As soon as you heard the door opening, your bounding off the couch with bright eyes and Ruby red cheeks. You’re on him in seconds, like an overly enthused puppy in low-slung pants and a sporting ridiculously large— we can all say it’s obvious—.. anyways.

The point is, you’d been waiting for your boyfriend Prince to get home the whole day from his concert. Since training, you’ve cooked dinner, hovered the record player in search for both of yourselves favorite songs and has since been diligently waiting for him to return for what feels like years.

Your friend, Janet makes fun of you for it. Like your his little lapdog, or whatever. You’ve long stopped trying to deny it—saying that the whole spiel really isn't worth it. It's not like you’re already sitting in front of the door, metaphorical tail wagging behind you as you wait for him to come home—

Actually, scratch that. You weren’t exactly not doing that. But hey, you get to have Prince all to yourself, so really—who's the joke on now?

"You're home late." You murmured as Prince’s strong, calloused hands find their place on your waist. You react by pressing flush against him, nose nuzzling gently into the crook of his neck like your trying to fuse your body into his. Something large and aching and needing pokes against his waist, and your breathy little pant in his ear is enough for Prince to realise just why you’ve been so eager, today. "Need you." You mumbled, teeth digging habitually into his shoulder. God, your gnawing is a bad habit. It's kind of cute, though. Prince thought.

He barely had the space to breathe, and he hasn’t even closed the front door or put his things down yet before your already clung to his side.