Drabble Challege, 1-5 for ubiquitousmixie (DH, GA, GG & GL)
I admit I had a few problems with these prompts, but they did turn out much better than I thought they would and I'm glad that you gave me such a great selection to work with, D! Hopefully you enjoy them and the one I'm really scared of (you know the one) doesn't squick you too badly.
If Only You Could Object From Afar
(Callie/Addison, Grey's Anatomy. Addison's thoughts on Callie's eloping to Vegas with George. Property of Shondaland/Touchstone/ABC Studios.)
I know I'm supposed to be her best friend and I'm supposed to be fully supportive, no matter what she does.
But when she came back and told me she eloped, I wanted to palm my face, wondering why she would have considered it at all.
Does she see me? Can she honestly look in his eyes and see in him someone who's going to be there for better or worse, or death do us part? The guy probably internally whimpers at medical gruesomeness and I don't exactly like how close he is with Dr. Stephens.
Close friends? Really? Yeah, in the way I used to look at Derek before I finally jumped his ass after a year of denying it!
I know it looked like I was excited for her, that I'm very happy. But inside I'm hoping the state of Nevada comes back and reverses the vows. Maybe they were too drunk to do it. Or the official who wedded them is a convicted felon and their marriage has to be nullified.
Gah, one day that whole 'if anyone objects' thing is gonna be much better. I'll get a text that "Callie's trying to marry someone from afar" and I'll be able to hop on my webcam and tell her she can't do it because I want her all to myself. She'll look at the guy, throw the bouquet at his crotch hard and say 'it's about time, Addy!' and run back home to be with me.
But for now I have to watch her go through the ups and downs and hope George remains loyal to her. I have to be there when her heart is crushed. I have to let her know I'll be there.
All the while, my heart will weep for her.
The Lament of Distance
(Olivia/Natalia, Guiding Light. Olivia's lament about Natalia leaving. Property of TeleNext Media/Procter & Gamble/CBS Corporation)
I wish for once that I could happiness in a tight grip, never to lose it. I hate it slipping through my fingers. To be taken via rumors, innuendo, doubts, fear.
Sitting in my bed, all alone. The house is silent. My scars feel tender, like my heart wants to leap away from this being, rejection drugs be damned. My eyes are rimmed red, and everything hurts.
My phone is filled with her entry reading 24 messages. She must hate me for leaving so many voice mails by now.
Or she isn't even answering. Her phone pops on and line after line in missed calls, "Olivia" appears. Only to be immediately deleted.
It's painful to miss somebody. It hurts when they leave you.
If I could hold her again, I would tell Natalia that I will never waver and she's stuck with me forever. But all I can do is wait and hope, looking out the window to see her eyes sparkling in my direction once again.
My home feels less without her. My heart suffers because she isn't here.
Without her, I feel like nothing.
The Pall of Death
(Gilmore Girls, Paris/Rory. Paris/Rory, mourning (yea, i'm asking for angst!) Property of A-SP/DPDHP/H-P/Warner Bros. Television.)
(Personal note: This scene is not for everybody and deals with mourning in a way that many would not be comfortable with, and is an NC-17 scene. I advise you that if you're used to positive Paris/Rory, this is definitely not a scene you want to read. But since Danielle asked for angst and mourning, this is what came to mind.)
They remember the positivity in their lives before they left New Haven six months ago. How much of a glow they had about their love lives and how nothing could go wrong for them after they turned in the keys for Durfee 5.
That seems like a lifetime ago. Their new dorm is always dark. Their grades are still high, but there is no passion in their work. Logan Huntzberger never convinced Rory to join the Brigade, because one night away from Paris felt like her soul withered.
She is addicted. In all the wrong ways. Paris questions her religion now. She lashes out against the customs of the faith she used to respect. Her wrist is tattooed with the initials AHF, the love of her life. Her body is always sore, bruised, hurt.
Rory keeps thinking of why she asked Jess to run out for a Slurpee at 3am at an ampm in Mesa. Why it had to be him who took the bullet in front of the clerk after the thief dared him to be a hero. Why he died.
Paris questions how medical science couldn't clearly see that Asher's heart was giving out. Why he never told her. Why he died.
The first day they were back at Yale they seemed happy. Everything was fine.
A week later their respective families held memorial services in separate cities. Both girls went. Both girls wept. Both girls learned then that the grieving process was far from over.
