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The towel wrapped around the little frozen hot slash cold gel pack was crusty for some reason. She never got ahold of the secret to avoid her towels getting crusty when air drying them. Why do they get coarse like that anyway? Was it the air? How would that even work? Of course, she'd much rather toss them straight into the dryer fresh out the washer but Joe had a thing with warm towels. With soft ones too, by the looks of it.
The length of that awful stretch of pink on his skin took up around a fifth of his entire back and was absolutely ridiculous, but she knew he was well aware of that. She tried to lightly press the freezing compress on the reddest area, the whole vertical bruise made of irregular patches of heat and attention-demanding colors too much to focus on all at once.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not really."
"Nothing hurts now, huh?"
He looked dumbly pleased with himself: head to the side facing her, a dinky smile on his sun-kissed face, and his dimples deepening as he tried to pull the corners of his mouth back in. Crouched on the floor next to his side of the bed as he laid on his stomach, sprawled out like the giant he was with his feet hanging over the edge, it was hard to keep a straight face when he gave you that boyish grin to top it all off.
"Thank the Lord for that naproxen stash of yours."
Additionally, he was happily drowsy as hell. Taylor was just glad he wasn't in pain and his blinding smile was directed her way. She couldn't even pretend to be annoyed. The way he looked at her, like he'd fight Hymnos himself only for the chance to stay awake one more minute so he could keep staring at her, was making her stomach warm and the flapping butterflies inside go haywire.
"Neverending supply, just for you."
"A woman after my own heart."
"After? Thought I already had it."
He chuckled at that, mouthing 'touché' more than saying it. The crinkles around his eyes became more prominent as he struggled to keep them open through his hazy grin, his ocean blues disappearing behind heavy hoods turning them into slits. He looked like a sleepy retriever puppy after the most satisfying play date of his short happy life. She moved the compress up a bit and he groaned, his right shoulder tensing up involuntarily. She hushed him sweetly, her hand absentmindedly rubbing warmth along his hanging right arm. Her lovely dumb giant, he could have her cooing teeth-rotting sweet nothings at him because of a chipped nail or a paper cut.
"I just can't understand how you did it." she half whispered.
"Well,-"
"It was like in slow motion."
He snorted a laugh and shifted his head to the side, hiding his face behind a curtain of blond still drying locks and face-planting into the mattress, like an ostrich.
"So stupid" he mumbled into the soft bedding.
"No, It was incredible. The most gracious sequence-"
"I wanted to grab you.." he complained in a whiny voice, turning his head to the other side, facing away from her and her teasing.
"It was a glorious exhibit of instant karma."
"Thought I was karma."
"Yes, you're a cat too."
He snickered, turning to face her again, moving his left arm up to ruffle his own wet moppy hair, and then laid his head on his forearm, a lazy content smile in place, his eyes closed now.
"I'm a relaxing thot."
"That, you definitely are."
"Certainly."
He exhaled a lungful through an obnoxiously loud hum of approval as Taylor leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, the hand on his arm wrapping around his bicep, thumb caressing the hot skin. She wanted to touch him, comfort him, to kiss it better and take his hurt away, to shield him with her own body and keep the bad at bay. With her lips still lightly pressing on him, their momentarily appointed resting place, she hummed back, slowly sinking in the deep spiraling quicksand that was her mind lately, getting lost in thought. Ice is what she's supposed to be doing though, right? Was the cold burning him? She shifted the towel and felt him breathe in sharply. Should they try something else? There was probably something more useful to be doing, some simple dumb thing she surely had lying around that could actually help. She pictured herself spreading copious amounts of cream onto his skin, ditching the cold compress and massaging the milky substance all over his broad battered back. Catching herself sorting through her collection of hydrating body lotions and moisturizers, Taylor mentally kicked herself, remembering it wasn't a sunburn bruise. His voice yanked her out of her head before she could start admonishing her chronic incompetence and listing all the ways she continues to fail the people she loves.
