shi-no-toge:

hanakotobawakodoku:

Entirely unaware that he had an audience, Eric kept it up. His movements were fluid, hips inspired to sway with the music and feet bouncing against the bed in time. Yes, he was the sort to go about dancing on his bed. And while he wasn’t bad at it, it seemed his balance needed a little work — for one wrong step and he was sent (in a fit of loud shouts and cursing) tumbling to the ground with a crash. Sheets tangled around his legs and hair disheveled.

Alan hummed happily as he cooked the eggs over easy, lighthearted and happy. It was a lovely morning, and he was glad to be sharing it with the other man. He laughed to himself when he realized the other man was likely using his shampoo. He would emerge smelling like violets, and that thought rather amused him. He plated the eggs carefully and made four slices of toast. Se set the plates on the table, along with strawberry, grape, and peach flavoured jam, and a bit of butter. He set silverware on the table and awaited the other man’s return, nibbling at his toast.

Eric scrubbed himself thoroughly with floral shampoo and body wash, feeling a bit ridiculous all the while. As much as he loved the way Alan smelled, he’d have to remember to bring his own next time. Violets didn’t suit him. He shut off the cold water and, freezing and smelling very much like a garden, turned to step out of the shower. 

His foot slipped beneath him and he fell with a loud crash to the floor, shouting creative curses as went down. He was bent over the edge of the tub quite awkwardly, shower curtain half ripped down where he’d tried to grab hold of it before falling. “Shite.” He hissed.