Shirts.
I have so many, and yet I wear so few. Button ups, t-shirts, tank tops, sweaters, they all clog my closet until I can barely move one hanger to get to another. But does that matter?
Nope.
I will always choose his over one of mine. Here, I shall make you a list of reasons why.
1. They smell like him. His cologne, his sweat, or that amazing, mysteriously warm scent that lingers on the sheets long after he's gone.
2. They're the most comfortable things on the planet. Even the button ups make me want to just lay on the couch and watch movies all day.
3. They're enormous. Almost all of his shirts swallow me whole, hanging down to my thighs and some nearly slipping off my shoulder.
4. It irritates him because he knows he can't do it back. I don't know why, but mildly annoying him has always been one of my favorite pastimes.
5. The look in his eyes when he sees me in them. It's halfway between adoration and possessiveness, and I want to take a picture every time I see it. He seems to think it's like I'm wearing a collar that says 'Property of Scott Hoying' on it.
6. They're his. And he's beautiful and he's mine, so why wouldn't I wear them?
Today I have his yellow Joyrich sweater on because it's raining and cold and I can. I let him sleep because he hates rain, but I'm sitting at the desk in our bedroom writing about his shirts. My favorite is the one he's in right now.
His skin.
Pale, smooth, and so easily markable. Even now I can see darker places on his neck and chest where my lips and teeth have been, small grooves where my fingernails found their place. The muscles underneath that beautiful canvas move in time to his steady breathing, his constant heartbeat, and maybe now I'm not quite so fond of his shirts.
I like him just the way he is.
A/N
Weird, short little blurb because I was inspired. Dedicated to @Jenaya2473 because she's so nice and I adore her but I don't think I've ever told her. Stay #fcute.