"I feel plastered.. but in a good, sort of soothing way. The pull of the sandman on my eyelids." His baritone was raspy with sleep.
She smirked against him and pulled away. "Can I use that, Willy?"
"'Course. Be my pillow, Willow?" He mumbled with a slight pout, making her laugh and immediately give in to her urge to plant a little peck on those addictive soft cushiony lips of his before getting up and off the floor.
"I’m about to coddle the hell out of you."
She rounded the bed, a complicit smirk in place as he shuffled sideways in order to get closer to her side. He eagerly lizard-crawled on top of her as soon as she extended her legs over the comforter, getting a belly laugh in return. Was there any clear thought behind those sun-dyed cyan gems he had for eyes? She'd learned over the years how surprisingly lightweight he could be when it came to painkillers. Drugs in general, but painkillers absolutely melted his bones into NyQuil. He could hold his liquor graciously and with envious ease but give him an aspirin and he was done for.
He kept low and cuddled her stomach, her ribcage his headrest of choice. She couldn't see his sleepy smile from above. That was the biggest downside; just knowing it was there almost wasn't enough. Her hands automatically went looking for him, one carding through his hair, the other resting on his shoulder as he turned to stamp a little kiss on her belly.
"This is the best medicine in the market." He mumbled rubbing his cheek over the fabric of her shirt like a kitten.
What she could see perfectly, however, was his marked back, large and apparently widening, a vertical line with splotches along the sides.
"It's gonna leave a big bruise." she said, reaching down towards it, caressing the skin and getting as close to the angry red as she dared.
"A wicked bruise I hope."
"A stupid one." She quickly countered. He blurted a whiny gasp of air at that, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. "Don't they have the no-running-in-the-pool rule back home?"
He brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes, hiding his embarrassment behind his palm for a second. Then he let the hand drop on her stomach and slide down her side.
"Yes, but only if you're carrying Marmite on crackers. That's where we draw the line."
"I think your accent just got thicker."
"It's the trauma."
It felt so natural and simple. These pointless bickering sessions they had where they would good-heartedly tease the hell out of one another, pulling on the strings the other had set up. He was so familiar with the middle brother role, and her with the older sibling one, they could bounce off each other like this for hours.
"Oh, my poor Englishman." She sighed dramatically. "He's homesick. Do you need a cuppa? Some good ole Earl Grey?"
He sluggishly shifted and repositioned his whole body horizontally, perpendicular in relation to Taylor's extended figure. Their frames combined would draw a perfect T until he brought his knees up, getting into a lazy fetal position, making himself smaller, facing upwards and mirroring her inquisitive eyebrow lift. The unnecessary suspense was amusing them both. She smiled down at him expectantly, half perched on the bed's headrest, her pillows piled up to support her back.
"I need land to conquer and treasures to larcenously acquire to appease this ailment." He stated, making a face akin to that of a spoiled child demanding more cookies, banging his fist on the comforter. His scruffy beard just made it all the more ridiculous.
"Mm. I could throw the tea in the pool instead."
"Are you intent on starting a war?"
"Please, you can't even turn over." She exaggeratedly scoffed, swallowing her chuckle and suppressing a smile now that he could see her face. She kept methodically running her fingers through those soft strands of gold of his.
"It is in our blood to find a way to make war nevertheless."
"It's in ours to stop them." She retorted in a very matter-of-factly manner, raising an eyebrow at his minute devilish grin as he scooted down on her frame.
"And make love instead."
He suggestively unbuttoned her shorts and slowly started to pull at the zipper. She laid there, amused and unbothered by his antics, her fingers sliding absentmindedly from his silky hair and landing on her own stomach. He groaned as he managed to crawl over one of her legs, and the moment he pushed off the bed trying to prop himself up, elbows to either side of her thighs, his pained smirk turned into a grimace, his neck stiff. He let out a humbled whine and let one elbow slip from under him, pathetically, head now hanging low with regret as he lowered himself back partially on top of her middle to lower half. Watching his frame sink in slow motion over her was what finally broke her mask of aloofness.
