muses_w_remotes | 8.10. Juno quote
8.10. "Uhhh, I hate it when adults use the term 'sexually active'. What does it even mean? Am I gonna like deactivate some day or is it a permanent state of being?"
| Juno
Co-written with doctortara
“We’re never having sex again.”
Lachlan fumbled with the plastic cup of water he was about to take a sip from, managing not to spill the whole thing but slopping a good mouthful of it down the front of his t-shirt. He blinked, looking up at his wife standing beside his hospital bed unbuttoning her winter coat. “Aye?”
“No, not ‘aye’. Nay. No more sex, baby.” Tara leaned down to kiss his forehead and stroked his cheek. “I love you,” she said sweetly and eased herself down into the seat beside the bed. She stretched her legs out in front of her and used her pregnant belly as an arm rest.
It wasn’t exactly like Lachlan wanted sex right then anyway. Spending days with your head in a sick bag tends to have a negative effect on a lad’s sex drive and he still had two days of antibiotics to see through, which made him feel like crap too. But it was the ‘never’ that had him gaping like a fish out of water. “You mean just this week, aye?” he said, seeking clarification.
“This century,” Tara corrected.
“You mean, you dinnae feel like throwing me onto the nearest flat surface and nearly giving me whiplash again…?” Lachlan asked hesitantly.
Tara analysed him for a moment with a small tilt of her head. “Nope. I could really go for a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich, though,” she decided.
There merest mention of food had Lachlan putting a cautionary hand over his mouth and swallowing back a gag. His stomach was still feeling like he had gone ten rounds on a rollercoaster and then jumped on one of those Gravitron things. When he wasn’t nauseous or vomiting, his gut was cramping and he was breaking out into a sweat. He was actually feeling better, though. You knew you had been sick when ‘better’ constituted not barfing for half an hour straight. “Does this mean I’m nay going to get laid until after the bairn is born?” he said, scratching his head.
Tara raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m letting your penis anywhere near me after I have your baby? I’ve decided you have an extremely large head. If our baby has your head and I have to push it out of me, I’m going to give you a really large poke.”
“My head’s nay that big!” Lachlan protested, putting his hand to his head. Then he paused. “Wait, we’re talking my head head, right? Poke wasnae a metaphor for shower sex, was it?” he asked hopefully.
"Want a demo?" Tara asked calmly, waving her finger at him.
Lachlan pressed his lips together and then pulled them to the side as his forehead creased. “You arenae really joking…” he realised. “No sex? Not even, like, a quick blow job when I get out of here?”
“I don’t really feel like your penis, baby. Sorry.” Tara shrugged and put her feet up on the side of his bed. “Even though it is a very nice penis.”
“You told me it was spectacular!” Lachlan cried. He was tempted to cross his arms and start to sulk. “Very nice. Makes me sound like I’m packing a salad sandwich in my jocks or something.”
Tara brushed her foot against his thigh. “We could always play Scrabble,” she offered. “Or how about Guitar Hero? I could get my fist wrapped around that nice, long, firm… instrument.”
Lachlan leaned over and pressed his fingers against his temples. “Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts… must not be jealous of a plastic toy… must not want to make Guitar Hero porn… must not look at my wife’s breasts in really nice fluffy pink sweaters…”
Tara looked down at her chest and stuck it out a little. “I think I’m pushing a D cup. I swear, they got bigger overnight. I was falling out the top of my bra this morning. We have to go bra shopping when you’re better, baby,” she decided. “Here, have some ice chips, sweetie. You need to keep hydrated.” She picked up the cup of chips and shook it for him.
“I dinnae want ice chips! I want to have sex with you in that sweater and only that sweater playing Guitar Hero when I get out of here!” Lachlan cried, helplessly throwing up his hand.
Tara took his hand and kissed it. “How about we just work on getting it up?”
“Aye! Please!” Lachlan agreed enthusiastically.
