002; [VIDEO]
[His mind always wanders a little during the repetitive exercises in ballet class. He has perfect form, so the instructor never speaks to him. He’s just left alone with his thoughts. Today, like every other day, he’s watching Rachel.
She’s watching herself in the mirror, one hand balanced on the bar as she bends, working studiously through her pliés. She’s still doing demi-pliés, which is good. He usually can’t watch her do grand-pliés for very long. Then, she bends deep down, so very low, and his dance belt gets…uncomfortably tight.
Her back is straight, all of her muscles focused on doing the perfect job. Bend, and back up. Feet straight, body aligned.
He can’t help but see her differently, can’t help wishing.]
[He stops seeing the ballet studio and instead his vision is filled with a sea of white, the smell of fresh, clean cotton in the air. He rolls in the body-heated sheets, seeking something specific out.
His hand finds warm flesh, a hip, and he slips his arm around the body, his palm sliding over her flat, toned stomach.]
“Good morning.” [It’s mumbled into the soft skin at the curve of her neck, silky brown hair getting caught on his lips.]
“Good morning!” [She chirps back at him cheerfully, beams at him over her shoulder and he knows it’s true what they say about pregnant women glowing. They only found out yesterday, but she already looks different to him.
He leans in to kiss her, the ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight as he pushes her onto her back and links his fingers with hers. Her legs circle his waist, an automatic response after so many years together, as he lets his right hand wander up her shirt.
He’s just shifted her higher up on the bed, kissing her collarbone, when something -- whap! -- lands on the bed next to him.]
“What the --” [Pookie, the Beagle mix puppy, ten months old and pure energy, just stands on the bed next to him, his whole back end wiggling as he wags his tail furiously. Jesse scowls back at him.] “This dog was a terrible idea.”
“Admit it, you love him.” [Rachel sends him a look as she lifts the squirming dog into her lap and he remembers the ‘Pookie is a member of the family, too’ discussion in painfully clear detail.]
“Of course I love him. He’s a member of the family.” [He would have sounded a lot more convincing if he hadn’t been frowning. But Rachel doesn’t even notice as she leans in to kiss the dog’s wet, black nose, her own nose scrunching up when he licks her face in return.]
“Mr. St. James!” [He looks up just in time to see Rachel at the lowest point of a grad-plié and he slips, his hand catching the bar as his instructor shakes her head.] “Focus, please.”
She’s watching herself in the mirror, one hand balanced on the bar as she bends, working studiously through her pliés. She’s still doing demi-pliés, which is good. He usually can’t watch her do grand-pliés for very long. Then, she bends deep down, so very low, and his dance belt gets…uncomfortably tight.
Her back is straight, all of her muscles focused on doing the perfect job. Bend, and back up. Feet straight, body aligned.
He can’t help but see her differently, can’t help wishing.]
[He stops seeing the ballet studio and instead his vision is filled with a sea of white, the smell of fresh, clean cotton in the air. He rolls in the body-heated sheets, seeking something specific out.
His hand finds warm flesh, a hip, and he slips his arm around the body, his palm sliding over her flat, toned stomach.]
“Good morning.” [It’s mumbled into the soft skin at the curve of her neck, silky brown hair getting caught on his lips.]
“Good morning!” [She chirps back at him cheerfully, beams at him over her shoulder and he knows it’s true what they say about pregnant women glowing. They only found out yesterday, but she already looks different to him.
He leans in to kiss her, the ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight as he pushes her onto her back and links his fingers with hers. Her legs circle his waist, an automatic response after so many years together, as he lets his right hand wander up her shirt.
He’s just shifted her higher up on the bed, kissing her collarbone, when something -- whap! -- lands on the bed next to him.]
“What the --” [Pookie, the Beagle mix puppy, ten months old and pure energy, just stands on the bed next to him, his whole back end wiggling as he wags his tail furiously. Jesse scowls back at him.] “This dog was a terrible idea.”
“Admit it, you love him.” [Rachel sends him a look as she lifts the squirming dog into her lap and he remembers the ‘Pookie is a member of the family, too’ discussion in painfully clear detail.]
“Of course I love him. He’s a member of the family.” [He would have sounded a lot more convincing if he hadn’t been frowning. But Rachel doesn’t even notice as she leans in to kiss the dog’s wet, black nose, her own nose scrunching up when he licks her face in return.]
“Mr. St. James!” [He looks up just in time to see Rachel at the lowest point of a grad-plié and he slips, his hand catching the bar as his instructor shakes her head.] “Focus, please.”