Butterflies rolled around Serena again and her grin became a little wider, she reached out and started gently twirling a finger through her girlfriend's hair, somewhat meekly. She slowly nestled herself in closer to lean her head down past Ami's face and against her shoulder, just enjoying the closeness of contact. She sometimes still couldn't get over the fact that she was in a stable relationship, it was kind of crazy.

Serena looked up, flashing Ami a playful smirk before giving her a squeeze. "Food is good. Do we have to put pants back on?" She playfully pouted "It was so much work to get you to take them off~"

She pondered the question. "We could order in, I suppose that depends on how you feel. Cooking with you was fun, I've never done chicken parm before. I generally make Carbonara or other fresh pasta dishes if I'm making Italian." she admitted.

Oh, the hair twirling. The evil, evil hair twirling.
This was nice. This was simple. Serena knew her. And, she could read her mind. Knew she wanted close, knew she enjoyed the warm and the snug. The shoulder nuzzling. Serena got her. And she got that Amelia didn’t much feel like getting dressed and getting all dolled up and moving. They were comfortable.

Pants only had been her vote. Serena had opted to suggest forgoing even that. The other girl even raised her a joke... at her own expense.

Amelia laughed. A quick little trill. Haha!

“You are evil. And wonderful.” She smiled. She would make her pay for that later, with kisses. “I suppose we could wait on pants... for a while at least.”

She made her confession about being hungry, and then— and then she made her little suggestion. They could stay in, and order out. They’d have to put on pants to answer the door, but then... then it was up to their own discretion, whether or not they wore a stitch.

Serena was very cautious about the idea. She did not pounce on it (or on her). Rather, she pondered and weighed her decision. Left the ball in Amelia’s court.

Cooking had been fun, Serena stated. And— and then she slipped. And Amelia caught it.

“You usually... cook carbonara. Or other fresh pasta dishes.” She said mildly. The calm before the storm. “I thought you said you could not cook.”

Amelia gave her a pointed look. Which was likely ruined a little by the fact that she was still horizontal, laying next to Serena on the bed.