“‘Sides packing my Pru’s clothes so she has to wear mine? ‘Sides making food for my Pru so her stomach stops growling at Cy? Make taters so my Pru smiles biggest at Cy? ‘Sides that?” he teased as he began swaying with me in place. His hand lifted and he smoothed it over the side of my face, then over the side of my head. It was such a tender gesture. I loved how at ease he was with me. He didn’t see me as that lady with no hair. He didn’t assume I had some kind of condition that garnered sympathy and pitying looks or words. He sawme.He didn’t hold back and treat me like I was different, like I was too fragile to handle shit.
“‘Sides that,” I croaked out.
Cy bent and placed a smacking kiss to my forehead. “We doing whatever we want,” he rumbled out softly, emphasis on the ‘we’ there, the togetherness.
This was, admittedly, rather nice.
Plucking at the back of his shirt as I swayed along with him with my arms around his back, I glanced towards my bedroom and muttered, “What’s on the other shirt?”
“It matter?” he rumbled out with twitchy lips and twinkling eyes.
Still plucking at his shirt, I glanced away shyly to mumble, “You know I like Godzilla.”
Cy laughed, pulled back, whipped off his shirt, fur and muscle as far as these eyes could see on display, and tugged it down over my head.
Smoothing a hand down the side of my face, he cupped my chin, tugged it up, and dipped to meet my lips in a toe curling kiss that had me grumbling when he ended it far too soon.
“Distract me, taters burn,” he reasoned.
My gaze darted from him to the pan and I took a step back. “Good point.”
“Taters, precious,” he hissed, then rushed me and tickled my sides until I jumped out of the danger zone.
With a shocked yelp and a few cuss words that fit the occasion, I took off for my room, the sound of Cy’s deep belly laughs following after. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t bash you, then boil you, mash you, or stick you in a stew!” I barked as I made a hasty retreat.
“Cy yours,” he barked back very matter of fact. “Miss Cy’s… taters,” he settled on, stifling choked laughs.
Scooping up the clothes he’d left me, leaving me to stay naked in the blanket or wear his offerings, at least until I could figure out where the lunatic had hidden all of my clothing, I walked them out with me to the bathroom.
At the door, I set my things on the counter just inside, then turned to toss the shirt Cy had left me on the bed at him.
“You’d look weird polka dotted from bacon burns. I hear singed fur smells,” I teased, then closed the door and threw the lock.
Cy went to turn the knob not two seconds later. “Why door locked?”
“I could be making a twozy,” I shouted over the water as I walked over and turned the shower on.
The grunt Cy let out told me he had not entertained the possibility.
Walking back to the counter, I neatly folded my favorite new double-sided fur blanket and set it down with care. Glancing around the room, I found further proof he did indeed shower, shave, and whatever else he’d needed to do, an electric razor I’d never seen before charging near the end of the counter, a shaving kit neatly beside it.
Grabbing a couple towels and a washcloth, I set the towels on top of the laundry hamper and hopped in for a quick wash up.
Once finished, I’d just shut off the water and had my hand on the curtain to pull it back when something stopped me. I couldn’t rightly say how or why, but something was definitely off.
Having a quick peek around the opposite side of the curtain I’d been about to pull back, I glanced at the toilet, an obvious choice for a sneak to be lying in wait for me. Nothing. No one. Okay.
Dropping the curtain, I went to pull it back to step out the right way, right where the mat was situated to step on, when a hand shot in past the curtain and a hairy hand waved a towel at me.
The scream I scrumpt. “Cypress Rowan Tree, are you insane?! Do you have a death wish?!”
The noncommittal noise he made was what set me off.
Snatching the proffered towel, I threw the curtain open and smacked him upside the head with it.
The soft oof the man let out as my aim rang true, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should have been. “Poed-tatoes done,” he rumbled out quietly, slowly, in that way he did when it was a word he struggled to pronounce.
“So… you decided to invade my personal space, break into the bathroom, and wait for me to hand me a towel? Because the potatoes are done?”
