(no subject)
This is a continuation of the untitled story I began awhile ago.
Title: Dinner (boring, I know, but I'm not good at titles)
Author: Finny (me)
Rating: PG? Pushing PG-13
Spoilers: Up 'til episode 5
Disclaimer: If you think that I own these characters, I have a gorgeous bridge in New York that I'd like to sell you.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Rex uncomfortably. “There are…and I…and you…and we…”
“Isn’t that the point of a marriage?” Bree asked softly, and when he looked at her face and heard her voice he knew that she meant it, that it wasn’t her usual sanctimonious tone, the sort of question whose answer she would parrot back to him no matter what he said. “To work our problems out? To be a ‘we’?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. It’s just that…” But he didn’t know the end of his own sentence, and his voice trailed off. He took a deep gulp of his wine and thought.
“Look, I’m staying the night. We’ll have a nice evening, get a good night’s sleep, and then we can deal with everything else in the morning.” Rex punctuated his statement with a mouthful of food. Bree nodded, then bit her lip.
“Well, in the spirit of honesty…”
“What?”
“Darling, don’t talk with your mouth full,” she said, without even thinking about it. Then, wincing, “I’m sorry.” She was trying, at least. He could appreciate that.
“It’s okay. What were you going to say?”
“If you’re going to stay the night, you need to sleep upstairs. You’re not going to get a good night’s sleep on the sofa bed.” She looked down at her hands for a moment before picking up her glass and finishing it off, downing its contents in one of the swift, effortlessly elegant motions which were so characteristic of her.
“Bree…”
“No, I’m serious. I, uh…well…”
“You what?” She looked at him, her green eyes full of a startling nervousness. Rex laughed shortly.
“Bree, come on, what is it? You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“Well, then, if you promise you won’t blow your head off, I’ll show you.” She took his hand and led him to the living room. Coolly, she opened the bed and lifted the mattress, displaying the spikes she’d plied into position. Open-mouthed, he looked first at her, then at the bed, then at her again. Bree braced herself for a fight, but he surprised her by laughing.
“You know, Bree, this’ll teach me never to underestimate you. You’re really something, you know that?”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asked uncertainly, letting the mattress fall back on its springs. Rex shook his head.
“I don’t know. But thanks for showing me; I’d thought I was going crazy.”
“So sleep upstairs with me. It’s not as if you’re going to lose your head because you spent the night in your wife’s bedroom.” He looked at her, studying the white lace that was visible under her shirt as she bent to put away the bed, and questioned the validity of her assessment, but he nodded anyway.
“Okay.” For Heaven’s sake, he was an adult. He was perfectly capable of sharing a bed with a woman without having sex with her. Although…
Well, now that he thought about it, if there were ever a time to get his wife to do whatever he wanted her to, it was now, when she was trying to convince him that she could make him happy.
She’d kill him, though, if they had sex tonight and didn’t make up tomorrow.
So what? They were getting divorced anyway.
Yeah. But he really shouldn’t hurt her like that, no matter how angry she’d made him, no matter how miserable she’d made their marriage. She had never hurt him intentionally.
But wasn’t the fact that she’d never even noticed how much she’d hurt him even worse?
“Rex?” Bree’s voice, elegant and smooth but laced with a touch of concern, cut through her husband’s musings.
“Sorry,” he said automatically. “What did you just say?”
“I asked if you wanted dessert.”
“Sure, yeah. What did you make?”
“Strawberry shortcake.” He looked at her, smiling slightly.
“You used to make that all the time, back when the kids were little.”
“Yes, well, Andrew doesn’t like strawberries…”
“I never understood how that was even possible.”
“Me neither,” Bree told him with a smile, “but he’s our son, and I respect his taste in fruit as long as there are some that he will eat.” They walked back to the dining room, and Bree disappeared into the kitchen.
“Wine?” she called.
“No, thanks.” He sat down at the table and looked around him. The house was beautiful, perfect-sterile. How long had he lived in this house, decorated according to his wife’s tastes? Had he had any say in any of it?
Had he ever asked to have any say in any of it?
Yeah, she walked all over him. Bree made the decisions in their household, that’s for sure. But then she liked making decisions. He didn’t. She liked picking out china patterns and making sure that they perfectly matched the upholstery, which was coordinated with the drapes, which carefully picked up an exact shade from the wallpaper. As long as there was china and furniture, curtains and wallpaper, he couldn’t care less. She dominated every aspect of his life, but then he’d asked for it. It was part of what had attracted him to her. She liked to be in charge, and, oh, there was something unbearably sexy about her taking charge.
