You step out of the shower, blowing steam out of your face and grabbing your favorite towel off the rack by the sink. While condensation leaks away from the mirror, you towel down, squeezing your hair out and rubbing at your tired face, listening to your boyfriend just outside the door that leads into your bedroom, where he’s playing a video game, the sounds of a simulated crowd laced with the music coming out of his phone.
You know he’s just waiting for you to come to bed.
With the towel hung up to dry, your eyes land on the clothes you’d brought in with you, the TMNT shirt he’d brought back with him to give you and the little lacy violet panties you’d bought while he was away, on an unusually daring whim, to show him when he got back.
Only now you don’t feel so brave.
It’s one thing to make love in the dark, to feel his hands on your skin, fingertips sinking into the fleshier parts of your body with an enthusiasm you’ve never understood. It’s another to try and put on a show, to let him get a good look at something clinging to the ample proportions of your body in a way you’ve always been taught could never look good on a girl your size.
You swallow hard. close to pulling the towel down again to wrap around you so you’re not standing exposed even to the empty bathroom.
And then he knocks, “Babe? You okay in there?”
“Uh, y-yeah, great, just… just finishing up, um, brushing my teeth and stuff. Don’t worry about me, Michael.”
You can almost hear him hesitating, can certainly imagine the slightly consternated look creasing the space between his eyebrows. “Okay, but… don’t take too long, I wanna sleep…” It’s a bit of a whine. “Can’t do that without you.”
Your throat closes up a little with emotion and you swallow it back with a stifled laugh, “I know, I know… go lay down, you big baby, I’ll be out in a minute.”
When you hear him shuffle back to the bed, you let out a breath as if it had been stuck in your chest this entire time. With unsteady hands reaching for the garment, you tell yourself the panties looked great when you tried them on the first time, clinging to you in a way that complimented even the soft pooch of your tummy, the color intriguing against the tone of your skin. As you slip them up your legs, you remind yourself that Michael’s seen you without anything on before, that he didn’t care, that he’d blown little raspberries against your middle like you were five until you were giggling and trying to squirm away.
It’s silly and it shouldn’t matter and really all you want to do tonight is snuggle up against his side, feel those long arms around you, where they haven’t been for so long while he was away with his band.
When the panties are on, you try not to look at them, your belly doing little somersaults of anxiety as you tug on the t-shirt, and discover that it already smells like Mikey, his soap and that scent that’s just him, a little musky, so very boy but not in a bad way.
“Baaaaabe,” you hear, just as you get your hand on the doorknob.
“Hush, I’m coming,” you pretend to grumble.
Michael’s already sprawled on his unofficial side of the bed, in a t-shirt and his underwear, pale and slender legs stretched out to the end on top of the blankets. You really can’t wait to tangle yours with them.
He picks his head up unexpectedly and without thinking you simply freeze under his gaze. You can feel his eyes moving over you, taking in the tee, lips curling into a bit of a smile, but it drops off his face the moment he gets to the peek of lace underneath the black hem of the shirt. Your heart drops into your stomach, even as his eyes widen a little bit.
Before you can make the decision to sprint out of the room and into the next nearest closet, his lips turn up into a little pink smirk. “You got new panties,” he says, tone very matter of fact, but his eyes haven’t come back up from their journey south.
You’re still frozen, but you manage, “Um, yes, they… I thought… that they were really cute in the store a-and that you might- well, you might like them, because I really do, and-”
His giggling cuts you off as he pulls himself up in bed and wiggles to the edge of it, reaching out for you, pulling you by the bare backs of your tender thighs towards him. “They’re really cute,” he tells you, resting his chin on your tummy to peek up at you. “But you’re cuter.”
The laughter that comes out of you is such an anxious guffaw that you actually cover your mouth, your cheeks going scarlet even as your eyes meet Michael’s. He just grins, while you try to get the giggles under control, hand still pressed hard to your lips. You’re just thankful you don’t cry with relief. It’s stupid - you don’t always depend on his opinion, in fact, when he’s away, you’re actually much more confident. It’s just that when he comes home, after wading in a sea of girls - and not just smaller ones - you’ve always been inclined to think were much better than you are, you just need that reassurance, that he’s all for you, that he still wants and needs you.
Michael nuzzles into you for a moment while his huge, warm hands inch up the backs of your legs until they reach the curve of your behind, and toy at the scalloped edges of the panties. Then he’s practically purring up at you, “Does this mean I get to take them off now?”
