The Venture Bros., Sergeant Hatred/Princess Tinyfeet, granola
Sergeant Hatred rolled over onto his back, a contented ‘woo!’ escaping him, and he just laid there for a few moments, panting and grinning at the ceiling. After a minute, he glanced over at Princess Tinyfeet, who was as unruffled and perfect as always, gazing peacefully upward, her hands folded across her stomach. God, she was gorgeous, like a little statue, a little bronze statue, with wrought iron for hair.
After another minute, Sergeant Hatred pushed up on his elbow to reach over toward his bedside table, opening the drawer to get out his cigarette pack. He had one out and between his lips and was trying to spark his lighter -- cheap, no-good plastic lighter, god, why didn’t he get a new one? Seriously! -- when Princess Tinyfeet leaned over toward him slightly.
“No,” she said serenely, and Sergeant Hatred regarded her plaintively.
“But honey, I --”
Princess Tinyfeet took the cigarette out of his mouth and placed it on her own bedside table, then twisted back around, holding a bowl full of granola.
Sergeant Hatred sighed and took a handful, then popped it in his mouth. Princess Tinyfeet did the same, chewing sedately. He glanced at her, couldn’t help but to smile weakly, then settled back against his pillow, eating granola, the bowl between them.