So a few days ago...
I posted THIS FIC MEME, and I'm just finally getting around to writing some of the prompts. I will do them all, eventually. I swear. My mojo's a little dry right now for some reason.
She picks up two mostly-empty pizza boxes and a licked-clean ice cream container, huffing her irritation as she goes. He just happens to be walking up the hall into the kitchen as she tosses the stuff down on the counter. "Why do you insist on being such a slob?" she demands angrily, gesturing at the counter. "I swear I broke you of all this when we were roommates!"
Ray pauses as his fingers wrap around the door handle of the refrigerator. He glances over his shoulder at her. "We're not roomies anymore."
"Yes, Ray, I know that," Neela says with a long-suffering sigh. She's been in Baton Rouge more than five months, and their apartments are exactly 7.6 miles apart. "But when we were, you were much cleaner."
She watches him, waiting for him to open the fridge and pull out the orange juice bottle that barely has half a glass left in it just to rub it in her face. But he doesn't open it, and his eyes continue to linger on hers. "That's because you lived with me," he says, turning completely to face her. "I did it because you were there."
"I'm here just as much," she points out, giving him the glare that generally propels him to action.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "Move in," he says, and the smirk that crawls across his lips ignites a flare in her belly.
"What?" she asks. One of her hands reaches out to grip the counter so she can get some balance. She doesn't even realize she's off-center until his smirk blossoms into a full-fledged grin.
"You heard me," he says. "You want a clean house, ala me, move in with me."
"You are the most aggravating person I know!"
"Is that a yes?"
He's suddenly much closer to her; his dexterity on his prosthetics often boggles her mind, even now after all this time. "Ray..."
"Quit your bitchin', or make me man up."
His hands grip her hips and tug her into him, pulling her away from the steadying force of the countertop beneath her fingertips. Her hands automatically reach up to clutch his biceps. She loves Ray, and he knows it. He loves her, and she knows it. But living together now has a much different meaning than it had in Chicago. Agreeing to this is much more than saying she'll move in. And, for God's sake, it took her three years to admit she loved this man.
She knows he wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it, and before she can think about it too much she says, "Alright."
His eyes widen, and she thinks maybe she's misinterpreted everything. Maybe he never thought she'd say yes, and that's the only reason he'd extended the invitation. "Seriously?" he asks, his voice whispery.
Neela nods, because she has no voice herself.
He shouts, "Woo," picks her up and swings her around (how, she isn't sure), drops her back on her feet and scoops her face up into his hands all in a flash of movement that makes her much more dizzy than his words had. When he kisses her, it feels like forever, and she remembers why she got on the plane to Louisiana to begin with.
She picks up two mostly-empty pizza boxes and a licked-clean ice cream container, huffing her irritation as she goes. He just happens to be walking up the hall into the kitchen as she tosses the stuff down on the counter. "Why do you insist on being such a slob?" she demands angrily, gesturing at the counter. "I swear I broke you of all this when we were roommates!"
Ray pauses as his fingers wrap around the door handle of the refrigerator. He glances over his shoulder at her. "We're not roomies anymore."
"Yes, Ray, I know that," Neela says with a long-suffering sigh. She's been in Baton Rouge more than five months, and their apartments are exactly 7.6 miles apart. "But when we were, you were much cleaner."
She watches him, waiting for him to open the fridge and pull out the orange juice bottle that barely has half a glass left in it just to rub it in her face. But he doesn't open it, and his eyes continue to linger on hers. "That's because you lived with me," he says, turning completely to face her. "I did it because you were there."
"I'm here just as much," she points out, giving him the glare that generally propels him to action.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "Move in," he says, and the smirk that crawls across his lips ignites a flare in her belly.
"What?" she asks. One of her hands reaches out to grip the counter so she can get some balance. She doesn't even realize she's off-center until his smirk blossoms into a full-fledged grin.
"You heard me," he says. "You want a clean house, ala me, move in with me."
"You are the most aggravating person I know!"
"Is that a yes?"
He's suddenly much closer to her; his dexterity on his prosthetics often boggles her mind, even now after all this time. "Ray..."
"Quit your bitchin', or make me man up."
His hands grip her hips and tug her into him, pulling her away from the steadying force of the countertop beneath her fingertips. Her hands automatically reach up to clutch his biceps. She loves Ray, and he knows it. He loves her, and she knows it. But living together now has a much different meaning than it had in Chicago. Agreeing to this is much more than saying she'll move in. And, for God's sake, it took her three years to admit she loved this man.
She knows he wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it, and before she can think about it too much she says, "Alright."
His eyes widen, and she thinks maybe she's misinterpreted everything. Maybe he never thought she'd say yes, and that's the only reason he'd extended the invitation. "Seriously?" he asks, his voice whispery.
Neela nods, because she has no voice herself.
He shouts, "Woo," picks her up and swings her around (how, she isn't sure), drops her back on her feet and scoops her face up into his hands all in a flash of movement that makes her much more dizzy than his words had. When he kisses her, it feels like forever, and she remembers why she got on the plane to Louisiana to begin with.