sorry i thought about finally finishing a big project and going to take a luxurious bubbly shower and coming out and crashing into sae's space.
you smell clean and very faintly like his cologne because — ah, that's his shirt slipping off your shoulder. sae's heating dinner on the stove and barely even budges when you throw your arms around his middle.
you're pouting about it but you're cute. sae likes getting these reactions from you.
he knows you think it's hot that he barely moved. you might think you're slick, splaying your fingers along his firm stomach like you aren't feeling him up, but sae knows two things in life: football, and you.
"all done?" he asks. you nod and your entire cheek presses firm into his heartbeat. you don't seem to care that you look silly like this, all smushed up. and sae gets hit with it all at once — how much he wants you.
"why're you looking at me like that?"
you snort and sae turns the stove off. you're still clinging to him so he reaches down to snap the band of your panties against your hip.
the glare you shoot him is halfhearted, tempered by the way you melt when his fingers tug your borrowed shirt up your shoulder. it's crazy how much you love him, how much you show it in your every move. sae wants to get closer. he wants to be the only one who gets you like this.
"you're still looking at me funny," you point out. "is there something on my face?"
sae watches you for a moment. you're so warm and loose and comfortable with him. it makes his jaw clench. he pinches your cheek and smirks when you yelp.
your hand comes up to smack him and he grabs it before you make contact. the clink of your wedding rings brushing together falls into the quiet.
your eyes go round and soft. and then you grin and squeeze his hand before dropping it to grab his face. sae lets you pinch his cheeks together, lets you lean up to plant a kiss that's more sound than feeling.
sae traps you against the counter before you can dash off. "want a reward?"
"ooh, what kind of reward?" you ask. he watches you trail your fingers down to the waistband of his pants. little troublemaker. "isn't it time for dinner, dear husband?"
he tilts his head in agreement.
