Quatre's Slippers

I hated his pink bunny slippers.

He wore them on his feet, even when he sat astride me, pink shirt off one shoulder, goggles on his head. He's kinky, my Quatre. He's vocal too, and I liked that.

I woke up in the morning to find the dratted slippers on my chest, the glassy eyes staring at me beadily. They spooked me.

I flushed them down the loo.

He pouted.

I apologised and kissed him. We wrestled. I won. He held my eyes and mounted me. The goggles remained on his head. And I'm glad the damn bunny was dead.

END