Stargate -- "The Morning After"
slash_100, prompt 053: Fluff
big damn table
Also written for International Fuzzy Bathrobe Day challenge.
I can’t believe him. The smug little bastard’s run off with my bathrobe.
The Morning After | Prompt 053: Fluff | PG-13 | 548 words
I can’t believe him. The smug little bastard’s run off with my bathrobe.
Well, maybe, on second thought, I can. But how the hell did he get out of the bed without waking me…and before 0900 hours? I must have been really wiped out after last night. But, oh, it was worth it.
I groan and get up out of bed, smiling slightly at the slight twinge when I move. He was careful preparing me, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve done this. Sitting down should be amusing, but I’ll worry about it later. I decide not to bother with taking a shower yet and slip into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before heading out of the room.
I find him exactly where I expect him to be: in the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the coffeepot. From the sheer focus he’s aiming at the cup, I know it’s his first of the morning, and I’m reassured that he didn’t get up that much before me. It also means I can watch him undisturbed for a few minutes.
My robe doesn’t really fit him very well, but somehow it still looks good on him. The faded green flannel is stretched tight against his shoulders, but the cuffs still brush the knuckles of the hand hanging by his side. There’s a tantalizing triangle of lightly-tanned chest visible above the loosely-tied belt, and the hem reveals those shapely legs from the knee down. He’s not wearing his glasses and his hair is standing up in adorable tufts all over his head, the left side flattened from where he must have slept on it. The whole image tugs at something in my chest that I should probably look closely at. Right now, though, I’m not going to bother. I have better things to do.
He notices me watching and looks up from his coffee cup with a bright smile. His eyes are ridiculously blue in the early morning light. “Hi, Jack,” he says softly and I walk across the kitchen and rest my hands on the knot in the robe’s belt. He finishes his coffee and puts the cup down on the counter before wrapping one arm around my waist, the other hand coming up to cup my cheek as he kisses my mouth. He tastes like the coffee he was drinking and sleep. “Morning.”
“That it is,” I reply, kissing him back. “Sleep well?” He nods and then it seems like conversation is off the menu because he’s kissing me again, tongue teasing mine. He moans happily when I untie the robe and slide my hands inside, confirming my suspicion that he isn’t wearing anything underneath. That thought is more than enough to get me hard, but I’m a man on a mission. I wait until he’s suitably distracted and then with a twist and a spin the robe’s in my hands and he’s standing naked in my kitchen. I run out of the room before he realizes what I’ve done, and then he scrunches into himself, hands ineffectually trying to hide his most private of parts. “My robe,” I tease when he calls a protest. I poke my head back into the kitchen and he glares. “You look better without it anyway.”
Feedback is better than chocolate.
big damn table
Also written for International Fuzzy Bathrobe Day challenge.
I can’t believe him. The smug little bastard’s run off with my bathrobe.
The Morning After | Prompt 053: Fluff | PG-13 | 548 words
I can’t believe him. The smug little bastard’s run off with my bathrobe.
Well, maybe, on second thought, I can. But how the hell did he get out of the bed without waking me…and before 0900 hours? I must have been really wiped out after last night. But, oh, it was worth it.
I groan and get up out of bed, smiling slightly at the slight twinge when I move. He was careful preparing me, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve done this. Sitting down should be amusing, but I’ll worry about it later. I decide not to bother with taking a shower yet and slip into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before heading out of the room.
I find him exactly where I expect him to be: in the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the coffeepot. From the sheer focus he’s aiming at the cup, I know it’s his first of the morning, and I’m reassured that he didn’t get up that much before me. It also means I can watch him undisturbed for a few minutes.
My robe doesn’t really fit him very well, but somehow it still looks good on him. The faded green flannel is stretched tight against his shoulders, but the cuffs still brush the knuckles of the hand hanging by his side. There’s a tantalizing triangle of lightly-tanned chest visible above the loosely-tied belt, and the hem reveals those shapely legs from the knee down. He’s not wearing his glasses and his hair is standing up in adorable tufts all over his head, the left side flattened from where he must have slept on it. The whole image tugs at something in my chest that I should probably look closely at. Right now, though, I’m not going to bother. I have better things to do.
He notices me watching and looks up from his coffee cup with a bright smile. His eyes are ridiculously blue in the early morning light. “Hi, Jack,” he says softly and I walk across the kitchen and rest my hands on the knot in the robe’s belt. He finishes his coffee and puts the cup down on the counter before wrapping one arm around my waist, the other hand coming up to cup my cheek as he kisses my mouth. He tastes like the coffee he was drinking and sleep. “Morning.”
“That it is,” I reply, kissing him back. “Sleep well?” He nods and then it seems like conversation is off the menu because he’s kissing me again, tongue teasing mine. He moans happily when I untie the robe and slide my hands inside, confirming my suspicion that he isn’t wearing anything underneath. That thought is more than enough to get me hard, but I’m a man on a mission. I wait until he’s suitably distracted and then with a twist and a spin the robe’s in my hands and he’s standing naked in my kitchen. I run out of the room before he realizes what I’ve done, and then he scrunches into himself, hands ineffectually trying to hide his most private of parts. “My robe,” I tease when he calls a protest. I poke my head back into the kitchen and he glares. “You look better without it anyway.”
Feedback is better than chocolate.