A/N: Okay, one more… I don't own anything, except from the cat, and he really is bonkers. While I've been writing this he's mostly been sleeping, on the floor, in a blue plastic bucket… doesn't that just say it all? The rest is all him too, he's nuts, but he's lovely, the prettiest cat I know… And he sleeps on my pillow, stupid teen, which sometimes causes problems, since he seems to be of the opinion that my hair is his toy…
Summary: He's a compulsive cleaner, she teases him…
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She Smiles
She drops her laptop bag and her coat on the floor, after she's closed the door. Her shoes have been moved. Instead of just lying where she last kicked them off, they're now standing along the wall underneath the coat rack and his dark blue wool coat is hanging on the rack. All things that ensure her that he has come home.
"Honey, I'm home!" she hears him yell from the kitchen.
She smiles, and walks out there to join him.
"Isn't that my line, I was the one who just walked in the door?"
She leans in over the kitchen island, and kisses his cheek. He scoffs.
"Well, I've been gone longer." As she withdraws, he catches her cheek in his hand and draws her closer again, kissing her on the lips.
"Mmmmh," he hums "I've missed you."
"It's been four days, we've tried worse, you know." She laughs; brushing flour from his nose that he didn't know was there.
He moves back to his dough, pounding into it with excess energy.
"You're making fun of me," he informs her "that's not a very nice thing to do."
"Don't be stupid then," she grins at his frown "Don't worry though, I missed you too."
She leaves the kitchen, but yells at him from the hallway or the bedroom; he's not quite sure.
"When did you come home," he knows why she's asking, and really hopes she's not in the bedroom. He wonders if he should lie.
"At 11," he looks at the clock on the kitchen wall, it reads 18.23 "we were done early."
"You've been busy," she says coming back into the kitchen, wearing a towel wrapped around her "my shoes, my closet and the laundry is organized, and you emptied the trashcan in my office!"
He sends her his innocent eyes.
"That trashcan must've demanded another bag, it was that full," she muses "I'm taking a shower."
She moves out of the kitchen again, and he hears the turn on the water. She sings in the shower. Today it's What a Difference a Day Makes, and he hears the song traveling through the corridor because she haven't closed the door.
"What a difference a day makes, twenty-four little hours…" there is a jazzy tone in her voice.
He keeps telling her that she has a really good voice, but she always just frowns. He puts the dough back in the bowl, and leaves it to rise. After having cleaned off the table, he follow her voice, ending up in the bathroom, sliding up to sit on the table next to the sink. Their black and white cat is lying in the sink, perfectly rounded to follow the curve of it. He looks up as Dave sits down, yawns, and then meows. Dave scratches his head. He looks at Rory through the tinted glass of the shower cabin; she hasn't realized that he's there. The cat meows again, not appreciating the distracted petting. He stands up, stretches, and lies down again, offering Dave his tummy to pet. Dave just looks at him.
"You're a nutter," he says to the cat, which looks at him through half open greenish yellow eyes "you know that?"
"Dave?" she says "Are you out there?"
"Yeah," he snorts, "it takes after you, you know."
"Huh?" she has her head under the water, and has no idea what he's talking about.
"The cat, he's a nutter," he reasons, "So, he must take after you."
"Hey," she says in way of a protest "you're the one with OCD."
She opens the door, and grabs her towel. She has drops of water running down her body, and it turns him on. She walks out of the shower, while drying herself of. Walking past the sink, she pets the cat, and he immediately starts to purr. Dave sticks out his tongue at him, immediately realizing how juvenile he is, making faces at a cat.
"He likes you better than me," he scoffs, following her into the bedroom "why is that again?"
"I let him sleep on my pillow." She drops her towel on the floor, and gets dressed in a pair of sweatpants, and a Clash t-shirt. "I don't complain to him about cat hair getting everywhere."
His eyes are focused on the towel on the floor, walking out of the room again she leaves it there, lying on the floor, creating a wet spot on the untreated wooden floor. He picks it up, throwing it into the now empty laundry basket.
"What are you doing?" she yells from the kitchen.
"Nothing," he mumbles as he enters the kitchen.
"I mean the dough," she smirks, knowing all too well about what he just did with the towel "what's it for."
"Pizza," he smiles at her, she loves his pizza.
She walks up to him, wrapping her arms around him, and she stands on her toes, kissing him slowly. She let her lips travel from his mouth, down to his jaw, and further down to his neck, suckling lightly on the skin there. He groans, and takes over, his hands traveling up her side, taking a firm grip on her sides, and pulling her closer. He moves his mouth down to catch her lips, and then he mirrors her moves from before. He feels rather than hears her chuckle. She waits till he's completely wrapped up in her, before she asks him.
"So, when did you really get here?"
"5," he answers distracted, realizing his mistake as soon as the word has escaped his mouth "Eeh.."
"I know it," she smirks, pulling away from him "you are compulsive!"
"Th… that's cheating," he stutters.
She walks over to the table, looking from him, to the box of flour, which is still standing there. He looks at her warningly. She ignores him, and stuffs her hand into the box, sprinkling a little flour around the box and on the floor, as she pulls out a handful.
"Don't," he warns her, taking a step back.
She smiles, walking towards him holding up her hand in a threatening way. He backs up against the kitchen island, and she takes a big step forwards, emptying her hand over his head, leaving him standing in a thick cloud of flour. He shakes her head, and takes a step towards her. She let's out a scream, turns around and runs out of the kitchen. He grabs the box of flour and chases after her, finally catching up with her in the living room, standing on the middle of the longhaired, white rug. He snakes up on her.
"Dave, you can't do that," she motions to the rug, with laughter in her eyes "think of the rug, it'll get dirty."
He drops his arms, and looks slightly annoyed. She pulls him closer to her, wanting to embrace him.
"It okay, you can't help it," she smirks "it's a disorder."
At that, he lifts the box again and drops all of its contents out over her, laughing at her shocked expression. After the cloud around her has settled, and she's standing there covered in flour, he pulls her closer again, and kisses her.
"You're nuts," she laughs.
He ignores that, and instead looks closely at her face, pointing at her nose.
"You have flour, right there." He brushes it off leaving her nose clean, and the rest of her face covered in flour.
And she smiles.
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