Because of the brain rot, I’m thinking of moon seeing me in my moon and star patterned bra that I’ve had forever and him telling me how much he likes it.
You’re not thinking all that much about it when you slip your shirt up and over your shoulders. It’s just part of the process of undressing, a muscle memory you don’t think twice about unless you’re in a hurry and trying desperately to get multiple layers off at the same time — often with the failing results bruising both your ass and ego.
So really, it’s not like you’re trying to show anything off when Moon decides to glance over from where he’s been sitting on the couch, idly flipping through TikTok videos on your phone. You are just getting into pajamas. He’s seen you change before, seen you naked several times already — this shouldn’t be anything new.
“Heh. You should see this one,” he says, giggle permeating his words as he taps on the screen. “It’s got that fluffy cat you like and… it uh… looks…”
Moon’s words and voice trail off into silence. The lack of words catch your attention, and you turn to look at him.
“Yeah? What about the cat?” you step over towards the couch, momentarily forgetting your clothes in favor of seeing what Moon was referring to on the phone screen. He’s not looking at you — or at least not your eyes, and offers no answer.
You glance down to follow his sudden point of interest.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen my tits before,” you say, giggling. You push your chest out, attempting to look seductive in the same way those fashion models try to do. “Like what you see, Moonie?”
For a moment more he says nothing, gaze locked upon your chest as if he’s trying to calculate the answer to the universe and life itself. Then, all too casually, he reaches out and strokes his long fingers across the front of your bra. He’s tracing shapes idly against the fabric over one breast, and you look down again to realize that oh. Oh.
“This one looks good on you,” he chuckles, the sound in that low, raspy octave that he uses when the two of you are twisted up in the bedsheets together. “Very good. When did you get it?”
The bra you’re wearing isn’t new, but it isn’t old either — you hadn’t given it too much thought until now, watching his sharp touch trace the little golden star and crescent moon shapes amidst a dark navy background.
“I’ve uh,” you’re a bit distracted by the feeling of Moon’s touch caressing you through the fabric, dulled by the thick pads in each cup but noticeable all the same. “I’ve had this one for a while. Don’t wear it a lot since you can see it through most of my shirts…”
“Hm,” Moon hums, as if barely registering your answer. His tracing brings him closer and closer to the center of the bra where the clasp lay, one of the reasons you had bought this bra in the first place despite it’s aggravating price tag.
“You like it?”
The words come out between your giggling, though it doesn’t hide the heat slowly building up across your cheeks. Moon hums again, then his eyes finally flick up to meet yours, little dots of focus that seem far too heavy for the casualness of his touch. It’s almost… dangerous, the air still as if right before the sudden pounce of a predator.
“You could say I’m quite fond of it.” He says with a wide, sharp grin. “It looks good on you. Almost like… you’re mine.”
You giggle again, almost embarrassed, but he pulls his hand back to continue scrolling on your phone, the moment and conversation before it seemingly forgotten. After a moment you turn to go collect your pajamas, but he reaches out and quickly wraps his fingers around your wrist; hard enough to hold you, but not hard enough to bruise.
“Don’t bother putting clothes on,” the bot finally says, eyes casually flipping from one video after another, then seems to grow bored of the idle noise. He tosses your phone across the couch so that it gently lands on a pillow.
He turns his face towards you, catching your eyes with his own. Those pinpricks of light have glitched into little hearts, red glow so strong that you wonder if it’s going to fry something in his optics. Moon grins, still holding your wrists as his upper body twists around and he starts almost crawling over the back of your couch.
“I don’t think you’ll need them for another few hours.”