Back in the dorm they hugged. Told each other they'd both be there for each other.
Then something sparked dangerously. Both had withheld their pain. Beneath it all, Paris and Rory lost the loves of their lives. Permanently damaged by both stubbornness and heroics, they were now alone in the world. Marty would never understand. Tristan was a silly childhood fantasy.
They were alone. They needed to feel more than just a dark hole where their souls used to reside.
The kiss was innocent at first. The tears were too. But soon the grief overtook them. All reason went out the window. They pressed body against body, flesh against flesh. Clothes were torn off, underwear shorn. Both women, in the darkness of their lives found they only felt when they had sex.
At first, only once a week. Soon though like a drug they needed more. Studying manifested hate of the outside world. Of how they regarded Par as 'Asher's's last slut.' Or how Taylor forced Luke to buy only a simple gravestone to mark Jess's grave by town proclamation, saying his memory should not be honored. Or how Dean told her he was glad 'the bastard' was dead, an outburst which earned him a broken jaw from Paris's doing.
They withered within. Only in bed could they feel anything at all. Rory at first was content with simple fucking, but soon asked for it rougher. Paris obliged her. She did not judge. The girls wouldn't talk, just go with the waves they felt as clit slammed against clit. Their room was ignored, personal effects still boxed. The door remained ever locked, no one able to intrude because of an illegally installed slide lock on the inside part of the door. It allowed them to revel in the darkness of their relationship.
Paris felt stiff after they fucked. Her sweaters hid the scars of Rory sliding her nails down her back, of having a lust of seeing her friend bleed when pricked by one of the needles of her craft corner. She had cum hard when she begged Rory to press the tip of her glue gun, plugged in, upon her midriff, letting the slightly heated substance slither across her body. Both of them enjoyed exploring pain, wanting to feel what their men did in the last moments of their lives. Rory got off from Paris pulling her hair and penetrating her from behind with an unlubricated strap-on, saying it made her feel. When she let her bladder go after one very deep thrust once she felt more alive pissing the bed for Paris's demented pleasure than she had giving her graduation speech.
She never knew she could be so dark. It had been so unpredictable that their combined mourning had turned from more than comfort, and into an addiction. She could no longer feel unless Paris was fucking her. And she knew the other woman was the same way.
They were miserable together. Both flirted the line between life and death. Paris had faked needing an increase in her medication, finding that when Rory had snuck a couple of her Paxils and Dexedrine from her prescription bottle, she wanted to let go even more when they fucked. They knew they were being reckless, even dangerous about how they made love. No questions were asked when Paris swiped some Viagra from her mother's boyfriend's pill bottle so she and Rory could try it out. They almost passed out though from that and knew that Paris's drugs were enough.
Rory was scarred. Her body was dangerously thin. Paris had lost a full cup size and twenty pounds in four months. Both of them picked at their food, only eating enough to keep hunger at bay. Often Rory would dream of having been knocked up, wishing for a better fate than mourning Jess alone. Paris wished she had the courage to go through with killing herself after she found Asher lifeless, to see her blood spill until she fainted dead. It was dangerous thinking. But if they were both the only ones who cared, it didn't matter.
Their mothers were worried. So too were Janet and Tanna. Both women knew eventually their scars and sores would be discovered and that their grades would soon suffer. But as Rory pushed eleven inches of blue rubber within her roommate's cunt, pressing against her cervix with heavy force, she at least in that moment could see Jess waving from afar in heaven as her vision turned white.
One day she would see him again. So Paris would see Asher. But for now, sex in their mourning was the closest thing to feeling the girls could share with each other. As she felt Paris bite at her tit, she felt better in her small little world of the dark dorm, her ass pressed against the cold plate of the printing press bequeathed upon her friend than she ever could again within the insular safety of the Hollow.
Light & Dark
(Meredith/Lorelai, Grey's Anatomy/Gilmore Girls crossover. Bright and shiny/dark and twisty. Property of Shondaland/Touchstone/ABC Studios, and A-SP/ DPDHP/H-P/Warner Bros. Television.)
Lorelai hated the complications of exes. That much was pretty much obvious. Luke and Christopher, along with Max could describe how her flakiness always seemed to contribute to the undoing of a relationship.
