AN: Alterniearth Au - post-Sburb/Sgrub
Morning Fluff. That pretty much sums it up.
It's a sunny Sunday morning when you find yourself standing in the kitchen wearing a pair of boxers that aren't yours. You hadn't noticed when you put them on, not in your half-asleep state, but now you've got some caffeine in you, you can feel that they're a little tight across the hips, and shorter than you're used to. The material is also a lot softer and, upon closer inspection, you discover this is because they are, in fact, Karkat's favourite crab boxers and he takes the utmost care when he washes them, something about them reminding him of his lusus. You find yourself approving of his washing methods and make a mental note to ask him what he does that's so special.
You make yourself another cup of coffee, sipping the bitter liquid gingerly so you don't burn yourself.
When you hear a low groan from the bedroom you begin making another cup of coffee, this time heaping in so much sugar you're not sure it'll dissolve fully. You hear shuffling footsteps approaching from down the hall and pour in a dash of milk, giving the sugary abomination a last quick stir before offering it, handle out, to the disgruntled troll that just entered the kitchen.
He takes the coffee and downs it in one gulp, dumping the empty mug in the sink and yawning.
"You're wearing my boxers." He states, glaring at you sleepily.
"Yup." You pop the 'p' just to watch the way his ears twitch in response. "And you're wearing my shirt." He blushes a little.
He's long since mastered the art of blushing just enough that everyone can see it, but not so much that you can instantly tell his blood is too bright a red.
"Yeah, well your boxers don't fit me, this is the only thing that'll cover me." He protests, raising a good point. The shirt does cover him, the hem sitting pretty much at the middle of his thighs, while the collar exposes more of his neck and collarbone than was normally on display.
You shrug indifferently. "You know how I get dressed first thing. There were on the floor, they were fair game." He makes a sound of pure frustration, knowing that it's pointless to keep arguing with you. "Besides," you continue, making your way across the kitchen to rest your hands on his waist. "Have I ever told you how hot you look in my clothes?" you duck your head to kiss him quickly, stepping back to admire how his blush turns bright red and spreads across his cheeks in the way only you can make it, smashing through years of practised response. "So, what do you want to eat?" you ask, turning your back to him before he can see the huge smile on your face.