"Baby, Don't Be Mad At Me."

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Okay, I've fucked up.

Badly.

Horribly.

"Do not fucking touch me." He snarls, again smacking my fingers away that are tenderly stroking his cheek. His cheeks are alight with fire. Dammit, I didn't know that-

"Yes, you did!" Oh fuck me, he's so upset that he's answering my self-talk.

"I put my name on the fucking container, Kakarot. Don't you dare pull that bullshit excuse on me." Okay, I did know. It just smelled heavenly. He growls underneath his breath, shoving me away.

"Dammit, you fool. Do you know how frustrating it is to be thinking about a certain food all day and then return to find it gone?!" His tone rises at the end and I chew the inside of my cheek. He's irritated but I'm turned on, achingly so.

I know, I know.

Attempting to soothe him once more, I push my luck by reeling him in by his hips. He fights me off for a split second before my grip on him tightens and he halts.

"Baby, don't be mad at me. Please?" I peck his nose while he grumbles. I feel him melting under my hands.

"You ate my chicken and waffles." He pouts, not willing to give up his rightful exasperation plea. "I was looking forward to it all day. My name was on it-!"

"I'll take you out right now to get some more." As the last word spills from my mouth, he's already dragging me out the door, a small smile pulling at his adorable frown.

Whew, that was close. I'll just... playfully suggest that he takes his brunch leftovers with him when he goes to work tomorrow morning, hehehe...

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