Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
A/N: Because someone suggested that I write something for fun, and my brain decided that this little bit of comic angst was just the ticket. Sigh. Cookie and Clay for life. C₂ (not really; it's just fun to say). This isn't meant to be offensive, please read with that in mind.
Warning: This is not suitable reading for children as it features adult situations and language.
Communication with Cookie Monster is simple. Clay doesn't have to guess at what the monster wants. Doesn't have to jump through hoops to make the blue guy happy.
The TV's on, but neither of them are watching it - Clay, too deep in thought, Cookie, too deep into his plate of cookies to be aware of anything else.
He's grown used to Cookie's various moods.
Truth is, there aren't that many moods for Clay to parse through.
His lover's either hungry for cookies, as is the case right now, or hungry for him, which will happen later, after the plate of cookies has been devoured, and the monster's worked up an appetite for him; there's very little gray area to work with, little that Clay has to wonder about.
There's no subtlety with Cookie - he is what he is, and he wants what he wants. Life with Cookie is easy.
And, if he's completely honest with himself, Clay likes it that way. He doesn't miss the mystery, or the drama, that often comes along with bedding women.
Doesn't miss the roller coaster of emotions that being with Gemma had put him through. Not that he blames Gemma for all of it.
He doesn't.
They stopped talking.
Things fell apart.
They fell apart.
There was too much past between them.
He doesn't have that with Cookie.
Cookie's not at all like any of the women that Clay's been with; nothing like Gemma. Not just with regard to lovemaking, but with other things as well.
For instance, "Me want cookies," means just that.
There's no second-guessing, no reading between the lines, no wondering if Cookie's request for cookies is the result of something that Clay's done wrong. If he'll wind up sleeping on the couch before the night is through - seeking comfort in someone else's bed; something that he's not done since he's been with Cookie.
It's not a complex code that Clay needs to decipher. Nookie won't be withheld if he brings Cookie gingersnaps instead of shortbread.
Though, the monster, Clay has discovered in their time together, is partial to chocolate chip cookies, and despises oatmeal raisin, unless they're slathered in icing. The sweeter the better.
The phrase, "Me want Clay," is easy enough to understand as well.
There's no need to overthink things, or consider mood when it comes to sex, and what Cookie wants. The monster is surprisingly communicative in bed. Creative and flexible.
Likewise, "Omm, nom, nom," requires little interpretation on Clay's part.
And, for some reason, the sound of Cookie's enjoyment as he stuffs his face with a plateful of cookies, makes Clay hard, and horny as fuck.
Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that Cookie makes that same sound when he's got Clay's dick in his mouth, or when he's working his tongue into Clay's ass, loosening the tight ring of muscles for fucking.
It isn't love. At least Clay doesn't think it is - doesn't want to think too much about it, because Cookie hasn't asked him for a qualification of what it is that they do have together, hasn't pressured Clay to label it, not like a woman would.
No, it isn't love (most likely) but what he and Cookie do have going on between the two of them is close enough. Makes Clay want to stay, and figure out what the hell it is that they do have going on between the two of them.
And, fuck, he isn't the woman in all of this. Neither is Cookie. And, it's weird, not having a woman involved.
"Omm, nom, nom..." Cookie devours his second plate of sugar cookies, rousing Clay from his thoughts.
Crumbs fly everywhere. It shouldn't be the turn-onthat it is. Shouldn't cause Clay to have to pop the fly on his jeans, and settle back against the couch cushions, adjust himself.
Clay bites his lip, digs his toes into the plush carpet, takes the half cookie that his lover offers him, and stuffs it in his mouth. Crumbs fall from his lips, land in his lap, and he belches at the same time that Cookie does.
Synchronized belching.
And, fuck...maybe this is love after all.