"Again, you can't turn over." She lightly giggled, mockingly and with no remorse, yet inside she was yearning to pull him up and hold him in her arms and kiss that little stretch mark he had above his left pec. "You're out, soldier."
He stuck out his tongue to her before using it to shovel the hem of her shirt from between her fingers and into his mouth, which prompted a raised eyebrow from Taylor as she pressed her lips together, trying to keep from laughing. He started to lightly tug at it, shaking his head from side to side like a dog and then pressing his whole face into her stomach, nibbling. She squealed and cackled the moment he decided to blow raspberries on the skin below her belly button, the knee that wasn't underneath Joe instinctively springing up with a kick.
He then had the outrageous idea to stick his damned tongue into said belly button, to which she let out a scandalized yelp followed by a very loud "Oh my God!" as her other leg now snaked from under him and bent, trapping his torso between her knees, as if straddling his chest from below, her hands slinking back to his head to push him off "Joe!!!"
He let out a content laugh at the sound of her repulsed howling, victorious.
"Eewww!" She wailed over and over again, hands on his head as he wrapped his arms around her waist, still laughing. "Gross!" She chuckled, "You just gave me a... like, a Wet Billy, basically."
He snorted and pressed his cheek to her stomach lovingly as they both simmered down, snuggling her middle in a bear hug and humming through a big exhale.
"Made specifically for belly shots, that one." The golden menace said before closing his eyes, another cheeky smile widening on his sleepy face the minute a light slap bounced off his shoulder in retaliation.
"Disgusting." She muttered through a smirk.
She'd always associated those particular drinking habits directly with the college experience she never had. Had never been to a frat party, never knew what sororities were really like. The ones she was the most familiar with were either high-profile house parties or the suit-and-tie kind.
"Man, I haven't had a Jell-O shot in ages." She thought out loud, earning a compassionate hum from the golden adult-sized child starting to snooze on her.
She'd hosted several house parties throughout her early twenties, but to be honest most of them were on the chill side. Late afternoon get-togethers for wine and baking to loud music. But, of course, the ones the media caught wind of were those heavily publicized flashy displays of extravaganza, opulence, and privilege. Plenty of times though, some of those glamorous backyard hangouts would turn into raves and guest star other types of substances. She'd rarely take part, and only when they were edibles, for she had a very strict mentality when it came to pills, powders, and smoking, and had never once bulged. She wondered now if there'd be a time in her life when she would not only allow herself but also get curious enough to step out of that box. Probably not.
"Not true, by the way" he chimed in out of the blue.
"What's that?"
"You don't stop wars, you intensify their fire." He said, his tone low and voice already slurry. She nodded to that, fidgeting with the cartilage top edge of his adorable ear, a bit put off by the direction this took.
"Honestly, if we didn't meddle what would be of our military-grade semi-automatic manufacturers and distributors? The private sector financing our remote warhead industry? School shooters are crucial for the economy." She deadpanned, a sour expression on her face.
"That's an excellent point, darling. Gun accessibility built this country's yearly death toll and vigilante culture." He loosened his inner cynical demon's leash in a stream of bitter rambling, the smile she could hear in his voice the only thing giving away his intended mostly unserious undertone, but then he chuckled humorlessly "American dream and all."
"Just looking out for our 2nd amendment. Big fan." She exhaled, monotone, her hand still on his head.
Was he really dedicating his last moments of clarity to get into this? Yes, of course he was. She knew he just couldn't wrap his mind around that side of American culture, and honestly, same. She used to love her own country light years more when she was a kid, and slowly but surely, the shoe started to steadily drop. She still seems to get more disillusioned and bitter about certain aspects of America the more she learns about politics and law. The trial in 2016 kinda cemented her resentment towards their generally faulty and wildly misogynistic legal system as well. There was yet so much to be done..
