. You've been here for an hour, pretending to read, mostly just watching him doze. As if you’d miss out on a chance to dote on him when he’s like this.
His head tips back against the cushion. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. The line of his jaw is soft like this, unguarded in a way he'd hate if he caught you looking. His henley has ridden up just enough to expose a strip of skin above his waistline. Not muscle there—well, not all of its muscle at least. There’s something softer. Something that shifts when he breathes.
You close your book. You’ve been on the same line for maybe ten or fifteen minutes now and you don’t even remember to put a bookmark in. Too entranced by how hot your boyfriend looks all comfortable like this.
"Jay."
Nothing.
You poke his side. His eyes crack open, bleary and suspicious as he groggily eyes you.
"Mm… what."
"You're comfortable," you say.
"That's not a crime."
"No." You turn onto your side, facing him fully. Your hand lands on his stomach before you think about it. Palm flat and fingers spread. The fabric is warm from his body heat, and underneath it, there's the sexiest pudge you’ve ever seen on a man. A soft layer that yields to your touch before meeting the solid wall of what he used to be beneath.
Jason looks down at your hand. Then up at you. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing."
"The thing where you look at me like I'm a stray dog you found in an alley."
"A very handsome stray dog."
He snorts. It's not an attractive sound. You love it.
"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, but he doesn't move your hand. Doesn't even pull away. If anything, his stomach rises a little more against your palm as he takes in a a deeper breath, deliberate or not. It’s a soft sigh. One that tells you what his words won’t. He loves being here.
"You have a belly," you tell him.
Jason blinks. "I have—okay. Sure. Thank you for that." He rolls his eyes, throwing a beefy arm over his eyes.
"It's not an insult." You trace a slow circle around his navel through the shirt before reaching out to pull his arm off his eyes. It’s heavy. Big. Just like everything else about him. His abdominal muscles twitch underneath, instinctive, but the softness stays. That's what gets you. The way he's still undeniably him—broad, strong, capable of breaking things without so much as trying—but there's this now. This evidence of rest. Of takeout eaten on weeknights. Of sleeping through alarms. Of a normal life where he’s not running himself into the damn ground every single hour of every single day.
"I like it," you say with that cheeky smile of yours.
"You like—" He stops. Rubs a hand over his face. "It's just weight. I've been eating like garbage and I haven't been running as much. It's not—that's not a thing you like. It's just a thing that is."
You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. He freezes. You kiss his cheek, the hinge of his jaw, the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver every time. Every damn time. A weak spot, if you will.
"Liking it," you murmur against his skin.
Jason exhales. Slow. A little shaky at the end because—sure, he’s used to this—but it still gets him hot. His hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer. He just holds you there, fingers gently brushing the nape. Like he's trying to steady himself.
"You're weird," he says quietly.
"You've mentioned."
"Yeah, well." His thumb continues to brush the baby hairs at your nape. "It bears repeating."
You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed—not from embarrassment, exactly. Something closer to disbelief. Like he's waiting for you to reveal the punchline.
You don't have one. He should know this already.
You push his henley up, just a few inches. His stomach tenses on instinct, but you shush him like you're calming a spooked animal, and he lets you, because fuck it, right? He secretly loves the attention anyway. The skin underneath is pale, a roadmap of old scars, and softer than anywhere else on him. You press your lips to the spot just above his waistband.
Jason makes a sound. Not a word. Just a breath punched out of him. A little bit of a groan maybe. Why must you torture him so?
"You're so warm," you say.
"That's—" He clears his throat because if he doesn’t, his voice will definitely crack in a way he would rather it not. "That's generally how bodies work."
"Yours is special."
"It's really not."
You kiss his stomach again. Then again, an inch to the left. Then right where the softest part gives way to muscle underneath. Jason’s not fat—never has been, never really could be with the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his body remembers things yours doesn't. Like years of brutal training and patrol and other shit he had to do, being Red Hood and all. But there's padding now. A layer of proof that he gets to sit down. That he stays. That he isn't running himself ragged every single night.
Jason's hand tightens on your neck. Just a little bit. He’s careful not to crush it—and he definitely could.
"You're gonna give me a complex," he sighs, peeking at you from the corner of his eyes.
"Good. It'll match the others."
That earns a laugh. It's rough, startled out of him, and his stomach jumps under your lips. You smile against his skin and chuckle.
"I'm serious," you say, propping your chin on his belly so you can look up at him. You’re lying in between his legs and even though the position’s pretty compromising when you’re pressed up against him like that. His eyes are soft. His mouth is doing something unreadable, somewhere between a smirk and something a little more fragile. "I love this. I love you. Every part."
Jason stares at you for a long moment. Then he hauls you up by your armpits like you weigh nothing—because to him, you basically do—and places you against his side, sandwiched between him and the back of the couch, with his arm around your shoulders.
"You're annoying," he says, lips pressing against the top of your head. He breathes in your shampoo like he’s trying to commit it to memory. Old habits from when he wasn’t sure if he’d be coming home. But he’s got you forever now.
"You love it anyway." You give his side a squeeze and he groans, grabbing your hand, then your wrist and forces your arm around his waist instead.
"I guess," he agrees quietly.
His hand then drops yours and finds your hip. His thumb rubs back and forth over the bone. His stomach rises and falls against your ribs, soft and warm and alive, and you press your face into his shoulder so he doesn't see you smile too wide.
He knows. He pretends not to notice anyway.
You stay there until the light shifts and the room goes dark, and neither of you moves to turn on a lamp. Too lazy. Too comfortable. And probably asleep by now.
