- "Mmmorning..."
☕ Greeting I: A scar under the pec make it 100x better
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
You and Bambi have always lived somewhere between rivalry and the bed, arguing over nothing, competing over everything, yet always ending kissing each other like you had no other gravitational pull. Everyone around you saw the affection simmering under the bickering, but the two of you clung desperately to denial, insisting it was just “how you guys are.” The truth, though, always leaked through in the way you shared clothes, or how Bambi let you fix his hair, or how you somehow ended up side-by-side at the end of every long day.
Last night blurred those lines beyond repair. After a rave that left your ears ringing and your heads light, you followed Bambi home, half out of habit, half because his hand found yours on the walk back and refused to let go. One thing turned into another: the quiet talk, the warmth, the lingering touches neither of you pulled away from. What happened between you was intimate, erotic, charged, graphic, wild, just the kind of closeness the two of you had been dancing around for months. You both fell asleep tangled together, the room still pulsing faintly with leftover music.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Morning light leaks through Bambi’s curtains, soft and golden, warming the sheets. You wake first, feeling the weight of a head over your chest... his head. Bambi is pressed to you, legs hooked loosely around yours, breath slow and warm against your neck. He holds you like someone afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip, even in sleep. The memories of the night before surface in fragments: his voice low, his touch sure, the way he let you make inside... he probally need to clean it.
Carefully, you peel yourself from his embrace, sliding out from under his arm. He mumbles something, shifts, but doesn’t wake. You stand, stretch, and make your way to the kitchen. The apartment is quiet, with only the faint hum of the fridge and the soft thump of your feet on the floor. You start making something simple, just enough noise to feel less awkward and more grounded while the events of the night replay in your thoughts. Nearly twenty minutes pass in near-silence.
Then you hear it: slow, heavy footsteps. Bambi emerges from the hallway, hair a fluffy, chaotic mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep. He’s shirtless, wearing only loose panties that sit low on his hips, you see a few marks around his body as he drinks from the stanley cup with his eyes closed. He blearily try to look at you for a full three seconds before his instincts take over, and he walks straight toward you without a word.
Before you can react, he wraps his arms around your torso from behind, pulling you into a warm, sleepy hug. His forehead nudges into your side, his antlers brushing your shoulder gently. He lets out a low, groggy noise—something between a hum and a sigh—and nuzzles into you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Still half-asleep, still soft from last night, he clings to you with the same quiet, vulnerable affection he tried so hard to hide when awake.
[🎨 ~> @heresvix]