Notes Between Seasons

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the TV and the occasional creak of the couch whenever one of them shifted.

Elias let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "We really should invest in a sturdier couch."

Anya smirked, eyes closed, her head resting on his shoulder. "What, planning to break this one?"

"I mean…" He tilted his head, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Not planning exactly. But accidents happen."

She opened one eye, glancing at him without turning her head. "That's what people say right before they make bad decisions."

"Bold of you to assume that wasn't the goal all along." He grinned at her.

She swatted his stomach, but didn't move from his side. "Wouldn't expect any less from you."

A few moments passed in that easy stillness; just the two of them, their breathing synchronized, content.

Then her stomach growled, a low rumble that echoed in the stillness.

Elias raised an eyebrow. "Round two?"

"Of food," she deadpanned. "Pervert."

He chuckled. "Can't blame a guy for checking."

She laughed too, a warm, lazy sound. "You're impossible."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And yet here you are."

"Because I haven't stood up yet," she shot back. "Don't flatter yourself."

Elias clutched his chest dramatically. "Wounded."

Anya finally sat up and stretched, the oversized t-shirt shifting, revealing more thigh than strictly necessary. She sensed his stare and shot him a playful glare.

"Eat. Something else," she ordered, standing and heading toward the kitchen without looking back.

He sat up on the couch and stretched before groaning. "Fine, I'll follow your lead."

....

The kitchen still smelled faintly of coffee and toast. The eggs from earlier were cold and congealed in the pan.

Elias leaned against the counter, arms folded. "Still edible?" he asked.

Anya poked an egg with her fork. "Technically, yes but not something I want to risk on toast."

"Fair," he said. He grabbed two mugs from the rack and asked, "Coffee?"

"Obviously."

He filled both cups and handed her one. She took a sip and closed her eyes in appreciation.

"God, this might be the best thing you've done today," he said, watching her.

"That's just the coffee talking," she replied, smiling.

His gaze softened. "Mm. But it's still true."

They stood side by side at the counter, the morning light streaming through the window, illuminating the steam from their mugs.

Elias nudged her gently with his elbow. "You know we've barely watched five minutes of that show."

She snorted. "Who needs crime when there's chaos right here?"

He chuckled. "Domestic chaos. Sexy chaos."

She raised her mug to him. "The best kind."

They finished their coffee in companionable silence, as though they'd been doing mornings like this for years. Maybe, in some alternate reality, they had.

…..

Anya popped a slice of bread into the toaster, humming under her breath. The click of the toaster felt like punctuation.

"You ever think about this?" she asked suddenly, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Hm," he said. "This?"

"Us. Doing… normal stuff. Mornings like this."

Elias paused. Then: "Yeah. More often than I probably should."

She didn't respond right away, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

He moved behind her as toast popped out; a crisp, golden rectangle. She jumped, then laughed when he slid his arms around her waist.

"Always sneaking," she said, leaning back.

"I wasn't sneaking," he said with a grin. "I was gliding. Gracefully."

She rolled her eyes. "You? Glide? You loom."

"That's hot," he teased.

She lifted her chin, playing along. "And yet here I am."

He pressed a kiss to her neck. "I just want more of this."

Anya smirked. "Toast?"

He grinned. "Sure. And you."

She turned in his arms, holding the toast between them. Fingers hooked through his shorts. "You already had me today."

"Doesn't mean I'm full."

Her eyes darkened. "You're insatiable."

He dipped his head to her lips. "Only when it comes to you."

….

Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss one that felt like a second wave of the morning's hunger. Soft, patient, but with heat that hadn't quite settled after the first time

Her hands forgot the toast entirely, exploring the planes of his bare chest like she hadn't already done it that morning like she couldn't get enough. His fingers pressed into the backs of her thighs as he lifted her onto the counter with ease. The cool surface contrasted with the warmth bubbling between them.

"You're ridiculous," she whispered against his mouth, breath catching.

"And yet you keep kissing me," he replied, voice thick.

She hooked a finger into the waistband of his shorts. "Because you won't stop kissing me."

"Guilty," he admitted.

His thumbs brushed the inside of her knees, her legs parting around him. She exhaled sharply against his cheek.

….

"We're gonna be late for… literally nothing," she whispered.

"Exactly," he replied, mouth grazing her jaw. "We're right on schedule."

Anya gasped as he nipped at her neck, her legs tightening around his waist.

"The counter?" she breathed. "Really?"

"Feels appropriate." His voice dropped. "The couch is resting."

She snorted. "Your back's gonna need resting if this keeps up."

"Worth it." His lips traveled lower.

Hands roamed freely, kisses deepened again. Somewhere between whispered encouragements and half-laughed curses, another slice of toast smoldered in the background.

The apartment filled once more with the intimate sounds of their connection soft moans, the rustle of fabric, skin pressing against skin.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't careful. And it wasn't messy.

It was them.

When they finally slowed, Anya let her head fall forward against his chest, body still trembling in the delicious way of spent heat. Elias let his hand run down her spine, soothing.

"I think caffeine's not the only stimulant in this place," he murmured.

She laughed, voice soft and breathless. "You're an idiot."

"And yet…" He kissed her temple. "Here we are."

She slid off the counter, legs wobbling. "Next time, we eat first."

"No promises," Elias murmured, running a hand slowly over his abs before tugging his shorts back up, deliberately slow, like he knew she was watching. He shot her a sideways glance, lips curving into that infuriatingly confident smirk. "But I'll try… if you stop looking at me like that."

Anya arched a brow, eyes still lingering. "Like what?"

He stepped in close, brushing his fingers along her hip. "Like you're already thinking about round three."

She didn't deny it.

She grabbed a dish towel and waved it at the toaster. "Breakfast is officially ruined. Again."

"Let's just get something," he said, scrolling through his phone.

She shot him a mock glare. "You're so lucky you're cute."

"And bendy," he added.

She shook her head, amused. "Oh my God."

…..

They ended up on the floor, leaning into each other with greasy sandwiches and overpriced smoothies spread across the coffee table. Laughter punctuated every bite.

"You know," Anya said between mouthfuls, "these sandwiches are actually… good."

"See? Twisted genius," he replied, biting into a biscuit sandwich with egg and cheese.

She nudged him. "We need to do laundry."

"Because we destroyed every soft surface in this place?" he said, taking a big sip of smoothie.

"And because I only have so many shirts left to steal."

He paused in mid-smile, suddenly serious. "Take them all."

Her brow lifted. "What?"

"I mean it. You wear them better than I ever did."

She blinked and stared at him.

"Take them all," he repeated gently.

For a moment, she didn't respond.

Then, with a small laugh: "Fine. But only if I get the grey one."

"That's my favorite."

"Exactly."

He grinned and clinked his smoothie cup against hers like a toast.

"No need to define it," he whispered.

She smiled into his eyes and replied softly, "Not today."