"But..." is that a good point? Maybe it's a good point. "Maybe?" he says. "Is... allowed?" He sounds so sleepy and dumb at the moment. Rosy seems happy though. So it's probably okay right? Probably okay. She says so. He thinks. 

"Of course!" She kisses him on the forehead. "Love you, Master."

"Okay," he says. "'m love you too." He's asleep again before he realizes what he said. 

Rosy has the cutest master. Also the cutest boyfriend.

The cutest Master who is currently passed out on top of her. 

It's a bit longer this time before he wakes up, closer to 15 minutes or so, and it's not quite so violently, but it is with a bit of a start. "Fuck," he says, and tries to shake the cobwebs out of his head. It doesn't entirely work. "Should we... go to sleep for real? What time is it? How long have I been out?" She said it was okay, right? He has a bit of a memory that she said it was okay. 

"Not too long, but if you want to keep sleeping we should probably get ready for bed, yes." She kisses his shoulder. "You're so cute."

"I don't know if I want to keep sleeping," he says, "it's just that I keep doing so." Can he sit up? He can sit up, right?

It takes a bit of stretching as well as some straining grunting noises, but after a few moments, John is sitting up. 

"Adorable," she proclaims, gazing adoringly up at him.

She's so cute when she looks at him like that. (And hot. And she's his now.) He leans over (it's a bit awkward and fumbly) to give her a kiss (which lasts a bit longer than he intended, because it feels really good to kiss her now) before he slides out of bed. "Okay," he says. "How do we do bed? Before I get distracted making out with you and things again." He blushes a little at just how forward that was (though Rosy is smiling at him and doesn't seem to mind). 

She scoots out of bed. "My usual bedtime routine involves brushing and flossing and going to the bathroom and so on. Optionally you could also permit me to wear pajamas."

...hot. "What if I... don't permit you to wear pajamas?" he asks, feeling a bit daring (even though, she's his, and doesn't mind it). "I mean, as long as that doesn't cause temperature problems or something," he adds after a moment. "Or whatever other problems." It's probably fine, he's worrying too much again. 

"I think it would be hot if you didn't let me wear pajamas. We have plenty of blankets, I'll be fine. And I'll feel so yours."

Oh, good. "Well, then, no pajamas for you tonight," he says, trying to make sure it's not an order this time (because it feels a bit silly to make that sort of thing an order under the circumstances). He succeeds. (Sweet, he's pretty sure he has a handle on this.) He heads over to his backpack... pauses about halfway there, dithers (would she even be able to find it? Probably, but still), decides against, and opens it up to pull out the toiletries pack that he has because his mother was making sure he packed properly. It has a toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss inside the large ziplock plastic bag. "I have my stuff," he says, holding it aloft. "Lead the way." (Still not a command, good.) 

She happily grabs her own (much cuter) toiletry kit and leads the way to the enormous bathroom.

John follows behind! (And steals more glances at his girlfriend's butt.) Which bathroom is this? What does it look like? Most importantly, where is the sink, so he can set up there and start brushing? 

It's just a couple of turns away through the sitting room and the private master-suite-specific hallway, and there are two sinks facing each other across the middle of the bathroom, which, because the bathroom is enormous, puts a twelve-foot gulf between them.

"I'm having architectural thoughts," she muses, looking between the two of them. "It's cute to have a sink for each of us but I'd rather be next to you, you know?"

This is also the room with the tub nub, the phrase rising into his mind unbidden from when they first saw it a few days ago. He grins to himself at the memory. "I also would much rather be standing next to you!" John says. "These sinks aren't anywhere remotely close together, dang. At least we can see each other in the mirrors?" he adds. (He'd still rather be actually standing next to her.) 

"We could also just stand at the same sink, a thing I hear is normal in many households."

Oh... duh. Why hadn't John thought of that. "That's probably more sensible," he agrees. He looks back and forth at the two of them. "Any preference?" he asks, smirking a little. (As far as he can tell, there's no difference between them.)

"I think that one is next to the big closet which in theory makes it the girl sink?" she says, pointing. "So if you'd rather use the boy sink, probably it's that one," pointing the other way.

Apparently, there is actually a difference?? Okay, sure, whatever. "We can use the boy sink, then, I guess?" he says, trying to communicate in his tone that he's very confused at the idea that the sinks themselves would come with gender (as opposed to having the gender assigned by the occupants). (It's a complicated thought, his tone may not quite communicate that fact well enough, but it should at least communicate that he is some combination of amused and bewildered.)  

"Okay!" So that's where she brings her toiletry kit.

And that's where he brings his own, to stand next to her. He grins at her in the mirror, feeling slightly abashed at doing so, then opens up the bag, puts toothpaste on toothbrush, and starts brushing. 

Rosy grins back, and deploys her own toothbrush, which has a sparkly pastel blue handle.

Par for the course at this point, honestly. (And still not pink. He really needs to put the idea that pink is her favorite out of his mind. She even told him that she liked all of the colors. He really should have actually believed it instead of stereotyping her like a jerk and believing she was wrong.) 

When he's done brushing, it's flossing time, which is his favorite (it's not his favorite, that's sarcasm). Still not too bad though.