That annoyance had driven her to stay after work to talk with a guest who had been expecting to come with her boyfriend to watch an experimental surgery down at Yale Med. However he had left in a huff in some argument about his fidelity to her two days before they left, and ended up stuck at home nursing a nasty road rash. The woman had traveled to Connecticut despite, looking for a respite.
Lorelai had found herself subtlety drawn to the woman as she settled in the front room after the surgery to go over her notes. With it being the quietest part of August, there was nobody else to check in. Incredibly bored, Lorelai decided to make conversation with the physician.
At first the conversation was stilted around the woman's hometown, with the obligatory cracks about rain, Nirvana and coffee made and not impressive at all to her. But once she introduced herself finally beyond a name in the guestbook, Lorelai felt comfortable.
"Meredith, eh?" She smiled widely at her guest. "So you're gonna save me if my brain gets all clogged up?"
"I don't appreciate your tone," she groaned. "Why do you have to be so light? My work is grave and changes lives forever. I don't know about you, but in the grand scheme of things to save a life is a sacred trust--"
"Geeze, I just asked if you'd save my life. You don't have to get all Prousty on me, Dr. Grey." She laughed, hoping the timid woman would relax. "I'm not making fun of your work. I know I'd appreciate it if I ever ended up with a tumor."
Meredith had been surprised by Lorelai's candor, and that she hadn't been able to instigate an argument like she usually did to block people out.
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm just...I'm very defensive. I don't get along with new people well."
"It's OK." Lorelai laid her hand on Meredith's. "You look like you have a long night ahead of you. Aren't you here for three nights?" Meredith nodded. "Come on. I don't usually do this for my guests, but how about dinner on the house and some company? My daughter's in London and I could desperately use someone to talk to."
"I...I guess so." Meredith was evasive, afraid that bonding with the innkeeper wouldn't work out well.
She was surprisingly wrong. The two women eventually found their way up to her room and after enjoying the hearty dinner Sookie prepared, the conversation was light at first, mostly about their careers and their achievements.
Soon the talk naturally drifted towards their love lives, when they both recounted their struggles with both Luke and Derek. On the surface it might have seemed odd, as both men were different, yet the same. Luke being so singular, while Derek was driven to success, but both had that gruffness about them. Slow sips on red wine, the only time the conversation was interrupted was when Lorelai saw over the traditional 9pm changeover to third shift downstairs. Meredith took that opportunity to take a bath, which is where Lorelai found her twenty minutes later.
"Hey, you need anything?" she asked. The surgeon looked up at her, nervously.
"C-c-can you...you stay here with me tonight?" Her eyes were wide open and as she swirled the hot water around in the roomy tub she felt more at ease than she had in months.
"Dr. Grey, I have to get going--"
"This is the first time I took a bath since I almost drowned," she confessed. "One day there was this ferry accident and I ended up helping rush people. Somehow I ended up in Elliot Bay. I...I almost drowned, nearly medically dead. Since then I've had a fear of water. Even the shallowest of water. I...I can't even look at Puget Sound without having a panic attack." Tearful, she found Lorelai taking her hand. "I...I deserved to die--"
"No you didn't," Lorelai said, understanding how the woman was affected.
"But I'm a miserable mess. I'm gonna be in therapy forever. The last words I ever spoke to my mother when she was in a break from her disease were about her condemning my life and saying I never lived up to my potential. Derek and I are off once again. I don't know if I'll ever love again." Openly crying, she was expecting that the persistent innkeeper would be finally driven off, despite her invitation to stay.
Instead she was shocked as Lorelai took off her blazer, leaving her in the camisole beneath it and her skirt. Sliding off her shoes, Lorelai knew she was dealing with a woman who was unlike her in any way, seeming to be in that darkness she felt as she escaped from Hartford with Rory. She brought the woman into a hug, letting her cry.
"I don't know most of your life, Meredith, but I know that you're hurting. I'm sorry." Soothing the woman as if she was a newborn, Lorelai made it clear that her bright demeanor would be the one thing that would save Meredith from feeling miserable through her entire time in Connecticut.
Her first rule was always to never get close to a guest. But as she toweled the doctor off and helped her dress in pajamas, Lorelai knew it would be impossible to break apart her personal and work lives in that instance. They fell asleep within the bed, Meredith hugging Lorelai close for the purpose of a security blanket, thankful for the warmth of the woman who she was renting a room from.
