One Side
It had been two months.
Two months since they finally stopped tip toeing around their maddening 'one step forward, one step back', their barely concealed attraction, their charade of a 'just business' partnership that was fooling no-one.
8 weeks since they had stopped denying themselves, something that Phryne had never been good at anyway. When it finally happened, she had expected tentativeness, guardedness, shyness. Instead there was such a rush of relief on both sides that nobody had time to care about what they looked like naked, or what might sound silly to say out loud, or to be self-conscious about speed, stamina or skill.
Not that Phryne had ever had any problem with self-consciousness before, but… this was different, with Jack. This was important. This wasn't going to be brushed under the carpet as easily as her previous dalliances. Something about that made her more nervous than usual, in the lead up.
But afterwards, it all seemed so silly. Yes, she had been right. This was not going to be swept under the carpet; but luckily she had no intention of attempting to do so. This coming together was relief, it was passion, but more than that it was the righting of something that had been wrong.
All of a sudden, all that had been closed off to her before was right there in front of her. She had spent so long living on scraps, delighting in the slightest touch, wringing whole fantasies out of the merest glimpse of the skin beneath his collar.
Sometimes, Phryne thought she should be given an endurance medal.
Now, like an epicure being presented with a feast after a long hunger strike, she had it all laid out on a plate. She could touch him, feel him, kiss him, everywhere. It was a whole new world. There was the surprisingly soft skin on the inside of his arms - she could kiss that as he held her now, pressing her lips into to it to feel the conflictingly hard muscles underneath. The gentle crunch of his hair at the end of the day. She could run her fingers through that now – God, how she'd had to stop herself doing that for months!
Before, their conversations were time-sensitive. They were either in the middle of a case, hot on the pursuit of some murderer, or otherwise they were amongst friends, and out of politeness couldn't really spend the entire time staring into each other's eyes and whipping bits of banter back and forth between them in selfish exclusivity. (Though they made several good attempts.) Time and propriety even presided over their nightcaps like disapproving deities, forcing Jack to keep his eye on the clock and take his reluctant leave when the hour became just a little too inappropriate.
Now, their time together was limitless. Even when they were working, they could stay up half the night talking, their conversations slowing gradually until they drifted off into a contented sleep. And if they weren't, whole mornings seemed to disappear until gradually, histories and families and first boyfriends and girlfriends and childhood embarrassments and dreams were committed to memory.
Phryne was in deep bliss. All these things had become essential to her, from the most passionate embrace to the easy domestic scenes she would have cringed at just months before.
They'd barely spent a night apart.
The only problem was, if she didn't get some sleep soon, she was going to go mad.
Because Jack Robinson, love of her life, was a SNORER.
She hadn't noticed at first. The first week or so, she remembers, possibly, just… passing out. Everything was very… exuberant. The first time she did notice, it must have been a night where he was asleep before her. That was rare, actually. She was a very immediate person, herself.
I'm going to sleep now. Now I am asleep.
Jack took longer to unwind from the day, especially once the initial sheer disbelief and shock of being together wore off and the days became slightly more normal. Still wonderful. But a new normal. She didn't remember exactly… actually, yes she did, she remembered exactly. He'd come in late, exhausted and worn out by a long and fraught stake out, topped off by a raid and a laborious booking in process back at the station. He'd planned to go back to his bungalow, but Phryne had been unsatisfied at the thought of him climbing into a cold bed after such a day and given him a key. When he'd finally clambered into her sheets, strung out and annoyed at the incompetence of a fellow officer, Phryne had done everything she could to relax him and make him feel welcome. Afterwards, he'd fallen asleep immediately, and Phryne had been silently congratulating herself on a job well done, when…
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
She hadn't been annoyed. She'd actually smiled at him with affection, before snuggling up next to him and somehow (she couldn't understand, looking back, how this had been possible) merely going to sleep.
The next time was slightly more irritating. She was exhausted too. She'd been forced (alright, wanted) to go undercover as an Argentinian tango champion, and she had spent the day practising her steps. Perhaps the fact that she had coerced Jack into being her practise partner accounted for his uncharacteristically quick fall into the arms of Morpheus, but there it was. There she was, with an early start the next day, desperate to sleep, and…
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
She dropped off eventually, but the next time, her body was less accommodating. It was the night after the proprietor of the Argentinian dance hall had been successfully arrested for cocaine distribution. Her muscles ached from the exertions she had put them through earlier in the evening – an extremely acrobatic tango had been required on the dance floor of the club to distract said proprietor long enough for Jack to search his office. Limbs throbbing, Phryne lay draped characteristically across the bed, the arm that was flung across Jack's chest rising and falling with his breath. Her body begged for sleep, but her mind was sharply focussed. No matter how she tried to distract herself, no matter how many sheep she counted, her conscious brain was stubbornly and fully occupied with charting the exact progress of his snoring.
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
In-furiating.
Now, she had got to the point where she was trapped in a nightly sleep-deprived cycle of despair. Each evening, she convinced herself she could get to sleep first. And some nights, she did. He probably snored then too, but it didn't bother her. But on other nights, where she was tightly wound, the very anxiety of getting to sleep first kept her awake. Then there was that low grumble somewhere in his throat that signalled the main event was about to begin. She would close her eyes tightly, fooling herself that if she just dropped off now, if she just beat him to it then she wouldn't have to…
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
She wanted to cry. And then came the silence. The silence was the worst part of the snore. The silence that made her think maybe it was just a one off.
Still silent. Maybe he wasn't-
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
Phryne rolled onto her back, hands over her face. Four nights in a row he had beat her to it. She cursed herself inwardly. Why hadn't she brought it up before? Afraid of hurting his feelings, she supposed, by suggesting he sleep in a guest room, or sleep at home or HAVE MAJOR SUGERY OR DO ANYTHING, REALLY, IF IT MEANT SHE COULD GET A DECENT BLOODY NIGHTS SLEEP!
Hurting his feelings. Phryne hmmphed silently. Look at what this love nonsense had done to her!
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
She loved him, she did.
"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."
But she was going to kill him.