Suddenly she reappeared, carrying plates and wine glasses.
“It’s just water,” she clarified as she leaned forward to place his plate and glass in front of him. “The glasses are just prettier.”
“Thanks,” he told her, plucking the dessert fork from her perfectly set table.
“You’re welcome,” she said politely, but she flashed him a sweet smile before she began to eat.
She seemed to be taking his “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” words to heart, so Rex followed her lead and began to eat. He closed his eyes briefly as he savored the sweet taste of his wife’s baking. Everything she cooked was wonderful, but he had a soft spot for the pastries and the muffins, even as she began to use them almost as suburban weapons of warfare: “I’m Bree van de Kamp. My house is cleaner than yours; my children are smarter and more virtuous than yours; my husband makes more money than yours; and my muffins are always perfect.”
Bree allowed herself to relax slightly in her chair, her perfect posture pushed momentarily to the side. She smiled as she watched Rex’s reaction to her dessert. Life would be perfect if only she could get him to moan like that in response to her, instead of to her baking. As long as she couldn’t, though, she would darned well make him cakes and pastries so that she could watch him enjoy them.
She glanced at his lap almost longingly. He hadn’t been interested in her body in what felt like an eternity. She’d come on to him as much as was ladylike, and even a bit more, but for months they had used their bed only for sleeping. She gazed even harder at his lap and suddenly placed her hand gently on his thigh.
“Bree?” He put down his fork and turned to look at her. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. I’m absolutely dying of lust. It’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know. But I’m not going to burn in hell for it because I’m already burning now.
“No. I’m fine,” she said, but the smile plastered on her face was of the fake kind, and even she could tell that it wasn’t going to fool him.
He held her eyes for a few moments, clearly telling her, “I don’t believe you,” and then looked away and began eating again.
She left her hand where it was.
“So,” said Bree, clearing her throat as she sipped her water as earnestly as she’d sipped her wine earlier. “Andrew has been frequenting a strip club.” Rex put down his fork again and stared at her.
“What?”
“It’s called ‘Topsy-Turvy.’ Luckily, I managed to embarrass him enough to get him to leave,” she finished with a rueful smile. Rex frowned.
“What did you say to him?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, I pointed out that the girl on stage was once someone’s little girl, and that someone probably had big dreams for her. And that she’s probably been through so much in her life, has to have been to have ended up in such a profession. And then some other ‘gentleman’ asked him to leave and take me with him.”
“You didn’t.”
“Of course I did,” Bree said, her voice reflecting her shock at Rex’s tone.
“Bree, maybe she’s just a young woman who’s discovered that she can make more money stripping than waiting tables. She wasn’t necessarily being abused.”
“Rex! What if it were Danielle? Would you rather have her taking off her clothes for money than waiting tables, no matter how much money she could make?”
“Frankly, I don’t want her doing either. You know that most men think that the fact that a woman’s serving them food gives them carte blanche to hit on her and touch her and…”
“And our son is too young to be drinking and watching young women take their clothes off for money.” She flashed him that look that told him that it was all over; he was going to concede the point or there would be hell to pay.
“You’re right about that,” he said. He returned to his dessert, leaving Bree feeling slightly let down.
“That’s it?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah. Andrew is sixteen. He’s not old enough for drinking or clubbing.”
“Rex, do you actually agree with me, or are you just letting me have my way and stacking this up in your arsenal of things to use against me with Dr. Goldfine?”
“I agree with you. Andrew should not be going to strip clubs. But…”
“But, what? How can there be a ‘but’?”
“Did you have to humiliate him? Do you really want him to think of sex as something humiliating?”
“Strip clubs are not about sex. They are about lust, and it is my duty as Andrew’s mother to teach him that lust unattached to love and marriage-attached, even worse, to money-is a sin.” Rex shifted uncomfortably in his chair, thinking about all the hours in the past few months he’d spent in the company of Maisy Gibbons. Bree’s hand, still resting on his thigh, slid over his leg and was suddenly too close for comfort. He gently covered it with his own and moved it away from the danger zone.
“Fair enough,” he said tiredly.
