Walking out of the bedroom at 11am is pretty rare for Snow. Even more rare is her being the second one to leave it. That’s exactly what has happened today, though, and the hastily scribbled note from Lurue on the refrigerator is the first place her eyes go as she pads into the kitchen.

“Sleep Snows. I went out to get stuff for tonight. Iced coffee’s in the fridge, Iron’s probably loafing on the couch with his pants off. Back around lunchtime. -B”

Two thoughts proceed in quick succession in Snow’s head. Iron comes toda-- Iron’s already here!? She turns and leans back, peeking around the fridge into the living room. She expects to see him watching her smugly, waiting for her to notice, but instead the only part visible is that familiar blue nose jutting up beyond the back of the couch. He’s fallen asleep.

Snow slips back into her bedroom and quickly puts on the pair of mismatched socks she had laid out. It’s like wearing a guy’s favorite perfume when you want him to notice: when Iron’s staying with them, her socks never match. She puts on a little pair of boyshorts over her panties, sticks with the tank top she’s got on, forgoing the bra, and swiftly heads back out.

As quietly as she can manage, the smilo tiptoes around in front of the couch Iron is laid back on, and Lurue’s note seems to have pegged him exactly right. It looks like he sat out here with his pants tugged halfway down, cock in one hand, cellphone in the other, and drifted off waiting for Snow to get her lazy ass out of bed. He was probably up late-- it *is* Iron, after all. Deft fingers pluck the phone from his grasp as the smilodon slips down to her knees, and as she leans in for a light nuzzle, she opens the camera.

Snow’s right hand comes up and wraps to one side of his shaft, and her muzzle presses in against the other. Mouth open, tongue extended, the greedy feline licks upward and snaps a photo, having the message typed: ‘Good guess,’ and sent about a second before Iron comes awake. From the counter in the kitchen, Snow’s cell gives a chime, and elsewhere, Lurue’s phone buzzes along. About ten minutes later it’ll buzz again with the second message and another photo: ‘Thanks for arranging breakfast.’