No, she didn't want to go down that pitch-black rabbit hole right now. This wasn't the type of conversation Taylor wanted to have on a summer Saturday afternoon with her posh, high-on-meds, sleepy boyfriend. She was almost ready to have to come up with a segway to something more pleasing and fit for nap time (adult's version). Plus, Joe had this tendency to wake up more inclined to get into pointless arguments after going to bed cranky. His contrarian nature was stronger than reason then, and he'd get even more annoying when, after a particularly much-needed long shut-eye session, you would have the nerve to not take him seriously, with those puffy eyes, messy bed hair and the marks of their pillows on his cheek. But honestly, who could? He was asking for too much, she was only human.
She suddenly felt warm fingers wrap around hers, bringing her back to their room. She saw Joe drag her hand from atop his messy golden hair down and to his lips. He pressed a sweet kiss onto her palm before placing it face down on her stomach next to his face and lazily started caressing the outside of her index finger.
"I was referring to you, specifically." He half slurred.
Taylor hummed pensively and playfully wagged her index finger left and right to either side of his caressing touch, slipping out from under his, time and time again as he tried to trap it and failed, missing at every swipe in his attempt to press down on it.
"Are you calling me hot, baby?" She pulled her nimble index finger inwards and into her closing fist while at the same time poking her pinky out of it "Or you mean, like, inflammable?"
"I wouldn't say they're mutually exclusive, dear." Joe tried to fully grab her pinky just as it went back into her first, index poking out again. His amusement was basically palpable, the way he drew the air from his lungs out through that lopsided drowsy smile, giving away that poorly withheld laugh he had a habit of masking behind a groan. His lethargic blissfulness was heavy over them and highly infectious. "In your case, least of all: You're tremendously well fit, even when throwing a tremendous fit." He added as an afterthought.
"How fitting." She giggled.
"Tremendously so.."
Taylor hummed again, approvingly and with a nod, a tight-lipped smile tattooed onto her face as she allowed him to wrap his giant hand around her slim finger.
He was a giant child, so pure, so unaffected by the out-of-this-world proportions of her name. It was hard to explain how out of place and lost that made her feel sometimes. It was like although her name was huge, it was also hollow, and cold, and dark, and lonely. Like a haunted castle, and she was just locked inside of it, voiceless and small. Because in reality, she was not the titanic empire people made her to be. They'd somehow separated her from her own name.. and trapped her within it. A name turned myth, turned into an enclosed fortress, always under fire, always fencing against all kinds of monsters; all the while, that wide-eyed girl in cowboy boots, unruly curls and a guitar in hand shrunk and shrunk, like her way to face each attack was to drink the blue potion. She scoffed at herself and shook her head, amused by her train of thought. Speaking of fitting, that was extremely on the nose. Tremendously so, indeed. She made a mental note to restock her wine cellar.
She felt more than heard him hum then, a pleased rumbling resonating from his naked chest, the vibration on her lower stomach and thighs momentarily distracting. She lightly rubbed her thumb over his knuckles and felt the deep and steady blow of his breath. She let the rise and fall of his shoulders lull her back into her surprisingly calm mind, untangling with unprecedented ease that one set of wires she had defeatedly thrown in a drawer some years ago, frustrated to exhaustion by them then, now completely enthralled by their mysterious twists and turns, by the ways they'd turned into a single string of glowing light.
The thing was, with him, her inner tiny Alice was safe. He was still a giant and although she often times did feel small next to him, she felt protected by that, warm and cozy, like a small little kitten that had gotten lost in a cold thunderstorm in the middle of nowhere, finding refuge in a dimly lit barn and curling up in the comforting wool of a sleeping sheep. That... was a weird metaphor. It took her back to her single-digit years living on the farm and their horses.
It hit her then. He'd turned her stone-cold dark castle into a home. Into her first home.
