hanae:9

Cloth flutters and rustles with Matt’s movement, leaving the bed, then migrating closer to you. You see him in your periphery and can’t help but turn and watch. For a few moments, you forget your angst and watch your groggy Matthew trail towards you, hair askew and eyes squinting with sleep. He’s adorable. 

Matt takes the laptop from you; you stretch upwards in an attempt to nab it back, but with no luck. It’s closed and set on the coffee table. With a large groan, Matt clambers on top of you and sighs in relief. He’s the world's best weighted blanket. You stretch out, lying back further. The sleepyhead nuzzles just above your breasts. 

Your distraction sits on the table. There’s a fleeting thought, weighing the pros and cons of reaching over, grabbing it back, and using Matt as your table. He would probably like how warm your ancient laptop gets. 

It’s innocent. You kiss him on the head, but your lips linger, simply enjoying the feeling of his fine hair. His smile presses through your shirt and into your skin. So you kiss him again. And again, And again.

You kiss him when he shifts and cranes upwards, wordlessly asking for your lips to meet his. You’re more than happy to fulfill the request. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s worth it. The kisses go on forever. 

Matt knows how to make you melt. His kisses move to your jawline, under your chin, and into your neck. You shiver at the lovebites he leaves in his wake. He shatters it, whispering, “What would you like to eat?” Your eyes open, lashes no longer fluttering from pleasure, but discomfort. 

You want to pretend you didn’t hear him, but you push instead. “Wanna eat you.” He pinches your side. Hard. “Ow!” You smack his back in retaliation. “That hurt, you fucker.” Staring at the vaulted ceiling, you grumble, “Mean.” 

His head pops upward, and he huffs. “Your body is saying 'please feed me,' and here I am, wanting my wonderful, beautiful, astonishing,” blush flushes your cheeks, “loving, caring, astounding–” 

Your mumble of, “Matt,” makes him ‘tsk’ in annoyance.

“Sweetheart, I wasn’t done. It’s rude to interrupt.” His head falls to your sternum. “Ah-hem. I want my incredible, kind, remarkable, honestly ravishing girlfriend to eat, and you're calling me 'mean'.” His slightly chilled hands wander under your shirt.

"You want me to make something?” Your heart stutters under his cheek. “I’ll parkour all the way to Brooklyn if you want food from Noni’s.” 

“Please don’t do that.” 

“I’ll do it.”

Smiling, you reply, “I know you would.” 

Matt turns soft, quietly requesting, “Lemme feed you.” 

It’s too easy. “Feed me that di-” His hand smacks over your mouth, barring you from further commentary, but you giggle behind his palm. You can tell he’s trying to tame his amusement. His lips smush together, and he fights his curling smile.

“No. Actually, you’ve lost privilege.” Gaping, you fear he means sexual depravity, which truly would be evil, but he tacks on, “You don’t get to choose. I’m choosing for you. You’re having a smoothie, congratulations.”

A final peck is there and gone against your forehead. He gets up with ease, leaving you stranded and cold without his furnace of a body tucked into you. 

Flinging your head back, you know you’ve lost the pointless fight. It’s stupid, and you know it. Humans need to eat to live, but you really wish you were the exception. 

Matt has told you he doesn’t fully understand it, but he does understand the way your body and mind may legitimately go into fight or flight mode, sometimes just at the very mention of eating. He’ll hear your heart pound. Your muscles tense. Your jaw clench. Matt will hear your stomach grumble, and the sound will cause you to pause, as if your own body has betrayed you. 

And as much as he doesn’t like making you anxious, he likes a starving-you even less. As he throws everything together, you look at the ceiling and admit, “I wish it were easy. I really wish…food wasn’t so scary.” And to your great embarrassment, you feel the pre-crying emotional rush. Matt knows your body, but he also knows your mind. He lets you have space, and he continues his self-appointed task. 

He hums. “I wish it wasn’t scary either…cover.” You cover your ears, muffling the blender’s noise. Upon Matt’s return, you sit up and grab the cup he holds out to you. His warm body presses against you. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow?” It’s a welcome distraction. Not as good as his kisses, but good enough. 

In your eyes, the conversation is mundane, but Matt doesn’t seem to feel the same. You could describe paint drying, and he’d listen the entirety of the time. You talk about plans for tomorrow, the forecast, and he discusses his newest case. It’s domestic. 

The empty cup falling against the table is loud. 

Matt opens his arms, and you take the invitation, cuddling up and hiding from the stupidity of it all. “Thank you.” Shaking your head, you don’t accept his words. It shouldn’t be a difficult thing, but today, for some reason, it feels unbearable. “Was it good?” 

It almost feels like admitting defeat, but you know Matt loves it when you compliment his cooking. “Very good. Thank you.” You pause, aware of the way your chest rises and falls against him. Quietly, you ask, “Can you do me a favor?” 

A calloused hand runs up and down your bicep. Soft and dedicated, he replies, “‘Course.” 

Tilting your head up, you watch his expression shift with your request. “Kiss me?” 

With a blooming smile, he pulls you closer. “Don’t have to ask me twice.” He fulfills your request and then some, but abruptly pulls away. Before you can ask, he moves quickly, getting up and yanking you along with him. 

You barely make it to the bed before he falls into desperation. Matt pulls you into his raked up bed and barrel rolls you under him. 

“Matt! What the h-”

He muffles your question with insatiable kisses, then he moves down your jaw and neck, turning you into putty. You don’t know what switch flipped, but this is more than all right with you. “Not-ah, not complaining, but why are you so turned on?” His body rocks against yours.