Title: Dinner (boring, I know, but I'm not good at titles)
Author: Finny (me)
Rating: PG? Pushing PG-13
Spoilers: Up 'til episode 5
Disclaimer: If you think that I own these characters, I have a gorgeous bridge in New York that I'd like to sell you.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Rex uncomfortably. “There are…and I…and you…and we…”
“Isn’t that the point of a marriage?” Bree asked softly, and when he looked at her face and heard her voice he knew that she meant it, that it wasn’t her usual sanctimonious tone, the sort of question whose answer she would parrot back to him no matter what he said. “To work our problems out? To be a ‘we’?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. It’s just that…” But he didn’t know the end of his own sentence, and his voice trailed off. He took a deep gulp of his wine and thought.
“Look, I’m staying the night. We’ll have a nice evening, get a good night’s sleep, and then we can deal with everything else in the morning.” Rex punctuated his statement with a mouthful of food. Bree nodded, then bit her lip.
“Well, in the spirit of honesty…”
“What?”
“Darling, don’t talk with your mouth full,” she said, without even thinking about it. Then, wincing, “I’m sorry.” She was trying, at least. He could appreciate that.
“It’s okay. What were you going to say?”
“If you’re going to stay the night, you need to sleep upstairs. You’re not going to get a good night’s sleep on the sofa bed.” She looked down at her hands for a moment before picking up her glass and finishing it off, downing its contents in one of the swift, effortlessly elegant motions which were so characteristic of her.
“Bree…”
“No, I’m serious. I, uh…well…”
“You what?” She looked at him, her green eyes full of a startling nervousness. Rex laughed shortly.
“Bree, come on, what is it? You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“Well, then, if you promise you won’t blow your head off, I’ll show you.” She took his hand and led him to the living room. Coolly, she opened the bed and lifted the mattress, displaying the spikes she’d plied into position. Open-mouthed, he looked first at her, then at the bed, then at her again. Bree braced herself for a fight, but he surprised her by laughing.
“You know, Bree, this’ll teach me never to underestimate you. You’re really something, you know that?”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asked uncertainly, letting the mattress fall back on its springs. Rex shook his head.
“I don’t know. But thanks for showing me; I’d thought I was going crazy.”
“So sleep upstairs with me. It’s not as if you’re going to lose your head because you spent the night in your wife’s bedroom.” He looked at her, studying the white lace that was visible under her shirt as she bent to put away the bed, and questioned the validity of her assessment, but he nodded anyway.
“Okay.” For Heaven’s sake, he was an adult. He was perfectly capable of sharing a bed with a woman without having sex with her. Although…
Well, now that he thought about it, if there were ever a time to get his wife to do whatever he wanted her to, it was now, when she was trying to convince him that she could make him happy.
She’d kill him, though, if they had sex tonight and didn’t make up tomorrow.
So what? They were getting divorced anyway.
Yeah. But he really shouldn’t hurt her like that, no matter how angry she’d made him, no matter how miserable she’d made their marriage. She had never hurt him intentionally.
But wasn’t the fact that she’d never even noticed how much she’d hurt him even worse?
“Rex?” Bree’s voice, elegant and smooth but laced with a touch of concern, cut through her husband’s musings.
“Sorry,” he said automatically. “What did you just say?”
“I asked if you wanted dessert.”
“Sure, yeah. What did you make?”
“Strawberry shortcake.” He looked at her, smiling slightly.
“You used to make that all the time, back when the kids were little.”
“Yes, well, Andrew doesn’t like strawberries…”
“I never understood how that was even possible.”
“Me neither,” Bree told him with a smile, “but he’s our son, and I respect his taste in fruit as long as there are some that he will eat.” They walked back to the dining room, and Bree disappeared into the kitchen.
“Wine?” she called.
“No, thanks.” He sat down at the table and looked around him. The house was beautiful, perfect-sterile. How long had he lived in this house, decorated according to his wife’s tastes? Had he had any say in any of it?
Had he ever asked to have any say in any of it?
Yeah, she walked all over him. Bree made the decisions in their household, that’s for sure. But then she liked making decisions. He didn’t. She liked picking out china patterns and making sure that they perfectly matched the upholstery, which was coordinated with the drapes, which carefully picked up an exact shade from the wallpaper. As long as there was china and furniture, curtains and wallpaper, he couldn’t care less. She dominated every aspect of his life, but then he’d asked for it. It was part of what had attracted him to her. She liked to be in charge, and, oh, there was something unbearably sexy about her taking charge.
