12-29-2018, 11:30 AM
Rather than reply immediately, Ivar takes another bite of his burrito.
Chew, maintain direct eye contact, swallow.
"Well?" He asks around the last bit of pulled pork, scrambled egg, and tortilla. "Were you going to help me with it? Or did you come back just to remind me why I hate eating in public?" His messy eating habits are not a secret between them; Ivar has lost count of how many crumbs he's pulled from her auburn hair as they lay in bed, a consequence of his need to get his hands on her as soon as possible - post-breakfast handwashing be damned.
This reminds him of how many burritos he's been able to eat totally fresh while she has been away. Most Saturdays when she was around they were tossed in the fridge half-eaten to be consumed later in the day - either cold or reheated.
There is nothing better than a totally fresh breakfast burrito, or so Ivar tells himself.
Not even Wishbone.
Despite his somewhat crass invitation, the dark haired man makes no further advances on the woman across from him. She is impossibly well dressed, even this early in the morning, though Ivar thinks she'd look just a little better if she were wearing one of his shirts with those fancy little belts she likes instead of the stripey thing she had on he still has trouble looking away from her.
So he doesn't.
He continues to eat his burrito, licking the last bit of sour cream from his thumb while refusing to break eye contact. She's the one that went away, he thinks, she can be the first one to look away.
"Should we take this back to my place?" He asks as he tosses the brown paper bag into the recycling bin beside the table, looking away from her for the first time and managing to sound entirely casual. "Or do you need to jet off to somewhere with no warning again?"
Chew, maintain direct eye contact, swallow.
"Well?" He asks around the last bit of pulled pork, scrambled egg, and tortilla. "Were you going to help me with it? Or did you come back just to remind me why I hate eating in public?" His messy eating habits are not a secret between them; Ivar has lost count of how many crumbs he's pulled from her auburn hair as they lay in bed, a consequence of his need to get his hands on her as soon as possible - post-breakfast handwashing be damned.
This reminds him of how many burritos he's been able to eat totally fresh while she has been away. Most Saturdays when she was around they were tossed in the fridge half-eaten to be consumed later in the day - either cold or reheated.
There is nothing better than a totally fresh breakfast burrito, or so Ivar tells himself.
Not even Wishbone.
Despite his somewhat crass invitation, the dark haired man makes no further advances on the woman across from him. She is impossibly well dressed, even this early in the morning, though Ivar thinks she'd look just a little better if she were wearing one of his shirts with those fancy little belts she likes instead of the stripey thing she had on he still has trouble looking away from her.
So he doesn't.
He continues to eat his burrito, licking the last bit of sour cream from his thumb while refusing to break eye contact. She's the one that went away, he thinks, she can be the first one to look away.
"Should we take this back to my place?" He asks as he tosses the brown paper bag into the recycling bin beside the table, looking away from her for the first time and managing to sound entirely casual. "Or do you need to jet off to somewhere with no warning again?"