Tayvis One-Shots

kitchen counters (m)

Travis's POV

It's late, so late that the silence feels thick, the kind that only comes after the world's already been asleep for hours. I'm at the kitchen island, one hand wrapped around a spoon, the other absently scratching at my jaw while I work through my second bowl of cereal. I can't sleep, and I've learned over time that fighting it never works.

The faint sound of footsteps pulls my attention toward the doorway.

There she is.

Taylor.

She's wearing one of my shirts, one of the older, softer ones, and it hangs halfway down her thighs, swaying with each step. Her hair's wild, that messy, sleepy kind of beautiful, and she rubs at her eyes like a kid who just woke up from a dream.

"You scared me," she says, her voice husky, soft, like it's been dipped in honey.

"Didn't mean to, baby." I smirk, leaning back on my stool. "What are you doing up?"

Her eyes sweep over the room before they land on me. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd find you here."

"You know me too well."

She walks over to the fridge, opening it and letting the soft glow wash over her face. I don't even try to be subtle about it; I let my eyes drag over her, drinking her in. My shirt's hanging just low enough to drive me crazy, teasing at the hemline, her legs bare and glowing in the dim light.

"What are you looking at?" she mumbles without turning around.

"You," I say simply. "Always you."

She pauses for half a second before shaking her head and shutting the fridge. "Smooth, Kelce."

I grin. "What can I say? You're a distraction."

She grabs a jar of peanut butter and a spoon from the pantry and hops up onto the counter like it's the most natural thing in the world. Her legs swing lazily as she pops the lid off the jar. "I didn't distract you from anything important, did I?"

"Only my focus on this cereal." I hold up my bowl for emphasis. "But you're worth it."

"Cereal at one in the morning is insane," she says, dipping her spoon into the peanut butter and taking a bite.

"And peanut butter straight from the jar is normal?" I shoot back.

She shrugs, her lips curling around the spoon as she pulls it from her mouth. My brain stalls for a second.

"Gremlin behavior," I mutter, leaning my elbows onto the counter to keep myself steady.

Taylor licks a little peanut butter off her thumb, meeting my gaze with that mischievous look she gets when she knows exactly what she's doing. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

I exhale, letting my head drop for a second because she's killing me, sitting there like that, like she has no idea how good she looks, or maybe she knows exactly how good she looks and she's using it against me. When I lift my head again, I push the cereal bowl aside and stand, walking over to where she's perched.

She doesn't stop me.

I step between her knees, planting my hands on the counter on either side of her hips. She leans back a little, her lips curling into a slow smile.

"What's wrong?" she teases. "You're staring again."

"You're wearing my shirt," I say, my voice lower now.

"And?"

"It's a problem."

"Why's that?" She tilts her head, feigning innocence, but there's that glint in her eye—the one that tells me she's got me right where she wants me.