Out at the bar with SM and a mutual friend.
"Let's go back to your place for wine and cocktails, ok?", our friend suggests.
After a brief after hours, our friend wants to go home and crash, and expects SM to leave with him, but he says he thinks he'll stay. I'm somewhat shocked; he hates being at my house. I'm mildly embarrassed at my messy apartment but too drunk to do anything about it.
He motions to my bedroom, and we both are quick to remove our clothing as we climb into bed. I still am in awe at how he kisses, the level of passion and zeal are unmatched in my experience.
His slender fingers make their way between my legs, expertly applying the proper friction and pressure to elicit a few orgasms from my body before we pass out early, well, early for him.
We wake up early as well, he's hungry for food, I'm just hungry for him. I could tell that this was not something I could talk him out of, so I offer to cook. It began as a joke but then I realized that I actually did have the ingredients, and proceed to do so in my underwear. I would have preferred him to stay naked in bed while I cooked, but it wasn't to be. He seems to think I'll burn the bacon and can't chop things, so I let him dice the onion and peppers. A bit unnerving to cook for a chef.
We're quite a pair, him fully dressed as he had gone out for a cigarette, and me in my underwear waiting on the oven. Laying in bed, fingers intertwined, we tell stories of drugs and threesomes like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I was distracted and burned it a little but he still had three helpings before taking off to work. I sat on my couch, pleasantly satisfied that I hadn't completely failed at cooking for him.