Late into the night during a long road trip with Asgore when a truck stop indicating a driver swap approaches, but peeking over to assess his state and seeing just how peacefully he is sleeping at present instills within me the resolve I need to push on until we make it to the hotel in the early morning. Giving Asgore one of my classic "chaotically smoosh all around" facial/neck/shoulder massages in bed with my hands currently on either of his cheeks for maneuverability, as I begin to detect ever-so-subtle differences in both texture and softness between his golden and white fur that anybody else just happening to brush against his face could never notice (my sagely knowledge of his every intricacy deepens evermore). Sipping on my milkshake as I see Asgore eyeing it before quickly turning them back to his own empty glass and attempting to withdraw anything it had left to give, but as I happily offer him to share mine he rejects it by saying "I don't want to get my spit on your straw..." and after several seconds of giving him a look of utter bewilderment I stand up a bit to lean across the table for a point-proving tongue kiss before taking my seat once more to slide the desert halfway between us (despite blushing hard at such a public display of affection he relinquished, I ordered the peanut butter flavor for a reason after all)
