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✴︎ Summary: With busy schedules, laundry tends to pile up. Why not do it all in one day in nothing but your undergarments?
✴︎ Word Count: 1.2k
✴︎ Warning: Slightly suggestive, but mostly just cute and short pure fluff (fluffier than freshly washed towels, I might add).
A/N: May or may not have stemmed from the fact that I hate doing laundry in my dorm & I've been putting it off.
You've been rattling open empty dresser drawer after empty dresser drawer all morning. You meant to do the laundry at some point earlier this week, and it looks like relying on bottom-of-the-barrel clothing is coming to an end today. You just need to find one more work shirt, and you swear to yourself that you'll do the laundry later today.
On the verge of giving up, and debating calling off, you resort to your boyfriend, “Jan, have you seen any of my work blouses?”
He thinks for a moment before responding from the bathroom, “Ah, yes.”
“Thank God,” you let out a sigh of relief. “Could you bring it to me, please?”
He steps over to the bathroom doorway, just into your view. “Oh, I mean, I did see it. Somewhere,” Jannik sucks his teeth and adds, “In the hamper.”
You groan and fall backwards onto the bed. “Guess I'm going to work in pajamas,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your face, hiding from the fact that you procrastinated laundry day much too long again.
“Sorry,” he says, plopping down on the edge of the bed beside you and gently tearing your arms from your face to look at him. “You can borrow one of mine?” he offers, knowing there's not much else he can do to help. He would go out and buy you a new top, but you're already cutting it close to being just on time.
“Between one of your Nike athletic polos and one of my plain t-shirts, I may have a guess on what's a bit more work appropriate,” you give him a half smile and add, “but thanks anyway, babe,” pecking him on the cheek before taking your turn in the bathroom.
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You get back home a little before Jannik's finished with his tennis practice. Simone and Darren have been keeping him longer than usual, working on his serve and drop shots in particular.
Disrobing yourself of your impromptu work outfit, you toss the clothes one by one atop your already overflowing pile of laundry. Opening your pajama drawer, you find it to be empty. That's fine; you'll just borrow from Jannik. You pull open his drawer, empty again. Guess you’re not the only one slacking on doing their laundry. Time to throw in the towel—amongst the hundreds of other garments, you think and slightly roll your eyes at yourself.
The only thing left for you to wear happens to be the underwear and bra you're currently in. At least it's summer in Monaco. Taking your laundry basket out of the bedroom, you walk past the living room, and just as you're about to walk past the front door, you hear the familiar sounds of Jannik fumbling for his keys, unlocking the keyhole, and turning the doorknob.
“Amore, you won't believe this new drill Simone made me-” Jannik's sentence trails off once he makes eye contact with you, eyes widening at seeing your less-than-modestly covered form. He sets his practice bags down—you put the laundry basket down at some point to rest your arms. He tears his eyes from you and notices the basket. “Maybe I should do my laundry, too,” he says, his creeping blush starting to match his curls. You like how he still gets shy like this—when you're not even trying to tease him. You will tease him about his lack of urgency on chores, though.
You cross your arms, “Yeah, there's not a single clean piece of clothing left, if you can believe it.”
“Sì.” He knows full well he hasn't done laundry in weeks.
“Mhm. When's the last time you did your laundry, Sinner?”
He pretends to think about it for a moment, then responds, “Can't say I remember. And what about you?” he gestures to the comically large laundry bin beside you.
“Touché.”
“Well, you know, I should probably get out of these sweaty clothes.”
“And then you should probably take a shower.”
“Well, I would hate to use up all the water for our laundry,” he winks, incredibly exaggerated. “I'm a bit too sore to undress all on my own, anyway.”
His haphazard attempts at flirting earn a big grin from you and a kiss on his jaw. “I just need to put one load in first. Seriously, or I'll never have anything to wear.”
His hands reach out for your waist. “That would not be so bad, right, bellisima?” he smirks and pulls you in to properly kiss you before you both do your respective things.
You eventually make it to the laundry room and get a load running. Taking a seat on the cushioned bench, you watch the cycle for a few minutes—transfixed on its mechanical, methodical whirring. You let the tension in your body wash away, breathing in time with the machine, cycling out the stress of this morning and of work. Any other sounds are drowned out, and you don't hear Jannik's shuffling feet as he approaches.
“Still in here?” Jannik questions, carrying his own laundry basket in nothing but his boxers. Your gaze is broken from the washer, and your neck snaps in Jannik’s direction; you can't help giving him a one-over. He smiles sheepishly once you make eye contact again. It almost makes you forget about the very noticeable tennis sock tan line you just saw. Almost.
You smile back up at him, “Your sock tan line is diabolical, Jan. Maybe it's for the best that they're all out of commission.”
“Oh, so I should even out my tan for an hour while waiting for laundry instead of making you dinner. I see,” he nods.
“Wait, no!” you laugh, “I take it back, babe, I will do anything for your pasta.”
“Well, to be honest, I think I need an appetizer before dinner.” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide the smile breaking out across his face.
Naturally, you indulge him. Pushing yourself off the bench, you wrap your arms around his neck, resting your forearms on his shoulders. You inch your noses closer together. “What's on the menu?” Jannik wastes no time capturing your lips, and your fingers find his curls. He spins you around so that your back is against the washing machine. You're tickled by the machine's vibrations and Jannik's kisses moving from your lips to down your neck; he starts on your left and plants kisses down your arm, placing a chaste kiss on the top of your hand, softly blowing back up his trail, and then adjusts his body to do the same to your right side. Instead of your brain, it's your insides that are now spinning.
“I was thinking of trying,” he lowers to his knees with a mischievous glint in his eyes and the dopiest smile, “un po' della figa della mia ragazza.”
✶ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ✶
“I should procrastinate other house chores, no?” Jannik grins playfully and takes a bite of his pasta.
You stop your fork mid-twirl, “If you do, I might start looking for a lavanderie. Maybe my own apartment at that rate.”
“Cuore mio,” he gasps, “you wouldn’t.” He mock-pouts, clutching his chest with one hand and placing the other on top of your own.
“You're right, I can't get better pasta for free anywhere else.” You take his face in your hands and kiss him on the lips; he tastes of garlic and tomato and herbs. Giggling, you add, “or loads of soiled kisses.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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