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You collapsed onto Wrecker’s chest, bodies slick with sweat from some supreme lovemaking, and slowly rolled off to the side as you both got rearranged. Flopping onto your back and pushing your hair out of your face, you let out a low whistle, earning a throaty chuckle from the massively beaming man next to you. How you got here, you couldn’t even fathom, but the path leading to your tryst had been full of joy, laughter, delight, and connection. Yet it still held that sheepishness of novelty, the precarious early stages where everything was yet to be discovered, and was slowly revealed as intimacy grew.
ANYWAY.
You basked in the glow of your evening together, smirking after a quick glance at the chrono revealed it was still fairly early. You’d only made it through the first part of your date -- dinner but no dessert -- before you found yourselves eagerly and delightedly tearing off each other’s clothes, barely making it back to your apartment before diving into the tumultuous ocean of desire you’d built up toward each other. And now, reveling in the descent, you watched him sit up onto an elbow, leaning to face you. He regarded you for a moment, with those large puppy dog eyes that made your knees weak, and studied your face with the seeming intent of saying something profound. You lost yourself in his gaze, so taken in by the softness within such an intimidating specimen, and wondered what could be so meaningful for him to put such thought into.
“I'm awful at pillow talk… so uhh… can I get you some food?"
You laughed, simultaneously surprised and yet not at all surprised, as if there were nothing else in the world he could have replied with that would be as perfect as that. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and gave your cheek a gentle pinch, rolling to get out of bed. “I knew you had good taste!” he called as he snapped the waistband of his boxers and trundled for the kitchen.
Wrecker’s return, after a bit of banging and beeping in the kitchen (not that kind, you ol devil you), heralded the fruits of his labor: two large plates heaping with the most luscious warm cinnamon roll you’d ever laid eyes on. He flopped onto the bed next to you, keeping the plates perfectly stable, and nestled up against you, sitting tall against the headrest. One plate was passed into your hands, and you stared down at the gooey piles of cream cheese frosting nestled amongst the folds of warm, fluffy cinnamon bread. The smell was intoxicating, making your mouth water, and you watched with surprise as Wrecker dove into his with a bare hand, going right for the center. Talk about a zest for life. He scooped it out with a few fingers (hot), and you watched him slowly raise it to your mouth, which you weren’t expecting. With a boyish face of gleeful anticipation, he watched you bite it out of his hand. You made sure to drag your lips along a few fingers, further brightening his expression, and felt like this day could absolutely not get any better.
The two of you slowly fed each other cinnamon rolls, breaking off chunks to scoop up some icing and gently place in each other’s mouths. It felt wildly intimate, yet also as comfortable, fun, and natural as could be. The delicious bites were punctuated with quiet conversation, and when your plates were both cleared, Wrecker pushed them off to the side, one going too far and falling to the ground with a loud clatter. He grinned and shrugged, rolling back to take you in his arms and press a sweet kiss against your lips that tasted of frosting. He was so warm and musky, so broad and soft, you wanted to drown yourself in your senses and never forget the feeling of the moment. Nestling your face against his chest, which radiated heat and serenaded you with his steady heartbeat, you took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of deep contentment.