Sensory information slowly filtered through Amber's consciousness: the soft morning light through the curtains, the excessive heat beneath the covers, the creak of her mattress. Amber half-reached, unaware, for Eric as he got up, just as she kicked some of her covers away. To do more than that, though, required too much energy, so she only rolled over, protecting her bubble of coziness for as long as possible. It was Saturday. She didn't really need much sleep-- learned how to run on minimal amounts during med school-- but when the opportunity presented itself, Amber slumbered.
The next thing to draw her attention was the smell of food. She awoke as she tried to identify the various scents: cheese, bacon, what else? It felt so close, as if it were coming from her kitchen. The smile that had been on her lips all morning widened. Eric's lamentable absence from her bed must be for a good cause.
Amber sprang out of bed, light and in good spirits. The world, she couldn’t help but feel, was a wonderful place. She opened the curtains with a flourish, letting in even more sun, looking benevolently down at the low, carefree Saturday morning activity. She almost laughed at herself for being so ridiculously happy. Last night, as strange as it’d been, had ended perfectly, with her and Eric giving a fuck-you to all their problems and falling asleep in the tub. It’d been a pain to drag herself out, get dry, and lumber back to bed—pausing only long enough to put her shirt back on—but well worth it. The relaxation it brought, after their fights and fucking, made her sleep soundly.
She stopped by the bathroom long enough to relieve herself and brush her hair: any more preparations would have to wait for after eating her hand-cooked breakfast. Her bed’s warmth had kept her going for a while, but the more she moved, the colder she became. This time of year, it was hard to last without a few layers, even in the morning. About to leave, Eric’s hoodie caught her eye. Amber paused, thinking for a second; picked it up and held it to her face, breathing in deep. Stale, definitely; if it’d been her own clothing she’d have carted it off to the wash at once. But it smelled of Eric. He wouldn’t mind. And it was his own fault, for leaving bed before she woke up, depriving her. She drew the jersey over her head and looked in the mirror. It was so large it hid her form, but—she liked the look. It made her feel—well. Like his. Like she had the right to show off being his, no matter the rest of his damn history. And it was comfortable, too, the cotton worn like a favorite outfit. With a new pair of jeans and slippers from her bedroom, she was warm enough to walk about the apartment.
Amber didn’t quite bound to the kitchen, but it was a close call. Eric’s back was to her as he juggled assorted tasks, brisk, self-assured. He must’ve really made himself at home here, if he felt okay about raiding her supplies and overtaking her kitchen without asking—and, to her shock, Amber was glad. He’d just better be careful, lest she get used to having her own personal chef. “Morning,” she said, sliding up to him, wanting a hug and kiss even before feasting. “I think I might be able to forgive you sacrificing morning sex,” she teased, “if this is the reward.”
no subject
The next thing to draw her attention was the smell of food. She awoke as she tried to identify the various scents: cheese, bacon, what else? It felt so close, as if it were coming from her kitchen. The smile that had been on her lips all morning widened. Eric's lamentable absence from her bed must be for a good cause.
Amber sprang out of bed, light and in good spirits. The world, she couldn’t help but feel, was a wonderful place. She opened the curtains with a flourish, letting in even more sun, looking benevolently down at the low, carefree Saturday morning activity. She almost laughed at herself for being so ridiculously happy. Last night, as strange as it’d been, had ended perfectly, with her and Eric giving a fuck-you to all their problems and falling asleep in the tub. It’d been a pain to drag herself out, get dry, and lumber back to bed—pausing only long enough to put her shirt back on—but well worth it. The relaxation it brought, after their fights and fucking, made her sleep soundly.
She stopped by the bathroom long enough to relieve herself and brush her hair: any more preparations would have to wait for after eating her hand-cooked breakfast. Her bed’s warmth had kept her going for a while, but the more she moved, the colder she became. This time of year, it was hard to last without a few layers, even in the morning. About to leave, Eric’s hoodie caught her eye. Amber paused, thinking for a second; picked it up and held it to her face, breathing in deep. Stale, definitely; if it’d been her own clothing she’d have carted it off to the wash at once. But it smelled of Eric. He wouldn’t mind. And it was his own fault, for leaving bed before she woke up, depriving her. She drew the jersey over her head and looked in the mirror. It was so large it hid her form, but—she liked the look. It made her feel—well. Like his. Like she had the right to show off being his, no matter the rest of his damn history. And it was comfortable, too, the cotton worn like a favorite outfit. With a new pair of jeans and slippers from her bedroom, she was warm enough to walk about the apartment.
Amber didn’t quite bound to the kitchen, but it was a close call. Eric’s back was to her as he juggled assorted tasks, brisk, self-assured. He must’ve really made himself at home here, if he felt okay about raiding her supplies and overtaking her kitchen without asking—and, to her shock, Amber was glad. He’d just better be careful, lest she get used to having her own personal chef. “Morning,” she said, sliding up to him, wanting a hug and kiss even before feasting. “I think I might be able to forgive you sacrificing morning sex,” she teased, “if this is the reward.”