He was Christmas time all year round. He was the growing blush on her cheeks and the fading red on the tip of her frostbitten nose on a winter evening, sipping hot chocolate while buried in blankets, sitting crisscross applesauce on their big sofa cushion, the foundation stone of her crafty pillow fort by the fireplace, listening to granny Marge tell yet another story of her time in Puerto Rico. But he was also that humid yet warm Pennsylvania summer breeze, combing leaves through her hair and carrying the smell of the wet wild grass flirting with the riverbank shore, its waters flowing and feeding the creek behind their house, where she'd spend long hours trying to absorb the magic from the scattered sunbeams filtering through the dancing splotches of green high above her, looking up from those tire swings her dad had hung from her favorite tree, the big willow with strands of golden pebbles. He was the youth and innocence that should have lasted a decade longer than it did, that was coldly stripped away from her-
"Or!" She suddenly sprung to attention, the unexpected loudness of his voice startling her back down to earth and into their room. "Or…" He lifted his index finger in a pointed pause for suspense. "I could be calling you a fuel. Get it? Fool?"
Her own cackle surprised them both. She could have sworn he had fallen asleep already. See? A child, a fucking golden retriever in a birthday party hat.
"My God, you silly bitch."
He laughed and grabbed her hand again, eyes closing as his thumb twiddled with hers.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" His voice was that intoxicatingly hot type of smooth raspy, like bubbles of warm honey popping in his lungs and caressing his throat.
"No, babe. I'm surprised you're still fighting sleep."
"I'm just gonna miss you."
"I'm not going anywhere." She half whispered as the hand that was not busy with his own went to lay on the back of his head, comforting.
"You are, though. And I wish.. I don't know. I wish things were different, d'you know?" That teeth-rotting caramel lathering his words was almost enough to mask the anxious heartache behind them.
"I know, honey. But don't think about it right now." She knew it was upsetting to him, although he did a pretty decent job at disguising it for her sake. But it was unavoidable."The album's not even out yet, the tour is at least a year away."
She wished it was somehow different as well, but just as it wasn't fair of him to ask her to simply not go on tour and stay close to him, it would be equally selfish of her to ask him then to put his career on hold and dump his life in a couple of suitcases to follow her round the world for over a year and a half, even more knowing she would probably not have enough time and attention to spare for him.
They were heading towards the inevitable and they both knew it. And it's true that you can only ignore this type of situation for so long before it catches up to you and hits you square in the fucking face but.. she wanted more time. She wanted to stay in their enclosed silky sweet haze for as long as possible, not ever rush their private glorious bubble into any pointy situation, keep away from reality's sharp edges. Keep pretending they didn't have any life-altering decisions to make, no make-or-break discussions to have. Long distance wasn't an option anymore, at least not in the current stage of their odd unlabeled relationship. She knew what would have to happen to make it work, but something told her he just- it wouldn't feel right, to either of them, under these restricted conditions. No one should feel pressured to get down on their knees, just to get it done and over with. She knew he was also very aware of it: that one, desperate scenario in which they'd get to half-ass it, cling to this relationship by turning it into a legal, contractual affair, and dooming it in the process. They, each of them, together and separately, deserved better. She knew it and hoped he had no doubt about it either.
But she shouldn't be surprised. They were so impossible, yet so… organic. Like lightning striking on the same tree three times in a row. Like a rainbow circling ‘round a cloud, like the green of the aurora borealis and its flecks of purple. It was a feat of nature at its rarest and most vulnerable yet primally daring stage. And like every beautiful thing in nature, even without any expiration date, it all eventually goes to waste.
Fire does consume itself down to ashes, but there's no denying the simple fact that its flames burned like hell and back, lighting up everything in their vicinity and emitting generous warmth, selfless. Impossible to keep from burning, destined then to burn out. They were dwindling, their once greedy flames down to stubborn embers. Although, not for lack of love or devotion; they were being pragmatic about it, you could even say to a fatalistic degree, but the truth was they were less likely to feel the hit of the imminent letdown if their hopes and expectations were already low. The longer they rode and the further down the shared road they got, the better they could start to catch glimpses of the split intersection ahead, and the more evident it became that in order to move forward they'd have to choose either squeezing in together inside their already worn-out beat-up car, on one specific narrow path (which necessarily meant forgoing the other and the particular set of career opportunities and potential it entailed), or each one going on down their respective dirt paths alone but with room to steer.
