@circusblud , strong arms slide 'round her waist, head tipping slightly to press a kiss 'gainst smooth skin where neck and shoulder meet, in lieu of proper greeting. most people wouldn't have heard him cross the kitchen and slip in from behind — though she always did. he lingers there, breathing in the soft warm scent of her and allowing it to settle in his bones. mouth brushes worn cotton of borrowed shirt, day–old stubble scraping flesh where large collar slips. " y'know, one of these days, you're gonna hafta let me make you breakfast, " or lunch, technically, given the hour. he smiles, letting chin hook upon her shoulder. large hands smooth over her front playfully now. he hums low, thoughtful sound, letting it rumble 'gainst her back. " have i mentioned you look really good in my shirt? "
she hears him come — heavy feet carrying him with a sleepy waddle over wooden planks ; the dragging annoyed her once, but now her heart flutters, eagerly expecting to feel his arms around her any second. their morning routine, where he wakes up late after a night full of fighting crime, and vinicia impatiently waits until she hears dick’s groans when he opens his eyes and stretches the stiffness of sore muscles. her shoulders instantly relax, knees ease from their stiff posture to lean against his broad chest, exposing bare neck with a gentle tilt. the puzzles connect — they were made for one another, carved from one stone by different artists, unaware of their perfect match that yearn to align again. right hand lifts, carding through her lover’s soft hair. ‘ are you planning on waking up before noon any day of this week? or are we calling dinner a breakfast now? ‘
his meal is nearly finished — perfectly on time, calculated with precision. steak medium, cranberry sauce nice and warm, potatoes cooling in the oven ; just a quick simple thing, enough to satisfy taste buds with every bite once his mind and body wake fully. she doesn't turn to face him ; her palms, still warm from the cooking heat, slide across strong forearms to wrists — up and down and then once more, savouring each curve and edge, impressing them into a deep memory to cherish in lone times. ‘ you might have mentioned it before, beloved. you can say it again. ‘ a compliment that she reciprocates with a small forehead kiss, squeeze and a tug at his hands — tightening their embrace until she’s on the verge of suffocating. ‘ dessert now or after? ‘