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Chris smiles to herself as she feels Street kiss her shoulder.
A tradition forged under the blanket of sunlight streaming in golden ribbons through the blinds, the gentle touch of his lips on her shoulder was a silent reminder of how far they’d come.
Of how much he loves her.
Still smiling, she turns to face Street. The sunlight painted a golden backdrop that spread across the planes of his shoulders and illuminates the shadows of his face. Chris, not for the first time, feels the sudden desire to capture the moment of Street swathed in gold and bottle it.
His hand slips under her cheek resting on the pillow and his thumb runs across her cheekbone. The other hand came to rest at the curve of her waist.
“I love you,” he whispers into the space between them. Her smile widens further.
“I love you more,’ she whispers back. She tilts her chin to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, intending it to be no more than a peck. Street, however, has different plans as he tugs her waist to bring her lips back to his, eventually pushing her hip slightly until her back hit the mattress below.
His arms bracket her head and she reaches her hands upward to tug gently on the hair at the nape of his neck. Street groans slightly at the sensation and deepens the kiss further, tongue coaxing her to part her lips. She concedes willingly and soon her hands wander further down his body, landing on his chest and -
Her stomach rumbles.
Street breaks their kiss and let his chin fall to his chest as he laughs. Chris shoves him without any real conviction.
“I think we should get you some breakfast. What have we got in the kitchen?”
Chris feels like her heart might fall out of her chest.
She lets him pull her into a standing position but not before planting one more kiss on the corner of his lips.
Street pulls a pair of sweatpants over his legs as he throws his shirt from yesterday vaguely in Chris’s direction, an action so familiar by now, yet one that still made her heart beat just a little faster. It misses but she scoops it up from the floor and pulls it over her head.
“I hope your aim in the field is better than that,” she teases.
Street rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he crosses the room to place a kiss on her hairline before padding out the bedroom and into the kitchen.
She watches his still shirtless form retreat for a few appreciative seconds before following him.
-
Chris swings her legs back and forth as she watched Street carefully whisk the ingredients required for pancakes. Her perch on the counter gave her the perfect view to watch his arms as he carefully spoons batter onto the hot surface of the pan.
Deciding that her position was, in fact, too far away after all, she hops down to wrap her arms around Street from behind, head resting between his shoulder blades. She peppers kisses across the expanse of his back; he flips the pancakes before turning in her arms to face her.
He smiles at her tenderly and she rises up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. This time he doesn’t deepen it, as they can both smell the pancakes starting to burn behind him.
Quickly he turns the heat off before resuming the kiss, carefully crowding her body until her lower back hits the counter. Street breaks the kiss to hoist her back on to the counter. Chris likes when they kiss like this, enjoys the feeling of being taller. She’s pretty sure Street doesn’t mind it either.
Her hands cradle his face, and his hands rest on her thighs, her hair, her neck and she thinks she might implode.
He pulls back, eyes glazed, to look up at her. Her bottom lip is swollen, slick with spit and to him, she’s never looked more beautiful. She’s clothed in his shirt, they’re together in the house they share, and he’s never been more in love with her.
She smiles down at him before reaching over to snag a pancake, now cold, from the pan. Chris thinks she would eat cold pancakes forever if it meant more moments like this one.
Another pancake is retrieved and handed to Street. He chews it thoughtfully.
“Not too burnt surprisingly.”
“It’s cold.”
They both don’t really care.
-
Breakfast eaten and dishes tidied away, Chris and Street settle down on the sofa. Her head is on his chest as he traces mindless patterns across her waist, shirt having ridden up. The TV hums in the background quietly. There’s something playing, but neither are quite sure what.
It’s barely been an hour since she had been awoken but Chris can already feel the familiar fog of sleep begin to seep into her mind. The patterns being traced are soothing; the rise and fall of Street’s chest providing a comfortable rhythm.
She doesn’t want to fall asleep, she wants to savour this moment of closeness, savour the day off together. So instead she removes the hand on her waist and places a gentle kiss to his palm.
Street smiles down at her, already knowing that she’s trying to keep herself from dropping off. She’s always been stubborn like that.
He loves her so much.
Street thinks that if there were an infinite number of universes, he would love Christina Alonso in every single one.
“Chris,” he whispers into her hair. She takes a moment to respond.
“Street.”
“I love you.”
The edges of Chris’ mouth tilt up. He likes it when she smiles at him. It feels like a gift to treasure.
“I love you too,” she mumbles back, eyes beginning to close.
Street can tell she’s losing her battle against sleep so he moves a hand to her hair and gives it a light tug. Her eyes snap open and he smiles at the disgruntled expression on her face. He likes this face too.
“Sorry. Go to sleep Chris I’ll be right here.”
Her face softens as her eyes shut once more.
Sunlight streams through the house, but nothing shines quite like they do.