“Someone’s hungry,” you roll your eyes at him. Your mind suddenly drifts to the mini kitchen in the hotel room and you think of what you can prepare for breakfast. But you are distracted as he closes the little gap remaining between the two of you and lightly kisses the tip of your nose. You wrinkle it, and he moans in protest.

Because he likes it.

No, he loves it.

A lot.

“Stop teasing,” he sighs.

“Only if you do,” you laugh. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“You.”

-

a/n: fluff kills