“What?” I asked, glancing down my person. Was I covered in lasagna goop?
“Nothing,” he murmured, but that sly smile wouldn’t quit. As if remembering himself just then, he blinked, shook his head, then nodded. “I’ll get some trash bags, drag a can from the side of the house around. Be back in two shakes of a Were’s tail.”
Frowning, staring up at the sliding glass door he’d just practically ran into in his haste, I shrugged and turned. So he was quirky. It was cute.
It wasn’t until we were almost done cleaning up that I spotted my reflection in the pond, light strands of soft purple streaking my deeply pink hair.
∞∞∞
“It’s not fancy,” he mumbled around his bite, “but it’s good.”
“Really good.” Wiping my mouth on my napkin, I smiled. I’d never tried spinach on pizza before with alfredo sauce instead of regular tomato sauce. I liked it.
“I’m glad you like it.” His hand reached out and he took mine in his. It was a nice, quiet moment, just the two of us, the crickets out back softly serenading, the marsh calling.
“This is nice,” I offered shyly. By the time we’d cleaned everything up the pizza was here and we’d grabbed drinks and dug in. Picking out a movie to watch was forgotten as we started talking about our likes and dislikes, movies among topics discussed, books, and even comics. “Even if you don’t think Die Hard, Sleepy Hollow, or Red are Christmas movies,” I added with a cheeky grin.
“I promise to watch them with you, all the same,” he said on a laugh.
Crookshanks yowled from the living room, like he hadn’t just been given a tin of cat food on top of everything else.
“You’re fed, you walking garbage disposal,” Gren called out to him.
Spotting the cat through the corner of my eye, I wondered at what he was doing as he hopped on the couch, until the TV came on and the volume slowly began to rise.
“Gods and monsters,” Gren burst out, slamming his knee on the table as he shot up and rushed toward the living room.
Following him at a more sedate pace, curious as to why the TV coming on would send him almost into a panic, Crooks had the couch cushion that apparently held a secret compartment beneath it off, the lid shoved aside, and was dodging Gren as he leapt at the animal. Crookshanks went this way, Gren went that-a-way, the Man of the Marsh flipping over the couch and right into a treasure trove of wankfest paraphernalia.
A creature feature film I was rather fond of came on then, at one of the best parts.
Gren struggled to right himself, pretzeled funnily.
Helping the guy out, I walked over, picked him up and set him on his feet. Gren made a funny chirping sound and plopped to his butt on the sofa cushion next to his unearthed goodies.
Glancing between him and the guilty look on his face, then the cleverly hidden treasures it held just sitting out there, lube, self pleasuring items, nothing crazy or wild, a giggle escaped me.
“You had your spank bank scene all ready to go, didn’t you? Swamp gremlin totally just outed you.”
I couldn’t blame him, this was a favorite scene of mine to get things rolling, too.
Sitting on the arm of the couch, draping my legs over his, I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a smacking kiss to his temple.
His hand went to my thigh but he jerked it back. My mouth formed an O and I couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face at my soda sticky dried pants.
“That’s funny, is it?” he mock huffed, grabbing me up to tickle me.
A shriek that sent Crookshanks running left me as my legs kicked and I fought, but he was wily, and willowy limber.
Before I knew it he’d wrestled me down into the sofa cushion, my hands pinned to the small of my back as he straddled my backside. I was laughing and alternatively shrieking so hard I basically let him.
And then a small, dark, square, velvety box with gold trim glinted from his wank drawer.
“Had enough, you giggling mess?!” he mock growled, leaning forward to playfully nip at my shoulder. He froze as he caught where my eyes were glued and held. Clearing his throat, he reached over, plucked the small box up, and shoved it into his pocket.
Right. Well… “I should probably go grab my duffel with spares from the car,” I mumbled, for lack of want of something to say as awkwardness started to creep in. Was that box meant for a past beaux? I wanted to be jealous but envy was the emotion filling me. I wanted to be the one he thought of when trinkets came to mind, not some unnamed past person.
“You’ve brought a duffel?” Pleasure laced his words. It eased the sting of, well, whatever that was that had just occurred. And it wasn’t as if he’d meant for me to see the small jewelry box that was shaped very much like it held a ring or pair of earrings.
