“You’d look better in my shirt.”
“You know, Senator, a real downside to spending no small amount of my time here naked is that I never remember to pack anything comfortable and appropriate for public consumption for our morning coffee.” Nude but for a skimpy pair of white lace underwear, a widely yawning Krys - she’s never been a morning person, but if Max, the world’s foremost workaholic, is willing to go into work a little later to have coffee with her, she’ll haul her tired ass out of bed - looks outside and sighs. “And it’s so nice outside, too. We shouldn’t waste it sitting inside. Let me go dig out a pair of shorts or something.”
She’s almost through the bedroom door when he leans out of the kitchen. “Hey Tiny, bagel? Or did you want me to open this cinnamon toast you bought?”
“Cinnamon toast, obviously,” she says, waving a hand.
“You’d look better in my shirt. Just a suggestion,” he calls before disappearing back into the kitchen. To Max’s surprise, she doesn’t immediately follow him, turning up instead just as he’s buttering her toast.
“Don’t you need this for work?”
He turns and fumbles the butter knife; it clatters on the floor as he sidesteps it, only narrowly missing getting a swipe of butter down the leg of his black slacks. Krys hasn’t even bothered to button the crisp white shirt, which of course is long enough to be a dress on her, leaving it to cover everything but a wide, tantalizing swath of skin down the center of her torso. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, which also shifts the shirt - if not enough to his liking, really - to reveal the sideswell of one breast.
Damn his morning meetings. And Stafford’s already starting to give him too-knowing looks when he comes in later than his usual; if he calls in for reasons, Stafford, all right? I don’t report to you, she’ll be unbearable.
“I … ah, no, I think you should keep it. Definitely. I ….” Max trails off, tries to rally his train of thought while his mind’s eye offers up much more interesting courses of action than coffee/Uber/work. “I have more. In fact, you should absolutely just … take the day off and relax. Why change out of that?”
As always happens when she manages to ruffle his normally calm exterior, a smirk pulls at one corner of her mouth. “Shall I wear this to dinner tonight? Don’t we have reservations?”
She shakes her head. “You’ve been looking forward to this for two months.”
“Damn. All right, fine.” He picks up the two coffee cups, waits for her as she plucks the saucers off the counter top. "But … you know. Feel free to wear that whenever you want.”
Krys smiles. “I’ll probably take you up on that. This shirt’s comfortable as fuck.” She moves around him to open the sliding door leading to the balcony. “I assume that means I don’t want to know how much you spent on this.”
“That’s probably true,” he says, nodding, before setting the two cups down on the small cafe table and turning to take the saucers from her. It doesn’t escape his notice that even as little as a month ago, she likely would have had snarky running commentary about it, rather than a relatively benign statement like that.
She goes on tiptoe, looping her arms around his neck and all but dragging him down, planting a warm, lingering kiss on his cheek. “Then I’ll just have to let you take care of dinner, then, won’t I?” Ignoring his raised eyebrow and look of mild shock, she tilts her head toward the chairs. “Shall we? Coffee’s getting cold and you’re going to have to get going soon.”
