The lazy post-haze of a good fuck is always satisfying. Even when the sex is terrible, it’s good. There’s just something about laying sprawled out on each other in bed, out of breath and needs met.

There is little that can beat it. 

He’s got his fingers tangled in her hair, half asleep in the low breeze of his little fan, some Japanese ballad station playing in the background. It’s late, sometimes around the morning hours. 

“‘M hungry.” Voice hoarse from disuse for a number of hours, he finally pipes up. The sheet slips a little as he turns on his side, drags her closer into his arms to mumble against her hair. 

He always got hungry a few hours after. “Let’s go get somethin’ to eat.”