All they could do till then was slow down. But ultimately that dark and lonely bifurcation that had taken center stage in most of her recent nightmares was gonna catch up to them. And they had to be sobered up enough to undertake that hardship and its toll. Be in decent enough shape to face the aftermath.
"You'll become a deadbeat dad to the fluffs." He huffed in an accusatory tone through a pout. "You're evil."
"You are!" She mockingly whined as he puffed and turned his head to the side, burying his face into her stomach once more. She gave him a little scratch above his ear and he let out a mumbling small moaning noise that made her chuckle. "You needy... clingy silly devil."
"Forgot pretty."
He shifted his shoulders and looked up at her through his lashes, a theatrical smolder hardening his stare, although the glint in his eyes was fast to betray him. He fought the corners of his mouth for a bit to no avail, before a cheeky wink signaled his lost battle as his unnecessarily dramatic facade broke into a stupid grin. She bit her bottom lip through a smile of her own, the cuteness overload feeding that monstruos and aggressive need festering inside her sweetly aching heart as she reached out and grabbed ahold of his chin in a squishy pincer grasp.
"It's like, so illegal to be this pretty. You're gonna end up deported."
"Officer, how is it a crime to grow up this beautiful?"
She chuckled as her hold dissolved into a warm caress, fingers swiping down his jaw then up his cheek, followed by a quick side switch so as to not withhold affection from any pore on that baby scruffy face of his.
"Think you're using up all of your weekly free passes to quote my lyrics back at me in one go."
" 'ts alright, love. I've got a coupon."
She constantly told herself that things aren't beautiful because they last, but because of their impermanence, their volatile nature, making every moment precious and treasurable. Maybe they weren't built to last. But, by God, the way they burned. The way he shined, so bright, so intense and warm. Just a flash of his smile was enough to spark life back into her and light her up from within. And his newfound faith in humanity, how he'd make it his mission lately to go out of his way and shine a light on all the good the world had to offer that otherwise would get underappreciated or flat-out unnoticed; a byproduct of the pandemic. And when his light dims down, and his fickle flame struggles against the icy hurricanes his mind tended to feed up, he'd learned to find her. It took him a while but now he knew: she'd always be eager to build a fortress with her bare hands for him.
She looked down at him as she felt him begin to drag his body up over hers, trying to get even closer to her. She let out a small chuckle as he groaned and crawled up, not moving his lower half, as if it was a mermaid's tail. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he melted over her frame once more, extremities going limp, his ear on her sternum. With a pout she tutted sympathetically and rested her chin on the crown of his head, her fingers. absentmindedly running up and down his neck, ruffling the hairs on the back of his head. Her other hand lightly traced her fingertips down the ridge of his spine and stopped between his shoulder blades, where she could already start to feel the heat from his injury. With a pensive sigh, she dragged her nails back up the crook of his neck, knowingly leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before using her palm to rub warmth into his upper back, smoothing his skin down again into those perfectly sculpted velvetlike heaps of muscle, soft and tender, just the way you'd imagine one of those roman veiled statues carved from marble would feel like to the touch.
She then remembered how the battered state of the skin on his strapped back came to be and exhaled through her nose, her lips pressed together in a line.
"I wonder if the security cameras caught it." She said quietly.
"Oh, no." He huffed.
"They must still be laughing in the surveillance room." She said, her voice even, like she was thinking out loud.
"Shit." She could hear his smile in that soft groan.
"I.. I might have to call and ask. I'm gonna need a copy of the footage. Such a stupid fall."
"That shall be high treason."
It really was one for the books. And honestly so hard to describe. It looked like a wet version of the Sesame Street big bird cartoonishly toppling over at the sound of someone yelling 'timber!': a tall blond mess, hawking and cawing, and flapping his arms in circles as gravity took him down after he'd tried to sprint over a puddle. In a matter of milliseconds, his feet slipped in opposite directions, one of which went farther than what the surface of the granite floor allowed and his body sank sideways into the water, his back hitting the rough edge on his way down with a hard slap. All because she took his weirdly extra fluffy towel -that's exclusively for the shower- to the pool and was 'getting chlorine all over it'. Yeah. Again, he was very particular about his towels.