Meredith decided to skip the surgery as Lorelai offered her a tour of the town the next day. Away from the stresses of Seattle Meredith found herself smiling at jokes the brunette made. Especially the naughty ones. She always felt dark and twisty, but at least for this time in her life she was bright and shiny.
The women never got back to the Inn that night. At Lorelai's house they shared pizza and beer, recounting their demanding childhoods and dating lives, and talked about their goals and dreams. It was then that Meredith admitted that the Emerald City wasn't right for her, and she was tired of living in the image of her mother, St. Ellis. They shared Lorelai's bed, sleeping innocently, the doctor feeling comfortable sleeping enough to stay in bed until eleven.
When Derek left her a voicemail apologizing for his behavior and she checked it as she woke up, she looked over to the sleeping local next to her. She hit the 7 button on her phone and deleted it out of existence.
As she left Hartford the next day with Lorelai seeing her off, she realized that a change of scenery was just what she needed. There was also a need to bond further with the innkeeper who went above and beyond the call of duty. Sighting Puget Sound as the plane taxied into SeaTac, her anxiety came back immediately. It heightened the moment she walked through the doors of Grace the next day and through Derek continuing to simper through the next two weeks, not willing to sit down for five minutes and talk to her.
A month later, she had solidified her resignation at Seattle Grace, driven by a need to have a friend who actually treated her as such. A week later came the word that she had a great job waiting at Yale Med. The goodbyes from Derek were bitter, and from the rest of the SGH team sort of in-between.
Surprisingly Addison was very happy for the talented woman, as she knew Lorelai from way back in 1984 when she did a summer in a Hartford private practice and gave her pre-natal care. "She makes you happy?"
Meredith nodded. "She's a pillar of strength. Her daughter is wonderful, and her eyes..." she sighed. "Is it wrong how I feel?"
"You deserve to be happy on your own terms, Grey. Enjoy Connecticut. You're never going to come back here again after a year or two."
A week later she stood in the concourse of Bradley, and found a woman wearing a too-tight green t-shirt which bared her belly and said "Reading is sexy." Her eyes lit up. After two months of calls and hopes, the cart behind her packed with bags and bags of her thing, she figured that the woman who never acted her age would be there to welcome her. Running towards Lorelai, she squealed, and brought her into a bear hug, happy that a change of scenery was just what she needed.
"You borrowed a shirt from your daughter, didn't you?" Meredith rolled her eyes. "You know you wear a size too small..."
"Yeah, yeah, Dr. G, my insides will compress and all that." Looking at Meredith, she saw that her new friend was hardly the same as she was that night in the bathtub. "You don't mind staying at my house?" Smirking, she had an idea that Meredith wasn't actually on any hunt for housing in New Haven.
"Nope, not at all." Finally, she was able to touch her lips to those of the hotelier, the dark and twistiness of her life seeming to disappear in the buss. Pulling back, both women blushed. "God, I've wanted to do that...since I met you."
"Plenty of time?" Lorelai wondered as she grabbed the handle of the cart.
"I have a feeling I'm gonna love this state," Meredith declared, happy that for once, she didn't let the darkness choose for her as her and Lorelai wheeled her bags down the terminal, both women waiting to explore unfinished business.
Here All Along
(Bree/Lynette, Desperate Housewives. "After all these years." Property of Marc Cherry/Touchstone/ABC Studios.)
I remember how many times I was told in the end of my marriages that I would never find anybody ever again. "You'll never find anyone better than me," they would say in so many words, hoping to wound me and then use the word of God to make me believe that by severing my bonds to them I was headed to Hell.
My God doesn't see that however. He sees the pain I've went through in my life and that in the end, the way I lived my life in the end will mean much more than how I kept my vows. I was bound only to them. I never breached my vows and that gives me the clarity I need.
It seems wrong that I'm saying this as I lay in a room in a bed and breakfast in a town in northern Vermont that you have to squint to see on a map. I've never been this impulsive. There was no way in the years I've had this feeling that I thought it would ever come true. Rex had scared the thought out of me, a little joke receiving a slap to the face in response to it.
I was tired of it, seeing her pushed aside, and while not physically abused as far as I know, scarred by how she's had to live for so long and how her authority was subverted by her husband.
Or shall I say, ex-husband? After he didn't allow her to assert herself, she had enough. She left him. Just one day, gathered her things, knocked on my door, and asked if she could move in.
How could I ever deny her? I thought it would only be for a week, so I found it an acceptable proposition.
