STRAWBERRY MILK

6

i.

The morning sunlight filters through the pink curtains, creating a warm illumination over the soft edges of the cornered room. It's so hazy- content and hazy, and that is how John feels; small fingers intertwined with his, a small laugh falling from his lips for no reason other than that he is so fucking happy right now. If he could choose any moment to press pause on, he would choose this one. Where it's all soft edges and glazed eyes. Content, perfect.

Neither of them speak. They say everything that needs to be said through subtle brushes of skin, and little sighs; the intentional placing of hands into skin, into sheets, into mangled shudders that are so intangible that they feel them, sinking, sinking, oh god.

It's so gentle, everything. The little touches that Katy spreads across him, making his heart swell. John's so in love, he is, and Katy gets him intoxicated like no other. Makes the world so fuzzy and light and perfect, especially in moments like these. These soft moments in the morning when they just touch and kiss and love each other, so delicious, so soft, like they have finally slowed the earths spin just by simply loving each other the way they do.

Katy's small hips straddle John's crotch, and she grinds down, slowly, making John rut up against her- making him really feel it- and out comes a shaky groan. She bites down his ear, sucking on the lobe before releasing it.

"Morning," Katy whispers, her hot breath fanning over John's ear.

John hums, "you can continue."

She does. Leaving little nibbles and kisses back to his ear, she bites softly one last time before breathing heavily, "Sorry, gotta head to work," and John feels that stupid smirk of Katy's press into his skin, "and you have to wash the holiday clothes while I'm gone."

"Katy," John whines, turning his head into the side of the pillow groaning loudly.

Katy snickers from above him, slinging her leg over and getting off of John and the bed, "You always say that's your favorite way to wake up."

"Yeah," John drags out, "when it leads to us getting off."

"I did 'get off,'" Katy giggles in mockery, grabbing her purse and raising her eyebrows, "you're the one still just lying there."

John turns his head so he can look at Katy, dressed for work just in a cute little dress with her hair wrapped up into a bun, a few strands hovering loosely down her neck and just above her shoulders. He squints up at Katy, pouty lips and all, "get out of here and take that awful cheek with you."

Katy laughs, blowing a kiss.

The night before was spent in bed, tired mumbles of, "babe, just take tomorrow off," and, "we literally just got back, you need to rest," and his most convincing one, "i'll eat you out all day."

And despite Katy desperately loving the idea of being licked boneless from John's tongue and watching his gentle hands work on her, she still presses her toothpaste fresh kiss to John's pouting lips and leaving the house, calling behind her a quick, "please do up the dirty laundry."

The excruciating process with his hard dick comes first, ha. Getting off on his own has become a thing of the past, so rubbing one off on the mattresses feels more like eating day old French fries; they're good, but they're not hot and greasy with an abundance of salty goodness, and c'mon, who even has leftover fries? Who doesn't eat all their fries? "Katy fucking Hudson," John groans as he ruts his hips into the mattress. That's who.

After waking up in his dried fucking spunk, he bonelessly drags himself from their bed and pulls the sheets off. He throws their dirties into their bags from the trip, an empty laundry basket placed conveniently- also suspiciously- right next to the bags. There is a note on the tea cupboard telling John to 'please do the laundry babe. please." and he rolls his eyes, tearing it off and crumpling it in his fist. He's not going to forget again, his girl just needs to have a little more faith in him.