"It needs to go viral. For educational purposes, of course."
"Don't you dare."
"But, the youth of America-" he jabbed a finger in between her ribs, and her lungs immediately let go of all that ill-intentioned air she was saving for argument's sake.
"I'll trade you for it!" He said as Taylor raised her hand, and before she made up her mind on how exactly to retaliate.
"Really..? What?" She kept her hand suspended as if someone had pressed the pause button mid-action.
"Sex."
"Whore!"
And so the hand continued on its way down, maybe redirected south and closer to his bum. But millimeters short of reaching his skin she remembered the oversensitive and resentful skin of his back, and adjusted the trajectory, making sure to hit his lower ribs instead. Of course, the interrupted and therefore lost momentum of the motion turned what had started as a smack into what one could interpret as an affectionate pat. Not Joe, tho.
"Is that a yes?" He said after a chuckle.
"Do you see the state you're in right now?"
"Right. Can’t threaten you with a good time." He said through a smirk as he moved his lower half, getting comfortable, the rolling of her eyes egging him on. He settled into that unseasoned negotiator persona he liked to summon from time to time, mostly when challenged about trivia, like he was a Family Feud contestant. "How about I order some of those cheddar and patty sandwiches you like; eh, child?" Along with it came an old-timey transatlantic accent. For absolutely no reason. It was not good.
She snorted. He was so extra.. would always go above and beyond for a good banter.
"This fixation you have on not saying cheeseburger is working against you."
He shifted again, redistributing his weight and holding himself up by his forearms. There was a somberness to the motion, evidenced by the lethargy with which he moved, the no-nonsense look on his face already telling of the very-much-there nonsense to come.
"It's not even a thing. It can barely be considered an actual hamburger at all." His tone went back to his usual proper polished accent, imaginary static free.
Please.
"I'll get it leaked to TMZ."
"I already made my case about this. They're only hamburgers when they've been made in the Hamburg region of Germany."
" '-... in the Hamburg region of Germany. Anything else is just a sparkling sandwich.' " She parroted back as if on queue, doing her worst to mimic his deep voice in a butchered Cockney accent a la Dick Van Dyke.
She almost wished she'd never referred to that drugstore-bought fizzy pseudo cider they got delivered (along with some cheap ass sushi) as champagne . It had been a joke! Partially! And he never let it go, even though it had been months ago. Now he uses this haughty, obnoxious, and overly posh frat boy (of the khaki pants-wearing variant)'s favorite line as a blueprint for everything he finds somewhat fits that template. Which, surprisingly, happens quite often.
"Hah! Wasn't aware you could speak Russian- Oi!" Her fingers bounced off the skin below his armpit and he stirred in between her thighs, exhaling in what could only be described as a bark. Ah, she'd hit that spot; the switch button for his ticklish feature.
She felt his chest vibrate against her stomach with the threat of a barely contained urge to thrash about and out of her embrace if she so much as dared to contemplate the idea of grazing his skin anywhere remotely near that spot. Her body seemed to instinctually react, not exactly accordingly. Her legs reflexively spasmed and wrapped around him, like a boa constrictor trapping her prey. She stopped herself short of squeezing him, her ankles locked together behind his back as he mumbled a series of urgent don't-don't-don't s. She internally scolded her limbs into relaxing, yet found herself pushing upwards and into him. As if his core and hers were like two opposing polar magnets, sloppily drawn to each other when close enough; an inescapable necessity. A need.
"Well…" she said as she managed to settle back down ", until the Germans make an official statement, I call bullshit."