Suddenly she reappeared, carrying plates and wine glasses.
“It’s just water,” she clarified as she leaned forward to place his plate and glass in front of him. “The glasses are just prettier.”
“Thanks,” he told her, plucking the dessert fork from her perfectly set table.
“You’re welcome,” she said politely, but she flashed him a sweet smile before she began to eat.
She seemed to be taking his “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” words to heart, so Rex followed her lead and began to eat. He closed his eyes briefly as he savored the sweet taste of his wife’s baking. Everything she cooked was wonderful, but he had a soft spot for the pastries and the muffins, even as she began to use them almost as suburban weapons of warfare: “I’m Bree van de Kamp. My house is cleaner than yours; my children are smarter and more virtuous than yours; my husband makes more money than yours; and my muffins are always perfect.”
Bree allowed herself to relax slightly in her chair, her perfect posture pushed momentarily to the side. She smiled as she watched Rex’s reaction to her dessert. Life would be perfect if only she could get him to moan like that in response to her, instead of to her baking. As long as she couldn’t, though, she would darned well make him cakes and pastries so that she could watch him enjoy them.
She glanced at his lap almost longingly. He hadn’t been interested in her body in what felt like an eternity. She’d come on to him as much as was ladylike, and even a bit more, but for months they had used their bed only for sleeping. She gazed even harder at his lap and suddenly placed her hand gently on his thigh.
“Bree?” He put down his fork and turned to look at her. “Is something wrong?”
Yes. I’m absolutely dying of lust. It’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know. But I’m not going to burn in hell for it because I’m already burning now.
“No. I’m fine,” she said, but the smile plastered on her face was of the fake kind, and even she could tell that it wasn’t going to fool him.
He held her eyes for a few moments, clearly telling her, “I don’t believe you,” and then looked away and began eating again.
She left her hand where it was.
“So,” said Bree, clearing her throat as she sipped her water as earnestly as she’d sipped her wine earlier. “Andrew has been frequenting a strip club.” Rex put down his fork again and stared at her.
“What?”
“It’s called ‘Topsy-Turvy.’ Luckily, I managed to embarrass him enough to get him to leave,” she finished with a rueful smile. Rex frowned.
“What did you say to him?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, I pointed out that the girl on stage was once someone’s little girl, and that someone probably had big dreams for her. And that she’s probably been through so much in her life, has to have been to have ended up in such a profession. And then some other ‘gentleman’ asked him to leave and take me with him.”
“You didn’t.”
“Of course I did,” Bree said, her voice reflecting her shock at Rex’s tone.
“Bree, maybe she’s just a young woman who’s discovered that she can make more money stripping than waiting tables. She wasn’t necessarily being abused.”
“Rex! What if it were Danielle? Would you rather have her taking off her clothes for money than waiting tables, no matter how much money she could make?”
“Frankly, I don’t want her doing either. You know that most men think that the fact that a woman’s serving them food gives them carte blanche to hit on her and touch her and…”
“And our son is too young to be drinking and watching young women take their clothes off for money.” She flashed him that look that told him that it was all over; he was going to concede the point or there would be hell to pay.
“You’re right about that,” he said. He returned to his dessert, leaving Bree feeling slightly let down.
“That’s it?” she asked, surprised.
“Yeah. Andrew is sixteen. He’s not old enough for drinking or clubbing.”
“Rex, do you actually agree with me, or are you just letting me have my way and stacking this up in your arsenal of things to use against me with Dr. Goldfine?”
“I agree with you. Andrew should not be going to strip clubs. But…”
“But, what? How can there be a ‘but’?”
“Did you have to humiliate him? Do you really want him to think of sex as something humiliating?”
“Strip clubs are not about sex. They are about lust, and it is my duty as Andrew’s mother to teach him that lust unattached to love and marriage-attached, even worse, to money-is a sin.” Rex shifted uncomfortably in his chair, thinking about all the hours in the past few months he’d spent in the company of Maisy Gibbons. Bree’s hand, still resting on his thigh, slid over his leg and was suddenly too close for comfort. He gently covered it with his own and moved it away from the danger zone.
“Fair enough,” he said tiredly.