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A little orange sat sliced up on a porcelain plate in eight even little pieces. Each was glistening under the sun, basking in the merciful coral light of the early morning, cool air hitting them through the open window. The corners were cut off, just the way Satoru liked them to be, discarded on a cutting board nearby. It sat just behind the plate on the pale oak coffee table by the window, as it did at the beginning of every day. Beside the corners of the orange resided the innards of peppers, and the smell of vegetables and eggs overpowered that of the fruit, though the view of the stove was blocked by broad shoulders.
Satoru picked up a small slice of orange between his index finger and thumb, biting it and sucking out the juice before chewing and swallowing. He placed the stripped peel back on the plate, smiling as it came to rest alongside the others, bathing once again in the natural light. He glanced appreciatively over at his husband, who was tapping his foot and softly humming to the American jazz playing quietly over the speaker. It Might As Well Be Spring, he recognized immediately. Clifford Brown’s cover; Kento’s favorite.
He walked up behind Kento, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and burying his forehead in the crook of his neck. They both, unknowingly, closed their eyes at once while Satoru pressed a gentle kiss to Kento’s jugular, making an obnoxious mwah sound as he did so. “Good morning, baby,” he cooed, his voice still rough from eight hours of sleep.
Kento turned his head towards Satoru’s and gazed at him lovingly, his eyes only half-opened since he hadn’t finished his pour-over coffee. His hair hadn’t been styled yet, and Satoru noted that Kento was wearing the apron he’d gifted him, which simply read: ꜰᴜᴄᴋ. “Satoru,” Kento started, his voice even gruffer than his spouse’s. “You’re earlier than usual.” Birds continued warbling in the background, and the breeze coming through the window picked up, reaching for Satoru’s back. He nuzzled into Kento again, grabbing at his lean torso through his thin white t-shirt and apron.
“It was lonely in bed without you,” Satoru pouted, pale blue eyes meeting Kento’s tired green ones. “Sleep in sometime.” He dragged his lips along Kento’s neck to his defined jawline, where he began to trail wet kisses towards his mouth, using the leverage he had on Kento’s waist to spin him around. Slowly, he felt the tension drain from Kento’s back, watching as his shoulders dropped steadily, locking eyes with Satoru. No matter how often this happened, it seemed that Kento would never get used to it. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of Satoru's lush lips against his bare skin, where he was still sensitive from hours of neglect. He pressed their foreheads together, strands of blonde and white drifting between one another. Kento sighed and wrapped his arms around Satoru’s waist as well, mind wandering. When was his next day off, again? He clicked his tongue.
“This weekend, love. I promise,” Kento offered Satoru a warm smile, reserved and earnest all the same. It was an uncommon display of vulnerability only Satoru got to see, a secret between the two of them. Returning the gesture, Satoru cupped Kento’s face, pulled it closer, and let their lips meet at last.
“Good,” Satoru grinned. As he pursed his lips again and pecked Kento’s temple, he reached past his lover, picking up his favorite green mug, tasting the lukewarm coffee, slurping in a manner he knew would irritate Kento. It was nauseating, per usual.
“Slurp in my ear again, and you’ll wake up with fire ants in your hair,” Kento mumbled, turning around to flip his omelette with careful, practiced hands. Eggs sizzled against the lightly greased pan, the scent of their breakfast drifting between them.
“You love it,” Satoru remarked, reaching past Kento once more to place the mug back down, teasingly punching his arm on the way back.
“I don’t think so,” Kento replied, confident. Before Satoru had the chance to retort, he continued: “But I can’t deny that I love you.”