Author's notes: This stemmed out of a thought that Jill Kirby gave me about G/E… and 'making it work either way'.
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
He's shaving in front of the mirror, and she's moisturising. In a moment he's going to go make coffee, and she's going to go downstairs for bagels and the paper. He will fold the blankets on the couch.
She thinks it's funny that he finally got around to shaving on a Saturday.
He bombed after a long week, they drank beer, ate pizza and watched 'Cool Hand Luke' on her couch. They both knew he was staying there the night.
The razor is pink, but he'd found it in the drawer that's become 'his'.
He splashes water on his face, and she playfully rubs some of her moisturiser into his skin.
"So soft, like a baby!" she says. He bumps her hip with his, smiling, and squeezes toothpaste onto both their brushes.
She spits and rinses, and is rubbing hand lotion between her palms while he swishes water around his mouth, bent low over the sink.
And she says, "Do you think we should have sex?"
He chokes, and thinks maybe a little water went up into his nose, and spits. He looks up, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
"Uh… why?" he asks.
"Why am I asking, or why would we have sex?"
He straightens up, wipes his mouth, and thinks.
"Well… we act like lovers without the…"
"Fringe benefits?" he says, smirking. She smirks back.
There is a little silence. She rubs her palms together, watching him.
"Are you attracted to me?" she asks.
"Yes," he says. She arches her back just the tiniest bit, probably without meaning to. She is wearing black cotton pyjama pants and a pink cami, and is tousled from sleep, and he's always been attracted to her physically in a pleasant, background noise kind of way.
But if her body is attractive, her mind is a Hitchcock blonde.
"Do… do you want us to have sex?" he asks.
She thinks. Rubs more lotion into her hands, and gives him the bottle. He puts it back in the drawer by his side.
"I think we should probably try it," she says.
"Okay," he says.
They stare at each other.
"Okay," she says, and takes off her top.
They eat their bagels in bed, dividing out sections of the newspaper. He does the crossword puzzle while she reads the world news. Her foot is rubbing his calf under the sheets.
"I may need the comics for relief after all this doom and gloom," she says, flicking through pages.
"It won't work," he says mildly, "Fred Basset is never funny."
Her toes curl around his ankle.
"So this worked out okay," she says.
He smiles to himself, and leans over to kiss her cheek, right next to her ear.
"This is nice," he says. He feels peaceful. He turns back to his crossword, but she's not reading the paper anymore. Her hand slides up his bare shoulder.
He closes his eyes, breathing in slowly.
Better than okay.