Xirysa Says: This is the first time I've written anything like this, but… Think what you will. Rated just in case, you know?

What They'd Do

Here's a scene they're very familiar with: the two of them, toasty and warm in front of the hearth while the winter storm rages on outside. She's lounging in a chair and reading a book, while he's sitting at her feet and munching on some of yesterday's bread so that it doesn't go bad.

Waste not and all that.

She peers at him over her book, and he lifts his head so that his gaze meets hers. She shudders involuntarily—it's always like this. One glance from him, and she's like a puddle of melted butter.

Now he's stuffing the last bit of bread into his mouth before standing up and stretching. She's doing her best to not stare at him, but hot damn why does he have to leave so many of the buttons of his shirt undone even though it's the middle of winter? If she's told him once, she's told him a thousand times before that the purpose of a shirt is totally defeated if it's not worn properly.

So what does she do?

She sighs and sets her book down on the chair and gets up to button his shirt properly. He stands absolutely still as she works, and it infuriates her because she knows he's planning something, she just can't figure out what…

She doesn't even realize that she's done until he nudges her, and even then she doesn't want to leave him because she can feel his heartbeat through the material of his shirt, and it just feels so soothing she doesn't want to move.

And then he bends his head down and rubs his nose against hers before giving her a small good night kiss, and she kisses him back because she knows—without a doubt—that he would do something else.

He would lean down closer and deepen the kiss, and she would respond eagerly because hey, it's just a kiss, right?

But then she knows that somehow, she would find herself pressed up against the wall, and she would still be able to taste the bread on his chin, on his lips, on his tongue, and that he would groan softly when he would taste the wine she drank after dinner.

Then his fingers would make their way into the folds of her own shirt and she would realize that the situation would be very ironic since she would be trying to take off his shirt at the same time, when she was trying to button it up before.

Her own hands would begin wandering, touching every part of him that she could while her lips followed, and then he would gasp when she reached the sensitive spot on his neck.

But then he would feel that he needed to do something too, and his hands would travel up her shirt, tracing her spine lightly, and she would feel his smile against her skin when she shuddered at his touch.

Not that she was complaining, of course.

Definitely not.

Every touch and caress would grow needy, he would pick her up and take her to the bedroom.

And he would say Oscar.

Then she would say André.

And that would be all they would say for a very long time.

So she stands up on the very tips of her toes to deepen the kiss, and she can feel them both shivering with excitement and anticipation. Then one of his hands presses against the nape of her neck while the other travels down until it reaches…

"Mama?"

They pull apart from each other so fast that she almost topples over and he finds himself too close to the fire for comfort, and they halfheartedly glare at the child in front of them.

She sighs and picks up the child, and he buries his face in his hand and groans because he knows exactly what they would have done tonight.

Xirysa Says: Lame title is lame. And the 'fic itself is really… Meh. I hope that this was mildly tasteful, at least.