#ofstupeo

“Now, women flashing their breasts at me? Well, that’s another story…”

   Kuro can smell frost in the air ( crisp, fresh, suspended in misty nebulas; a galaxy of wintry scents inspiring twitches of his nose ). The windows are hazed; sweet steam curling from the oven conspires to fog them up, but Kuro swipes gently at the glass ‘til the world outside is visible.    Winter, already?   ( How long has he lingered here? Days scamper by,  vaporous and indistinct as ever - damn it all, he’s never possessed the keenest sense of time’s passage - but here, here with Ignis, he fails to notice. Fails to even consider leaving. )   “Winter,” Kuro comments idly, when Ignis bustles over, a flurry of refined activity, to check on whatever it is he’s cooking. ( Kuro’s head tips to observe ). “I can feel the cold setting in.”   More excuse to exchange affection, Kuro’s mind supplies, and he pictures himself sprawled over Ignis’ lap, pampered and warm. Silly cat, don’t fuck it up.    The pad of footsteps ( he knows their sound and rhythm well now ) coax him from reverie, just in time to register the heap of soft material pressed into his arms. A jumper, he realises, and his throat goes dry. He wants to scurry from the well of gratefulness bubbling up in his chest, wants to poof into a cat and vanish under the furniture--   He doesn’t. Mechanically, he tugs the jumper over his head. It statics up his hair into an even wilder mess, and when it settles against his form he can smell Ignis on it, and it makes him think of home, and isn’t that just ridiculous. Silly stray cat. His thank you gets caught in his throat, tangled on his tongue, and he manages only a soft noise.    Perhaps, he thinks, as he worms his way into the circle of Ignis’ arms and fits his face into the juncture between neck and shoulder, he doesn’t need to say it. The fingers that delve into his hair and smooth the mess of it seem to agree.

   Words drift, aimless snowflakes that they are, from his tongue. A soft, lulled stream of just words. “It’s really good. Your food always has a ton of flavour... I don’t like bland stuff. Like vanilla. Eugh.” It’s tidbits, really. Parts of himself divulged. Know me, keep me, learn me.     He’s warm inside from Ignis’ want to spoil him with favourites. “I really like... cookies and cream ice cream. If you’re ever in the mood to make it.” Nuzzle, nuzzle. 

   To dart away, or to linger? His presence seems welcomed, his affection moreso ( or - not rejected, which is a nice concept ). It’s not just for the tart allure of apple pie that Kuro remains now, but the prospect of - something. Doesn’t know what. Just likes it here, pastry melting on his tongue and Ignis not-quite-but-almost-laughing.     “...Mhm.” Another slice is greedily swiped. Kuro fits himself against Ignis’ side.

   “--Principled. Yeah, that’s me.” A man of fine taste, this one, oh yes. Kuro’s quite thoroughly flattered. And hungry. And snuggly. Both requirements can be eased in one go, he thinks; a lightning-fast swipe of the plate’s contents, and a rather bold nuzzle to the other’s jaw.

   “Just how cheap do you think I am?”     Says the catboy inching nearer, purrs rumbling in his chest.

1. How are you today?I’ve been very relaxed all day today, thanks to the holiday.3. Do you have nicknames.I do, it’s based on a Japanese fish. There are more too, haha.