"Don't!" He shouted abruptly the second she felt her big toe make contact with hot skin. But the tsunami of neverending pleading for forgiveness that was immediately on the tip of her tongue was promptly interrupted by his punchline: "-let's be beastly to the Germans..." His chanting grew quieter as his cheeky giggling took over, his ribs on the receiving end of yet another admonishing smack, followed by a loud tsking noise leaving her treasonous smirking lips. She was only glad he couldn't see it. He knew it was there, for sure, and that the apology she had just swallowed was tickling her throat.
God, what a menace.
"Jerk" she puffed out through a chuckle, her hands snaking back up his sides, rounding under his armpits and over his shoulders, untangling her arms from his and rushing to entangle his now half-dry hair, nimble fingers absentmindedly massaging, pulling and combing at the same time.
"Fine. I'll tune the piano instead." He offered, his voice getting smaller and slower, his words starting to slur together.
"Will you, now?"
"Eventually…"
"I figured…" she teased.
She was well aware he didn't have a clue how to handle the grand piano. He was good at scales, though; could manage a very stripped-down version of most Disney tunes and play them by ear. Maybe he just wanted a reason to snoop under the lid and tinker with the soundboard.
"I will… Right, I won't touch the next batch of cookies you bake for Mum."
"I don't believe it for a second."
"The cookie dough is a whole 'nother story." She could feel his smile as his squashed flat cheek slightly adopted a very specific chubbiness to it, the corners of his mouth pulled taut in a shameless yet lazy grin.
"No." She chuckled. "Last chance."
"Ya don't seem satissfed by a single off'r." Somehow he managed to modulate enough through his mumbling to formulate one more coherent sentence. "I my haf to make good 'n all three, then." His accent and haziness worked as one to ensure no word was left unjumbled.
"Hmm… Not gonna lie: that's a pretty damn appealing bargain."
"Plus... the. Segss." He added a few seconds later, in two separate exhales.
Either an unconscious afterthought, or maybe the opening lines of a long-awaited somniloquy. Soon, his even breaths swept a straight expanding line of warmth across the skin of her chest. The threat of his potential drooling at this point wasn't nearly enough to prompt her into doing something about it.
"Guess I'll have to oblige, hm?" She whispered down at him.
The slow, steady swelling and deflating of his chest weighing down on her half-naked belly was rapidly numbing her body and lulling her mind into the realm of sweet and blissful nothingness, as if Joe was tugging her along. The quiet invitation was too tempting, the sudden magnetism between her eyelids demanding to close the distance impossible to resist.
Sleep presented itself like the hypnotic burning of a modest bonfire under the veil of an infinity of stars, the distant soft crashing of fitful moonlit waves taunting the endless horizon, the expanding dark vastness beyond both alluring and terrifying. In the midst of all that unfathomable blackness, the specks of billions of tiny sparkling diamonds felt like the blessing of some ancient deity fondly watching over them. The fire before them cracking and dancing to the cue of the crispy gusts of salty wind, its wavering splendor bathing her in just the right way, the warmth of the flames seamlessly complimenting that of his embrace. She could see herself sitting on cool sand, snuggled up between Joe's legs and lightly strumming her old banjo, the one she could've sworn had gotten broken inside a moving truck, back when she was finishing her senior year homeschooled in Nashville. It just added the perfect touch of home to this vivid picture, like a movie playing behind her eyelids.
It was as if some shy yet benevolent night creature had vowed then and in earnest that, as long as his pulse thrummed strong and warm against her neck, she would never again have to face the frigid hollow feel of an empty spot next to her. Her hands, while in his, will never be cold.
Once their fire was finally out though… it was right around the corner, she knew. They both did. The threat of the infinite barren winter to come, patiently waiting for her there, was always lurking in the back of her mind, its shadow growing larger with time. She needed to start conditioning her body to keep on living without the heat of his presence, the one and only thing igniting the spark of electricity needed to make her heart beat. But, for now, she was going to make the most of their time while both their hearts still drummed in unison, while her blood still coursed hot through her veins. The moment they parted ways, she'll be no more than a corpse in strings and sparkling boots, her trusty cold mind the only adept puppeteer.