#and hes gotta recharge that social battery w a lazy day or two w you 🥺

[pluviophile-imagines]

It’s long past sundown when you and Tetsurou return to his apartment. Your legs are aching; the shoes you wear are one of your most comfortable pairs, but there’s little that shoe choice can do when you’re on your feet for the whole day.

A pair of hands comes to your shoulders to help you out of the coat you’re wearing, and you help them along happily, grateful for the assist. The moment your arms are freed you let out an exaggerated sigh, heels clicking on the hardwood as you dart for the couch and then throw yourself onto it. From the door, where he’s shrugging off his own coat, your boyfriend snickers.

“Take off your shoes at least, you heathen.”

Lifting your head just enough to see him over the arm of the couch, you pout and lift a foot. “You try taking these things off. Do you see how many straps there are?”

He bends to undo his own dress shoes. “Why did you wear them, then?”

“They’re comfortable.” You let your head fall back again, into the pile of pillows covered in black cat hair and smelling wonderfully of Tetsurou. Your eyes flutter closed as you sigh. “And they look nice. The straps are for show.”

Just as your leg is beginning to get tired and you’re about to let it fall back to the couch, a big hand catches the ankle. You startle a little, eyes flying open again to find that Tetsurou has approached the couch. His grip wraps around your ankle as he lifts your leg up a little further, his other hand coming up to begin dealing with the many straps you’d just complained about.

“What are you doing?” There’s laughter in your voice, a little breathy—in the barely lit apartment he strikes a handsome silhouette standing above you like this, tall and broad-shouldered, with the removal of his suit jacket revealing a crisp white button-up that fits him well. His hand is warm even through the stockings you’re wearing.

“You asked me to take them off,” he responds easily.

Long, lithe fingers deftly undo each one. The shoe loosens upon your foot until Tetsurou can remove it entirely, grey eyes staring down at where you lay propped up on your elbows. He sets it down carefully on the arm of the couch, but keeps his grip on your foot steadfast.

“I was being rhetorical.”

“Just let me spoil you.” His thumb is rubbing circles into your ankle as he grins down at you.

“By taking off my heels?”

“Mm-hmm.” He bends down, quick as a flash, to peck at your stocking-clad leg, lips pressing there-and-gone against your shin just above your ankle. And then he eases your leg down, just slightly, before guiding it and the rest of your body to turn as he steps around the couch to face you. “I’m being a gentleman.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Pausing in his movement, he raises an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?”

“Never said that.” You rush to sit up and he lets go of your foot to let you.

Moments later, however, he surprises you by sinking to his knees. The motion makes you gasp under your breath; a noise you’re not entirely sure he hears, not when he’s busying himself with your remaining shoe.

You can feel the heat of him now, with how close you are. On instinct you reach out to lace your fingers in his messy hair, and he lets out a quiet, content little noise in acknowledgement, almost subconsciously pressing back into your touch.

The second heel is off faster. He places it next to its twin, rising up and reaching out with that huge wingspan, though his hand still doesn’t leave your newly bare foot. It pinches at the hosiery covering your skin, pulling the mesh fabric off just enough for you to feel it. You expect him to get up; join you on the couch, or perhaps lead you back to the bedroom to get ready for bed. Instead, he shuffles up closer—still on the floor, hand still at your ankle—and bends down to press a kiss just above your knee, right beneath the hem of your dress, and then lays his head in your lap.

He sighs a little. You feel his hand tracing up your leg until his fingers catch the crook of your knee, thumb coming around to rub at the other side through your stocking.

“‘M so tired,” he all but groans into the fabric of your dress, and you give a quiet laugh. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious, we saw too many people today. If I have to interact with another person in the next forty-eight hours I might have a breakdown.”

“And whose fault is that, hm? Whose friends were they?”

At your teasing voice, he lifts his gaze to pout up at you through his lashes.

You laugh again, reaching down and pressing your palms to his cheeks, tilting his head further up towards you so that you can lean down and peck his nose.

“Does your social interaction ban include me?”

That pout deepens. He pulls away from your hold to bury his face in your lap again, hand trailing up your thigh and then over to wrap his arm around your legs so securely you can barely move them. When it speaks, the words are one again muffled by the fabric of your dress, and they make warmth bloom in your chest.

“Absolutely not. If I couldn’t be around you I think I’d die. You restore me.”