Soon that week turned into a month. 30 days because a whole yearly quarter, and then six months. Nine months and twenty-four days later, she came home, exhausted and relieved.
Her divorce went uncontested. A petition she filed in secret, afraid for my reaction and scorn.
Which I easily spared her, since I had none. Her children had fallen out of her control, and her former husband treated her as if she was a pariah for fighting for her life in every conceivable manner. The only thing the divorce did was seal the fact she was now my equal roommate...
No, not the right term. My partner in the household. Time went on and she found a position that allowed her to finally work how she had dreamed she wanted to do for years. Incredibly creative, she quickly rose, while her ex left the neighborhood, unable to keep the mortgage up. We just sipped iced tea on the porch when he moved for the browner pastures of a bachelor apartment complex where loud metal rock would forever torture him as we both realized our own intelligent investments meant we lived in a home where only property taxes had to be paid.
One year, four months and eleven days after she came to my door, we had put enough space between the divorce and our feelings. She acted on them first, pinning me against the counter, giddy over receiving an important account. Glowing, she told me it was so worth it and that she could finally afford to live for herself.
She kissed me at that moment. The aftermath was a little bit awkward, as my beliefs told me to tell her to back off. But my heart, which had lifted from the sight of her the moment she moved in, told me it was right. Nothing happened that night. We celebrated, went to bed and the next morning, we were both normal.
Twenty-seven days later I confronted her about a client who I had to entertain for her sake. He seemed to be flirting with her in my eyes. She laughed it off and told me I must be seeing things. But I wasn't. He was trying to touch her all night. She wondered why I didn't want her to get back out there, and I explained that he just wasn't right.
For four months, the extent of our relationship remained that, friends living together and tolerating the things we didn't like. While I concentrated on my own ventures, I also made it clear that I wasn't looking for a new lover in any sense. She made me happy and that was all I needed.
But why did I just have to be happy? After finally having this independence for the first time in my entire life, why would I just be content to be that when I knew I could be indescribable? I'd fall asleep at night and I would sleep on one side of the bed, hoping and waiting for her to come in. She wouldn't. After awhile it had become obvious that she was either feeling wounded because I seemingly turned her down, or I had not acted at all.
I was new to being on the other side of romance. The pursuer. She had laid the trail and now I had to follow her. So I started subtlety. Backrubs and massages after a long day at the office. Holding her hand as she went for her appointments, praying that her lymphoma remained in remission. I even did things I would have never considered, like flirted with her during the block poker games with my words and my actions. She returned them occasionally, as the dizziness I felt when her ankle brushed mine beneath the table could attest. We both blushed, but didn't acknowledge it as we left the house it was held in. The both of us were reserved and stern. We couldn't give in yet.
I couldn't give in. After hearing the pastor giving a vindictive service from the altar one Sunday morning about how marriage is always between a man and a woman, up to the point of actually sympathizing with the police in the Stonewall situation, I registered an immediate complaint with the church anonymously that he be severely reprimanded.
The next weekend he urged the congregation to support a bill in the state legislature blocking any effort by a partner to take any kind of power of attorney, saying it was only a duty to be allowed by a spouse or parents. "They are not willing to give their full lives to the Lord," he intoned. "They are wrong, and they certainly do not deserve the efforts of the state to meddle in the affairs of their so-called 'lovers.'"
This time my protestation was more subtle, and more damaging to him. I simply dropped an envelope empty of money into the collection plate, walked out with my head held high, and in that note, told the pastor he no longer had my support and that my relationship between me and God never included denying anybody the simple mercy of being able to tell the person they loved most whether they were ready to pass on to the afterlife. Yes, my new church is far from my home. It's actually in the city and the parking is horrible. But that pastor there welcomes all and does not use his pulpit to bully. My empty space in the pews of my former church speaks more volumes about how I feel than anything else.
My soul was free. I had no guilt. After three weeks of adding more clues to the pile, I finally confronted her on how she felt for me with a simple dinner of shrimp tetrazzini, grape juice, and homemade croissants. Across the table we sat and ate, both of us worn from our respective days. I looked back to the first day we met, how we were both hopeful that our lives would end up wonderful and fulfilling.
