A/N: There wasn't really supposed to be a second chapter to this, but I wanted to have a go at Blue's point of view too. Different setting, same concept. Don't ask for more of this because I might actually oblige. Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!

There are a number of reasons why Blue likes Saturday mornings. One of them is the fact that she can lie in. The other is that Green can too. The third is the obvious result of those two.

As she wakes to a patch of sunlight falling through the curtains and an insistent choir of Pidgey and Spearow – perks (or not) of the countryside – she stretches her arms above her head and yawns delightedly. Nothing like waking up after a good night's sleep and not having to leave the bed. Also nothing like waking up next to a handsome, if slightly disheveled, man.

She turns on her side and for a while looks at the image of Green in the morning, his hair sticking out at some sides and his mouth slightly agape. He looks vulnerable like this; cute, even.

She taps her finger to her lips, thinking, and then whispers in his ear, "You're cute."

Green stirs in his sleep and Blue smirks. This is the one time she could get away with mentioning the word cute in combination with Green Oak without the latter objecting vehemently and full of indignation. Such ignorance: as if he doesn't know that sometimes being cute is a good thing.

She props herself up on her elbow and rests her head on her hand. Green's position hasn't changed, his hair still messy and his mouth still hanging slightly open. There's a certain feeling of fondness in her chest as she looks down on him: a soft spreading warmth. It's pleasant. She associates it with mornings like these, filtered sunlight and undisturbed quietness.

Sometimes you need moments like those, even (especially) if the rest of your life is a never-ending sequence of risk, drama and adventure.

She leans down, strokes his hair, and whispers, "You're so cute it'd shock you."

This time Green stirs a bit more. She leans back and watches the process of someone slowly but surely regaining consciousness. Just as she's about to lean in again he opens one eye.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just informing you how cute you look." Even in his sleepy state he impressively manages to raise an eyebrow. "I mean, how handsome and manly you look," she corrects herself with a brilliant smile that she knows won't fool him, but anyway, that wasn't her intention in the first place.

He sighs and rubs his face, probably willing himself to be awake so he can run off towards the Gym and train there all day.

Which is not going to happen.

She slings an arm over his chest and presses a lazy kiss to his cheek.

"Did you sleep well, honey?"

"Yes." He absentmindedly runs his forefinger over her arm, back and forth. It tickles. "You?"

"Perfect," Blue answers and rolls on top of him.

She's met with a resigned groan.

"You're heavy," he sighs.

"Nuh-uh, don't ever discuss a lady's weight," she chides, resting her hands on his shoulders, "rather let's discuss how you apparently can't even handle me."

"You mean to say I should work out more? Shall I go right now -"

"No," Blue cuts in and Green smiles a tad smugly as if he knew she'd say that, "you're free to do so after."

"After, of course," he replies and then she kisses him, if only to stop him from talking or protesting. (The two are often kind of the same thing with Green anyway.)

He has a little bit of stubble, something she knows he'll shave off right away once he's out of bed – he never pays attention to her insisting that stubble is synonymous for sexy – so she enjoys it while she can.

"Why are you rubbing my jaw?" he mumbles in the kiss, and she thinks fondly, isn't he so cute. When he touches his jaw and notices the stubble, he rolls his eyes. "Right, is that your fetish again."

"It's not a fetish, it's just a preference for you having rough skin."

"Because you enjoy having your skin be irritated."

She gives him a disappointed look. "You ought to have said, 'because you like it rough'."

"It's too early for this conversation." He looks sideways at the alarm clock, showing it's ten in the morning. "Actually, it's always too early for this conversation."

"So kiss me again, hmm?"

He sighs but pulls her towards him, arms around her waist; mouth soft; smelling like sleep and smelling like Green.

The fact that she's the only one who can define that scent gives her a little thrill.

Contentedly she lets her hands run over his shoulders and upper-arms, then on to his chest. Green in fact does not need to work out more, because even through his shirt she can feel the muscle. Not too much and not too little: exactly the way she likes it.

"Oh, how lucky I am to have a boyfriend like you," she sighs against his mouth, mostly because she's an actress that needs an audience but also because it's kind of true.

"Stop overreacting," he mutters, and she thinks that for someone with a sizable ego like his, Green is surprisingly allergic to compliments.

Probably thinks he doesn't need them. Well, that's something to be rectified.

"Ah, but it's true," she says smoothly, running a hand through his bed-hair and smiling down at him, "I mean, of course you're a workaholic who thinks smiling is for lesser beings – proven by the fact that your current expression is like that while there's a gorgeous lady lying on top of you giving you compliments..."