“I meant the Christmas tree, gorgeous,” Tara elaborated and rubbed her husband’s head - his head head - sympathetically.
Word Count | 747
| Juno
Co-written with doctortara
“We’re never having sex again.”
Lachlan fumbled with the plastic cup of water he was about to take a sip from, managing not to spill the whole thing but slopping a good mouthful of it down the front of his t-shirt. He blinked, looking up at his wife standing beside his hospital bed unbuttoning her winter coat. “Aye?”
“No, not ‘aye’. Nay. No more sex, baby.” Tara leaned down to kiss his forehead and stroked his cheek. “I love you,” she said sweetly and eased herself down into the seat beside the bed. She stretched her legs out in front of her and used her pregnant belly as an arm rest.
It wasn’t exactly like Lachlan wanted sex right then anyway. Spending days with your head in a sick bag tends to have a negative effect on a lad’s sex drive and he still had two days of antibiotics to see through, which made him feel like crap too. But it was the ‘never’ that had him gaping like a fish out of water. “You mean just this week, aye?” he said, seeking clarification.
“This century,” Tara corrected.
“You mean, you dinnae feel like throwing me onto the nearest flat surface and nearly giving me whiplash again…?” Lachlan asked hesitantly.
Tara analysed him for a moment with a small tilt of her head. “Nope. I could really go for a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich, though,” she decided.
There merest mention of food had Lachlan putting a cautionary hand over his mouth and swallowing back a gag. His stomach was still feeling like he had gone ten rounds on a rollercoaster and then jumped on one of those Gravitron things. When he wasn’t nauseous or vomiting, his gut was cramping and he was breaking out into a sweat. He was actually feeling better, though. You knew you had been sick when ‘better’ constituted not barfing for half an hour straight. “Does this mean I’m nay going to get laid until after the bairn is born?” he said, scratching his head.
Tara raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m letting your penis anywhere near me after I have your baby? I’ve decided you have an extremely large head. If our baby has your head and I have to push it out of me, I’m going to give you a really large poke.”
“My head’s nay that big!” Lachlan protested, putting his hand to his head. Then he paused. “Wait, we’re talking my head head, right? Poke wasnae a metaphor for shower sex, was it?” he asked hopefully.
"Want a demo?" Tara asked calmly, waving her finger at him.
Lachlan pressed his lips together and then pulled them to the side as his forehead creased. “You arenae really joking…” he realised. “No sex? Not even, like, a quick blow job when I get out of here?”
“I don’t really feel like your penis, baby. Sorry.” Tara shrugged and put her feet up on the side of his bed. “Even though it is a very nice penis.”
“You told me it was spectacular!” Lachlan cried. He was tempted to cross his arms and start to sulk. “Very nice. Makes me sound like I’m packing a salad sandwich in my jocks or something.”
Tara brushed her foot against his thigh. “We could always play Scrabble,” she offered. “Or how about Guitar Hero? I could get my fist wrapped around that nice, long, firm… instrument.”
Lachlan leaned over and pressed his fingers against his temples. “Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts… must not be jealous of a plastic toy… must not want to make Guitar Hero porn… must not look at my wife’s breasts in really nice fluffy pink sweaters…”
Tara looked down at her chest and stuck it out a little. “I think I’m pushing a D cup. I swear, they got bigger overnight. I was falling out the top of my bra this morning. We have to go bra shopping when you’re better, baby,” she decided. “Here, have some ice chips, sweetie. You need to keep hydrated.” She picked up the cup of chips and shook it for him.
“I dinnae want ice chips! I want to have sex with you in that sweater and only that sweater playing Guitar Hero when I get out of here!” Lachlan cried, helplessly throwing up his hand.
Tara took his hand and kissed it. “How about we just work on getting it up?”
“Aye! Please!” Lachlan agreed enthusiastically.
“I meant the Christmas tree, gorgeous,” Tara elaborated and rubbed her husband’s head - his head head - sympathetically.
Word Count | 747