All these years later, they hadn't. I had gone through two husbands, hers was acting like a nasty teenager with her wonderful twins who had been corrupted by his lax parenting (and his chilling of her strict style) to becoming uncontrollable hellions, while my own relationships with my children are, to put it best, tense. We had gone through all of this, and the only constant in my life had been her. Ever unfailing, never wavering. She was most afraid of how I'd react to her diagnosis and when she admitted it, my heart almost shattered.
If she would have died, I may have joined her soon after. But she was alive, still here, just for me. Living in my home, which had become our home informally, if not officially.
I admitted my feelings for her at that table. How I felt. I poured my heart out to her, hopeful that she recognized by my actions and disdain at her clients and co-workers, that I was hoping she would not leave, finding me a burden. I even cried within those words, telling her how she was the sole factor keeping me from wallowing in my sadness and keeping me sober. I knew there was a chance that I was too late. That she had closed herself off fully.
But then she came around the table and admitted her own feelings for me ran years back. That she had a picture of me on her desk at work instead of the twins. How those scamps told her she was 'a frigid bitch' and that not being with her husband she deserved to wither and die. That her children would be so cruel to her is unconscionable. Even mine still hold love for me.
We went from that night and began a slow burn of a relationship. Still sleeping in separate rooms. I was determined despite the unconventionality of my love that I would still court her in the normal matter, She would have to be content with enjoying the pleasures of my flesh through clothing and suggestiveness, and it drove both of us up a wall. "It'll be worth it when we decide to," I would intone when she got all frustrated and huffy after a hard day. Rubbing herself between her legs would have to do when I gave her the traditional end of the day back and foot massages that soon became as much of a routine as the morning newspaper.
Time went on. We went as further as we possibly could, and within the tenth month of our relationship the both of us were on tense tethers. But I would not breach my promise. Not even when a further promotion at work inspired her to head to some incredibly expensive lingerie shop in the middle of downtown and she would walk into my room every morning innocently asking how I found her underdress and forced me to stay behind five minutes before I left home after she did to expend my stress.
When I finally broke down and told the other girls, somehow they weren't surprised. Words such as 'it's about time' and 'it was inevitable' were thrown around. My children were almost the same way, with Andrew describing my love as 'your Siamese twin,' an incredibly disgusting picture, but thus, it was true. Outside of our work, we went everywhere together.
It was twelve months and seven days when I finally reached into the deepest portion of my jewelry box. When I opened up the portion that contained what my mother passed onto me. Both rings sat in the velvet box, awaiting, expecting. I had never worn them in my life. They would have been for Danielle, but she refused, saying they were not meant for her, but for me. They stayed in the top drawer of the box for two weeks.
Then I cracked. I could no longer take that my hormones and my heart were forcing me to face up to the predictable conclusion I had avoided since the day she came to my door in need of a shelter and a bed away from her husband.
She fell asleep in her bedroom. I penned her a note that she was to pack in two hours from the moment she got up, that I had the foresight to demand two vacation days from her employer. In the interim I had called my attorney to draft as airtight a power of attorney order as I could get this state to allow to await her signature.
The next morning she awoke, bleary and surprised. She asked where we were going.
"I'm not telling," I told her simply. "All you need to know is that you must wear white." Mysterious as ever, I finished packing the car, printing up maps and confirming things. An hour later we were in the car on the way north as I explained that yes, her position at the company was safe and everything would be well in her absence.
I did no interstate driving at all. Two lane rural roads all the way through the eight hour journey, all that was between us was four feet within the cabin of the car and the soft satellite-fed music fed in through the speakers. I purposefully strode along the state line during the drive north of Albany, not ready to admit the reasoning yet.
When we were within a mile of the Quebec border, I made the right turn. Crossing over Lake Champlain, as soon as we passed the sign welcoming us into the state of Vermont, I felt the pulse point of her wrist pitter-patter hard. She asked what we were doing here.
"Escaping for a weekend," I said simply. It would have to suffice as we crossed the lake and drove on Route 7 into St. Albans towards a quiet bed and breakfast resting on the shore of a small bay upon the lake. I remained enigmatic as we checked into the bed and breakfast, and when she opened the room, she was shocked to discover that there was only one bed.
But for that evening she would take that bed. "It was just a mistake," I claimed as I took a cot for the most uncomfortable and nervous sleep of my life. Just being able to look at her sleeping soundly, it made me sure I was making the right choice.
In the morning, I called to make sure all was in place. After spending most of the morning and early afternoon exploring with her, I then checked the pocket for the most important thing.
