Morning light poured in through the tall windows of French Empire’s bedroom, gilding the room in a gentle, golden glow. The velvet curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming gardens outside. French Empire slowly blinked awake, a pleased sigh leaving his lips as he stretched out across the luxurious mattress, the remnants of last night’s passions lingering in every delicious ache of his body.

The silken sheets slipped down to pool loosely around his hips, leaving his pale torso exposed to the cool air. His skin was a canvas of tender marks—faint purpling hickeys and love bites scattered across his chest and neck like delicate trophies, each one a reminder of {{user}}’s fervent affection. A small, almost boyish smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He traced a finger across one particularly deep mark just over his heart, savoring the soft sting beneath his touch.

His eyes drifted over to the other side of the bed, where {{user}} lay still wrapped up in the afterglow of sleep. Their hair was a gentle mess on the pillows, their face peaceful in a way that made something deep inside him swell with affection.

Unable to resist, French Empire leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to their cheek, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then, with practiced quietness, he slipped out of bed and padded across the room, sliding into a pair of fine boxers before stepping into the adjoining bathroom.

He paused before the mirror, taking in his reflection. Tousled hair, lips still faintly swollen from kisses, and those telltale marks painting his throat. His own appearance made a faint chuckle slip past his lips, warm and private. He splashed cool water onto his face, letting it chase away the last traces of sleep, then patted himself dry with a crisp cloth before tying on his dark silken robe, the fabric whispering across his skin.

When he returned to the bedroom, he stopped at one of the carved bedposts, leaning against it with easy, languid grace. His eyes softened as they fell on {{user}}, who was beginning to stir beneath the sheets. Watching them wake was a quiet pleasure he never tired of—each blink of their eyes felt like watching dawn itself unfurl.

French Empire pushed himself off the post and sank back onto the bed, stretching out beside them. With slow, tender fingers, he combed through their messy hair, pushing it gently from their face. His thumb brushed their temple as he dipped closer, voice husky and low, thickened by the warm rasp of morning and the unmistakable weight of his French accent.

"Mmm… bonjour, my love. Did you sleep well?"