nir·va·na
a state of perfect happiness; an ideal or idyllic place.
where we see what happens when an emptiness that one thought could never be filled is overflowing. when two lost souls find each other. where a broken record plays a perfect harmony...
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Brix woke up around 11:45, to loud music coming from downstairs, making him aware that Na'imah was cooking, she always listened to music while she cooked. Today, instead of R&B, bounce was booming in the speakers.
He chuckled to himself, getting out of his bed and going to shower and brush his teeth before going to see what she was making.
After he changed into some shorts, he made his way downstairs, laughing when he saw Na'imah rapping to nobody in particular with a spatula in her hand, in nothing but his t-shirt and colorful boyshorts.
"From da front do' to da bed, we be fuckin nonstop boy say my name!" she sang along, making his eyebrows shoot up. He watched her sing along without a care in the world. "Dat Hollygrove boy really know how ta' fuck—all in my back neva' had it like dat," she changed the lyrics to fit him, since they didn't live in the 7th ward.
"By da look in ya face I know it feel real good, pussy wetta' den a ocean strokin' in a locomotion," she continued, much to Yasir's enjoyment. They had been up pretty late the night before and she clearly had a good time. His jaw dropped right along with the beat, when she bent over, hands on the counter and her tongue out. He had never seen her move like that before, he was entranced.
He smirked to himself, being as quiet as he could, slipping behind her and pushing up on her, almost positive she'd stop. But much to his surprise, she didn't, she pushed back on to him, the arch in her back looking perfect from where he was.
Once the song ended, and his short dance was over, she turned her music down, turning to face him. "Good afternoon," she grinned.
"Wassup baby," he greeted her, kissing her quickly. "You was down hea' cuttin' up all mornin'?"
"Maybe," she giggled. "I jus' feel good," she shrugged.
"Yeah I bet, you got yo li' shit fucked up last night," he smirked, making her laugh, trying not to blush. "Gotchu shakin ya ass and makin me breakfast an' shit," he continued to tease her.
"Stop!" she whined, hiding her face in his chest. If there was anything Yasir knew how to do and did very well was bring the shyness right back out of her, make her blush or get her flustered. He loved doing it too.
"Aight I'a chill. Whatchu makin me?" he leaning against the counter, watching her maneuver around seamlessly. "It smell good,"
"French toast, eggs and bacon—and yes I'm making yo' nasty grits," she scrunched her nose up, making him laugh.
"Why it gotta be nasty?"
"Because! You'on want no cheese, no salt, no peppa'. Just sugar, nasty," she frowned, adding the bacon to the pan. "Dats why I only make enough fa' you," she said walking to the fridge to get the eggs out and begin beating them.
"You ain' neva' try it, you'on know if it's nasty or not," he chuckled.
"I neva' tried it—Yasir. You must'a been high because you basically forced the damn spoon in my mouth and made me try it," she fussed.