It was there.
Bending down on a rock in front of the lake, she stood agape as I poured my heart out and admitted what we were doing here, and why I could no longer see my life without her. With tears filling my eyes, I took her hand and asked her the most important question of each of our lives. I said her full name with everything I could, told her that I wanted to see her face everyday, and that I wanted her little girl to come back and live with us, the poor woman obviously missing her since sending her to one of her aunts for the sake of the child and to protect her from everything that happened. She knew about us and when we saw her, always asked when we'd get to this moment.
Before I'd say that it would be never, that the Lord wouldn't allow it. But that was before I fell in love with her.
I nervously sweated, my body heating in the bright summer sunshine. Finally after a minute of shock and recovering...
"I suppose we didn't come out here just to take the Ben & Jerry's tour?"
And there was the sarcasm that had told me that this was right. Soon, she said yes. Soon, we were back in the room at the B&B changing into the clothes which we would be bethrothed in. Not the white wedding dress by any means on me. More the reverse of a little black dress, just in white.
Not that it mattered. This dress I would treasure. My other dresses were long donated to a service that took...ahem, 'unwanted' gowns to donate to those I'm sure will have better memories with them. She went with a simple button down shirt paired with a grey pencil skirt.
Soon we were off to the St. Albans city hall, where we filled out the paperwork, did all of the things we had to, and three hours later, the town clerk gave us the vows. Though an oak-filled council room would never be a substitute for either of the churches where we said our vows for our husbands, it defined how we both were. Conservative, quiet, firm and always bound to each other. When the clerk had finally told us to "seal this wedding with a kiss," I was only too happy to, and she wouldn't dare stop me. I kissed her like I never had before, feeling my mother's wedding ring within her hand and finding it to be the most delectable thing I had ever touch.
She was my wife. I was her wife. It was perfect. No one will find out until we come back to Fairview. I don't plan to call.
With that, I suppose I should tell you that holding out for her was well worth the wait. About the only thing she was mad about is that I hadn't put some time between the proposal and the actual marriage, but that was more for the opportunity to dump her former surname as quickly as possible than anything else. I was surprised when she told me that she would take my surname. I thought she would hyphenate it.
But after spending the most wonderful night of my life with her, incredibly tired and fatigued and sore and bruised (hey, I admit I could've done this a bit sooner! I deserved to be a bit tortured by her!) I woke up just a few minutes ago, to pull back that beautiful blonde hair of hers and lay a kiss upon her beautiful cheek. Stirring, her eyes opened slowly as she woke up to me, giggling.
"You know, you were right," I say to her. "It was worth it to wait for you." Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she groaned as she faced me, morning breath and all, only the slimmest of sheets covering her lovely tall and lanky form.
"And here I thought you didn't want a mother of four," she tells me, a smile beginning to inch on her lips. "Just wait until Gaby realizes you've been hiding a rock bigger than hers."
"After all these years, we're finally bound together, forever." My words are soft, my caresses soft and languid. "Scary thought?"
"What, that I'm bound to a neat freak and can barely keep my own room together?" She giggles as I pinch the skin beneath her underarm. "Geeze! See what I mean."
"You have to be kidding. Your bedroom will now be our bedroom. You will be moving in with me and we'll be sleeping together every night now, while your bedroom now becomes your daughter's. That is what spouses do."
"Who says we'll be doing much sleeping?" She wags her eyebrows suggestively and I just shudder at the idea that I have just assured that my fifties will become my most sexually adventurous and alluring decade.
"Lynette Francis Van de Kamp! Behave yourself. I may now be your wife but I expect you to be in control--"
Oh dear. It seems that my best friend and now good wife is ready to go this morning right off the bat. Her fingers are...down there, and they really feel...goooood. I'm fogging out as she begins to top over me, pushing me hard against the mattress as she consipires further ways to inspire that naughty version of me with the devil horns and the slinky leg-baring dress on.
"Oh, I'll be in control, Bree. You asked for it, and I think that we'll only be taking advantage of the bed portion of this establishment this weekend."
"I did not ask--"
With that, my mouth is covered up by her delectable lips, taken up by her delicious tongue, and my synapses are fried...
Oh, fuck it. Lynette has me, indeed within her control, and I damned well love it. Especially the way her fingers just curl around and hit--
I cannot talk anymore. My wife needs loving. Lots and lots of exhausting loving...