"You're calling me a workaholic and a chronic chagrin."

"Because you are. That was just the prelude to me complimenting you, see."

He lets out something in-between a scoff and an amused sound, which is Green's reaction to things that should be annoying but aren't, really. "Can you even hear the things you're saying?"

"Naturally, I'm not deaf. Now, are all your senses in order? You do see and feel me, don't you? Just checking because of your complete lack of reaction here."

"I feel you perfectly fine," he replies and there's the hint of a smirk there that makes her want to do away with all the talking and skip ten steps ahead.

Patience.

Instead she leans down to kiss his lips once before pulling back again. She traces the skin on his face with her forefinger, his cheekbones, nose, jaw. "Mmm, so handsome," she murmurs and if that isn't the honest truth. If only she could capture that image for posterity. If only he'd let her.

(Next time she should take a picture before starting the whispering part.)

She buries her head in the warm crook of his neck. "And you smell so nice," she continues in-between light kisses, knowing he'll contradict her, but: that's them.

That's the two of them.

"Honestly..." he remarks, and she secretly smiles.

"And then your body," she goes on without skipping a beat, lowering her hands to his chest, feeling cotton fabric but knowing what's underneath, "why do you even bother wearing clothes?"

"I assume that's not an actual question that needs to be answered," he says in a tone that implies that he has some choice answers in mind.

"Hmm no, don't be a bore," she remarks, moving her hands lower, "and anyway, the only good reason there is for you wearing a shirt in bed is so I have the pleasure of taking it off."

"Oh my god," he groans, and puts a weary hand over his face.

She pouts a little, even though the only audience has currently got his two eyes covered. "Don't be a spoilsport. I've only just gotten started."

He removes his hand again. "Trust me, you'd react the same if you were in my place."

"Actually no, I imagine I'd get rather turned on hearing that from me."

"...all right that is a taking narcissism to a whole new level of disturbing, can we just skip the talking already?"

She gives a bigger pout, because this time she does have an audience.

"You only want me for my body," she complains, facetiously.

"I'm pretty sure we've established just now you only want me for my body," he reminds her, and, well, touché.

"Fine," she says, giving in not only to him but also to her own wishes.

She moves up to kiss him again, slowly and at a pace set by her and her alone – and the fact that he mostly lets her gives her another one of those pleasant thrills. It can be a little addictive, this. Not the actual kissing (though that too, very much so) but especially the trust that goes with it, and the fact that it comes from someone like Green who craves control and independence as much as she does.

Yet when it's ten minutes into the kiss (and things have started to get a little heated) and Green flips her so she has to surrender control, it isn't so bad either. Rather the contrary – and isn't that so very surprising? To not be the one in charge and not resent it.

To not feel weak.

Instead, she mostly feels warm in that most pleasant of ways, the kind that only appears in moments like these when time seems suspended for a bit. She smiles into the kiss and is so lost in thought that for a moment she forgets to react altogether.

Green breaks apart, looking at her from eyes that have become slightly hazy. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," she says, and then, thinking again: "I love you."

He gives her a small smile. "I know."

She touches his face for a moment, feeling strangely wistful, and leans up to bring herself close to him again. She pecks his lips and whispers: "But I'd love you more if you'd finally take off that shirt of yours."

Green looks torn between wanting to smile and roll his eyes, but compromises by sitting up. "Don't you wanna do the honours?"

"I'll just enjoy the show from here this time if that's all right with you," she says with a teasing lilt to her voice, to which he does roll his eyes but also lifts the shirt over his shoulders in one go.

She bites her lip (fifty percent instinct, fifty percent acting) because she does not think that the sight greeting her will ever get old.

Of course her reaction doesn't go unnoticed. If one thing thing can be said about Green it's that he is perceptive, though of course that isn't much of an accomplishment regarding her, seeing as she's never been one for subtlety when giving praise, verbal or nonverbal. Green, in any case, looks a little amused and definitely a little smug from where he's sitting. "Oh come here," she says with a flourish and as he does his expression doesn't change one bit.

Obviously.

With the shirt gone, the kiss (and her morning) have already improved by about fifty percent. Sometimes she's easy to please like that.

In other words: the notion that is she is spoiled or picky is ridiculous.

Well.

Kind of.

"I need you to say it back," she whispers against his mouth.

Green looks at her for a moment and then says, "I love you."

And that's how a morning becomes completely perfect.