Because one of my not so secret kinks/fetishes/whatever is when one partner wears the other’s clothing.  

Warnings:  Short, Kanji and Naoto, clothing, sap

***

She’s not aware of when she develops the habit.  

She sits on his bed, watching as he undresses and prepares for bed.  First comes the shirt, all skulls and black, tossed onto the ground.  Then comes the pants, form fitting and a matching black, being pushed down to the ground to join the shirt.  He picks up the shirt and pants, making sure the pants are put in the laundry basket, ready to be washed over the weekend when he does laundry.  The shirt, however, doesn’t need to be washed.

Instead he walks over and hands it to her.

Naoto smiles and pulls the shirt over her head.  It’s large and comfortable over her small form, covering her like the warmest of blankets.  It smells of sewing needles and fabrics, feels like his soft hands when they caress her in the mornings.

“I still don’t get why ya gotta wear my shirt to bed,” Kanji says, but he can’t stop smiling at the image in front of him.  His shirt fits her like some sort of gothic dress – if she wore a belt it would be perfect, actually.  It makes her look much smaller than she really is and normally he’s sure she would protest, but for some reason the large shirt always puts the most loving of smiles on her face.

“It is just something I must do,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

Kanji leans forward and kisses her lips, the two of them smiling together.  He has a firm grip on the end of his shirt – her shirt, for the rest of the evening.  Her lips taste of sweet dreams and candy when she’s like this, taking a break from being a detective and, instead, enjoying life's simplicities.  

A large shirt.  A soft bed.  And one Kanji Tatsumi.