Sunlight drips through their curtains and onto the linen sheets of their bed. Yousetsu groans at the way it hits his eyes, turning away from the window and towards her. He burrows his face into the area between her shoulder and the pillow she lays on, wrapping an arm around her bare waist to pull her closer.
Momo hums at his touch. "Is it really morning already?" She asks, sleep still evident in the lilt of her voice. She brings one of her hands down to his that lays against her skin, placing her fingers in the empty spaces between his.
"No," Yousetsu replies, the sound of his voice muffled by her flesh, "not if we fall back asleep."
Laughter pulls her away from him, shifting her further towards the edge of the bed. He feels as she shakes her head, and then shifts, forcing his hand further down to her hips as she sits up, casting her legs over the side of their bed.
"C'mon, Yousetsu " Momo says, "We should get going." He feels her weight shift as she stretches, hears her joints pop as she moves. He turns his head so he can see her fully, and catches a sight of none other than perfection.
Her bare back lays in front of him, her arms stretched high over her head as she stretches. The sun casts a golden glow onto her, highlighting the highs and casting shadows over the divots in her torso.
His breath is no longer his own. It stutters as it escapes him, his hands no longer calm and steady. Yousetsu can hardly comprehend the way she moves, the way the muscles in her back give to her demands so easily.
He supposes he can hardly blame them. He, too, follows her beck and call. He, too, follows her movements with ease and gives way to her without ever having a thought.
Momo pulls her hair up and away from her neck, forming it into a messy bun held only by her delicate fingers. Her neck tilts to let the wind of their ceiling fan catch it, creating soft chills that travel down her spine.
Yousetsu almost envies the way the chills get to live under her skin—the way they get to move with her and be a part of her without even knowing. Yet, he does not envy them for not knowing their own presence.
At the thought of them, he drags his hand up from her hip, and with the light touch of his middle finger, follows the shadows in the valley of her spine, feeling the way those chills raise under the wake of his touch. Momo's back arches beneath him and her head falls to the side, a sigh escaping her nose.
"Yousetsu," She warns, her voice more like a melody than an actual wish for caution. Still, Momo leans into his touch, melting into his fingers. He hums, still too entrenched by sleep for his words to be fully formed when he speaks.
"Yes?" He replies, voice low and gravelly with the memory of nightfall. Momo doesn't respond to him, only intakes a contented breath as his fingers travel back up her spine and onto her shoulders. Yousetsu's touch traces patterns between her freckles that lay there, figure-eights and randomly formed, languid shapes becoming nothing more than muscle memory for him.
When another breath escapes her and she releases her hair from her fingers as his touch falls down from her shoulder onto her upper arm, he takes the invitation to sit up. Yousetsu wraps one arm around her waist, the other lightly tangling his fingers in her hair, moving it off of her neck.
Yousetsu presses his lips just behind her ear, and her head falls further onto her opposite shoulder. One of her hands falls to grasp his forearm that lays at her waist, allowing him to continue to trace shaky patterns into her stomach.
"You're shaking," Momo states, running her hand up his arm to feel as his fingers move unsteadily against hers. "Are you nervous?"
"No," He lies, "Only excited to bring you back to bed." Momo laughs and her head bows, moving away from his lips, but she's quick to sit back up again.
At that, Yousetsu leans further into her, kissing behind her ear again, and then below it. He moves around her until he's kissing the back of her jaw. Momo leans into his lips as he moves, and he can hardly hold back the smile that begins to form on them.
"I think it's working," Yousetsu hums. Momo groans at him, shaking her head.
"You're awfully playful this morning," Momo replies, but she doesn't move away from him. Instead, her hand moves to allow him more freedom against her waist. Yousetsu presses the pads of his fingers lightly into her hips, feeling as more chills rise against her skin.
"Playful's a word for it." Yousetsu lips press to her jaw as Momo scoffs at him, her lips barely parting as the breath escapes her.
"Perhaps bold is a better choice of words, then," Momo replies. Now he laughs, his head falling onto her shoulder and burying into the crook of her neck. The hand that's holding her hair off of her neck travels down to her waist to mirror the other, now both hands pressing into her hips.
"We have work to do," Momo offers as another warning, but it's weak as her head leans on top of his, one of her hands coming up to tangle into his hair.
"Is there any work that can't wait only a while longer?" Yousetsu asks. He melts into the hand that plays with his hair, letting out uneven breaths beneath her fingertips.
"I have chores…" Momo begins, but allows herself to trail off. Yousetsu smiles into her flesh, pressing a kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder.
"I have a feeling those can wait for an hour," Yousetsu replies. Momo laughs, quiet and breathy. He raises his head away from her shoulder as she turns back to him, finally allowing him to see her full face.
Momo's eyes are barely open, her lips red and the corners of her mouth upturned into the beginnings of a smile. Stray pieces of hair lay in front of her eyes, and Yousetsu moves a hand away from her hips to brush it out of the way. Momo catches his hand as it lingers against her skin, feeling the way it shakes in hers.
"You're a better liar when I can't touch you," Momo says. She releases his hand so it can trace her jaw, his thumb pressing against the center of her lips before unsteadily dragging away.
"You can't blame me for that," Yousetsu whispers, his voice dropping an octave as his gaze meets hers. "You've always made me nervous, babe."
His hands can't touch her enough. Even as one lays on her jaw and the other on her hip, Yousetsu can't meet enough of his skin with hers. His hand travels up to her waist and then back down again, feeling the way her torso curves. He softly grips into the skin there, and she sighs again, Momo's breath now fanning onto his lips. Yousetsu inches closer to her without thinking, but their lips don't quite meet.
If he could, he would crawl into her body through her breath. Yousetsu would become her muscles the raise of her skin against the cold. He'd guide her movement until he couldn't anymore, until time grew to be too much for both of them.
So how could he ever deny his nerves around her? How could he ever deny the way Momo shoots adrenaline into his veins until he's running on nothing but endorphins and her touch on his soul?
Momo leans in to kiss him, finally. She turns fully now, so she can hang her arms around his neck and move her fingers into his hair. His fingers grip at the flesh on her hips and trace along the skin at her lower back.
When they part, Momo leans her forehead against his, laughter biting at her voice.
"The chores can wait two hours," Momo says, and then presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Yousetsu hums, and then presses his lips down from her lips onto her jaw once more.
"Playful," Momo states as Yousetsu attacks her with kisses, "Most definitely playful."