Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
The immediate, answering flare of heat at her suggestion colors his cheeks. It's the only part of him that has the strength left to respond, his cock thoroughly wiped out into slumber for the time being, even as the delightful image of her screaming out chews through the already frayed strands of his desire. "I know how we're waking up now," he says slyly, clearly inspired to let the idea submerge into his dreams and therefore resurface boldly in the morning, fully invigorated and ready to experiment in every manner necessary to get to the bottom of this new ability. Of course, fighting a bit of a hangover and flirting with Niki will end up taking root somewhere among the morning fuck fest, but that's something he's no premonition of now.
His yawn cuts itself short with an abrupt clamp of his mouth. The intention that leaps down the channel to him has him on the defense even when there's no attack coming, and he slides an accusing eye to her with the utmost offense of someone now experiencing the blue balls of tiredness. Unfortunately for him she's too annoyingly adorable to hold a grudge against for long, especially when she's snuggling against his side like this, fitting into the space made just for her at his side.
Such that an indignant complaint rises when she stiffly jerks away a touch to level her identity at him. "Yeah," he mutters, half-yawning again, tongue thick as it flops against the roof of his mouth after. "Mm, yeah, I'm on birthday duty, you're on anniversary. May the best man win," he offers, more than content to stupidly argue about showed who the most love tonight and turn it into the threat of a challenge next year.
"Although, maybe we'll be married-married come next year. At what point do we stop having this anniversary because of the new one?" The rules of that stoop him for a moment, another yawn cresting in full force, unable to be reined in or hidden. "Maybe we just celebrate every season," comes the sensible conclusion as his eyes flutter shut against his will.
His yawn cuts itself short with an abrupt clamp of his mouth. The intention that leaps down the channel to him has him on the defense even when there's no attack coming, and he slides an accusing eye to her with the utmost offense of someone now experiencing the blue balls of tiredness. Unfortunately for him she's too annoyingly adorable to hold a grudge against for long, especially when she's snuggling against his side like this, fitting into the space made just for her at his side.
Such that an indignant complaint rises when she stiffly jerks away a touch to level her identity at him. "Yeah," he mutters, half-yawning again, tongue thick as it flops against the roof of his mouth after. "Mm, yeah, I'm on birthday duty, you're on anniversary. May the best man win," he offers, more than content to stupidly argue about showed who the most love tonight and turn it into the threat of a challenge next year.
"Although, maybe we'll be married-married come next year. At what point do we stop having this anniversary because of the new one?" The rules of that stoop him for a moment, another yawn cresting in full force, unable to be reined in or hidden. "Maybe we just celebrate every season," comes the sensible conclusion as his eyes flutter shut against his will.
Kaisel
They don't gotta ask 'cause they know I'm him
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
