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Summary
He leans forward then, setting the breakfast-laden tray gently upon her lap–the orange liquid in the two champagne flutes sloshing as he does so.
“Only the best for my wife,” he breathes, placing a kiss gingerly upon her forehead.
Gods, he's so cheesy. From the doting house-husband act to the bacon strips arranged in a heart shape atop her eggs, to the small vase full of flowers next to her plate–lush, fluffy pink peonies. He's even wearing his husband apron, the one that says “Don't Kiss the Cook, He's Married”; a gag gift from Black Star at the bachelor party that Soul had actually been downright thrilled to receive.
“You're such a sap.”
(Written for Cherrytober 2024, prompts Honeymoon, Oral Sex, Morning Sex)
Series
- Part 7 of Kinktober