thanksgiving or something.

[island_juliet]

Juliet isn't a great cook. She's terrible at it, as a matter of fact. So, attempting an entire Thanksgiving dinner is out of the question. Which is why, at nine in the morning she's busy kissing John, bodies still pressed closed together after an early wake up call. She's still flushed, and she rests her head against his chest, listening to his

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[yippiekiyaymf]

John chuckled, his abs bounced with it, giving Juliet a bit of a ride.

"Me too, baby," he said, hands brushing her hair back, and cupping her face as he arched up to claim her mouth with his.

"Did we decide what we wanted for dinner? Pizza? Chinese?" He said, mostly to remind her that he would be supremely thankful, and enjoy the meal, even if it were cold cereal.

"Would we be unpatriotic if it ate our dinner in bed?"

[island_juliet]

Juliet laughs softly against his mouth when he kisses her, then nuzzles against his neck. "Think room service will deliver a thanksgiving dinner?" she asks, then hums as she kisses down his chest slowly, taking random detours.

"Hmmmm...I think America will forgive us if we decline to wear clothes as we eat in bed."

[yippiekiyaymf]

"I'm pretty sure they will," John hummed in pleasure at her kisses, stroking her hair.

"Sounds perfect...God, I love you."

[island_juliet]

"That's a good thing," she says with a cheeky grin before moving back up to look at him. "Because I love you, too."

Bending to kiss him again, her tongue moves over his, lazily exploring and tasting.