you don’t sit up or shift your position at all from where you lie sprawled across your bed, even at the sound of the man you love’s voice.
“you can’t even see my face, dante,” is all you manage to reply in your lethargic state, brows pinched in the middle as you stare at the ceiling above you and nowhere else.
the door between your bedroom and living room is wide open and the last time you saw said man, he was sprawled across your couch like he pays rent to be here or something (he doesn’t) while you trudged defeatedly to your bedroom. you haven’t moved an inch since flopping down with a groan, your skirt only halfway unfastened around your waist and the straps of your tank top sagging around your upper arms.
“i don’t have to look,” he argues back, voice growing ever closer, his footsteps ringing through the apartment that really is just as much his home as it is yours.
his stuff is everywhere, photos of him hang on every square inch of the walls and refrigerator, so he wastes no time in joining you in the bed you’ve christened together on more occasions than your tired mind cares to tally up.
thankfully it doesn’t have to since he slides onto the bed over you, knees framing your sides. he leans down as close to your face as he can get without potentially being bit (or scratched, you may be one pretty kitty but you do have claws) and he sighs morosely.
“i knew it,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “not a smile to be found.”
despite yourself, you find him amusing. charming as always, peeling back whatever layer you’re using to cover yourself and how you really feel as effortlessly as ever.
“and what are you going to do about it?”
it’s a bold question to ask and frankly your mood isn’t quite sour enough to mean it as anything beyond a halfhearted attempt to maybe get jostled around a bit but he scoffs nonetheless.
“what am i going to do about it?”
you nod, looking up at him while futilely attempting to suppress a smile by pressing your lips together so hard they start to ache.
“well i could do this,” he sits up halfway and flexes one of his arms, eliciting an immediate reaction of raised eyebrows and a pleased hum from you but still no smile.
“tough crowd,” he jokes, shrugging as he leans back over you, pretending to think for a few moments as if he doesn’t know you like the back of his hand.
“ahhh, i could do…..” he trails off, leaning down to kiss you again, this time across the bridge and tip of your nose and each of your soft, perfect cheeks. “that…?”
puzzled, or at least feigning to be, he tilts his head to the side and shakes it, moonlit hair falling over his blue sky eyes.
your lips continue to ache as you hide how you really feel, the gift of his presence alone more than enough to bring every flower in the garden inside of you springing to life even if you’re playing hard to get.
you both like it that way after all.
“okay, okay. i get it. i have to resort to drastic measures don’t i?”
without further warning, he sits up and reaches behind him to grab your foot.
“dante, stop!” you shriek, immediately thrashing beneath him in an attempt to break his gentle hold on your ankle. “don’t you dare!”
he chuckles and you can hide your smile no longer, cheeks immediately warming, face lighting up, exhaustion evaporating.
he asks, turning to use his other hand to tickle the bottom of your foot. you half screech and half laugh, bucking your hips wildly to try and knock him off of you but it’s no use. he’s twice your size and ten times your strength even if the only show of it that’s ever directed at you is a little something like this unless you ask very, very nicely.
“dante! i’m gonna piss the neighbors off again!”
he shrugs, wearing a smirk as handsome as the first time you ever saw him, tickling you until you’re breathless and tears are running down your cheeks.
who was upset about something again?
