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Is That My Shirt?

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There were several certainties you had learnt fairly quickly since moving to Kembleford. The priest always knew more than he was letting on, Inspector Mallory was quite the opposite, Lady Felicia cared less about propriety than she let others believe, and Sidney Carter was anything but a morning person. The last of these little facts had once been an assumption, based on the tardy manner in which he often turned up around town if it was anywhere before ten o’clock in the morning, but it had solidified into indisputable fact when he had started spending more and more of his evenings in your bed.

Laid sprawled out at your side each morning, a sleeping Sid was a sight to behold. Sure, his mouth hung open, and he certainly wasn’t what you’d call a quiet sleeper, but there was a look of utter calm that sat on his features as he snored away that never ceased to bring a smile to your lips.

It was often hard to leave him laying there alone, knowing how delighted he would be on the rare mornings that you could actually stay at his side until he woke, but this morning was different. This morning you had no plans, well, not until late afternoon, and you had every intention of spending a lovely day with your man, and that would start with a delicious breakfast.

You couldn’t be certain it was the smell of freshly cooked pancakes drifting through the house that woke him, but you certainly wouldn’t put it past him. With a plate of pancakes piled high in the middle of the table and a small collection of preserves and fruit to try and create some form of a luxurious beginning to the day, you were happy to admit that you had done a damn good job.

The sound of fumbling footsteps caught your attention as you settled the kettle back on the stove, and you could practically see his sleepy state even with your back turned. With no usual greeting of ‘mornin’ to break the silence, you finally turned to face him, only to find he was still some way away, having barely made it into the room, a look of complete shock etched into his features as he stared open mouthed at you.

“And a good morning to you too,” you broke the silence with an amused huff of laughter, watching as he stood completely still, trying to shake sleep away as he took in the sight of you. With a rough clearing of his throat, he sent what was most likely intended as a smile in your direction, although it came out as something of a mixture between that and a grimace.

“Is that my shirt?” his voice was low and dry, clearly the first words he had uttered since waking, and somehow the mixture of the words and tone had an utterly alluring effect; although the sight of him in only in his briefs and singlet certainly wasn’t helping either.

With a noticeable bite of your lower lip, an act which certainly wasn’t missed by the sleep addled chauffeur if the low groan he gave was any indicator, you leant your hip against the table, using your hand to prop yourself up as you met his gaze with a look of mischief. “Might be,” you offered with a playful shrug, barely holding back the grin that was threatening to emerge.

With a slow, decisive step towards you, rather like a predator stalking its prey, Sid eyed the material slowly, taking in the sight before him carefully, deliberately, committing every inch to memory. “Right,” he spoke slowly, gaze flittering from where the shirt met your bare thighs to meet your gaze, “and what am I meant to wear then?”

He was close now, only a few steps away, but he paused to watch you, a goofy grin emerging on his lips as you raised a brow at him. Leaning over the table, taking your time with your movements as you knew he’d be drinking them in, you took a single strawberry from the bowl of fruit. Standing up straight once more, you couldn’t help but feel pride at the look of hunger he was now throwing your way.

“That,” you paused, taking a deliberate bite from the strawberry, delighting in just how easy it was to pull his attention to exactly where you wanted it. Slowly drinking in the sight of him, with his hair still a tussled mess from the night before, you offered a playful smirk to the man, before continuing to speak, “sounds like a you problem. I’m quite happy as is.”

If you were searching for a reaction, you were certainly pleased with what you received. A playful growl emerged from deep within him as he practically pounced forwards, no longer a hint of sleepiness within him. Before you could even think to move, he had you caged within his hold, his hands moving past you to hold onto the kitchen table.

“Fair’s fair,” he offered in a low tone, darting forwards to offer a quick peck to your lips before pulling away ever so slightly. You could feel the air from his words dance upon your lips, making you desperate to feel his lips once more, in a less hurried fashion. “If I have to stay like this, you gotta stay like that.”