OOM: Suite 130

[watching_you]

Sunlight pours like butterscotch through the gap in the curtains, gathering in one long thin strand along the ceiling, then the walls. As the sun rises it melts down, pooling at last on the tangle of blankets that marks the bed. Though the gap is thin the sun is persistent, making firm arguments in brightness and warmth that yes, it is morning, and

Comments

[particularskill]

"You said that half an hour ago," he rumbles, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder. He's been drifting in and out of sleep for awhile, listening to the world waking up around them. He swears he can hear the Loompas moving in the walls, and yeah, it keeps him on edge.

But when she's here, he actually does manage to relax. His hand idly combs through her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"Aren't you hungry for breakfast yet?"

[watching_you]

Her fingers dance an uncoordinated waltz along his chest, drawing contours along the lines of bone and flesh and muscle. She cranes her neck a fraction of an inch, just enough to let her place a kiss at his neck.

"Do you mean breakfast, or..." she waggles her eyebrows suggestively, "...breakfast?"

[particularskill]

His eyelids droop and his arm falls around her shoulder, pulling her a little closer. He has no idea how he got so damned lucky, but he's never been the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Depends." He opens an eye to look at her. "Am I cooking or are you?"

[watching_you]

"Well, do you mean cooking, or-" the same gesture, same innuendo-laden tone: "cooking?"