/yes, i thrive on fluff. HEEE./
Kiss of Life
[2] Whipped
He was slowly sinking into a sated, sleepy haze with his wife comfortably ensconced in the cocoon formed by his arms, when he heard a sudden question proposed lazily.
-do you remember our first kiss?
He grunted. She was being unpredictable today. As always.
…at the Valley, when we—
No.
She had cut him off with a knowing smile, having rolled over on top of him, her fingers languidly playing with the dark hairs on his chest.
He ignored the deft hands that were slowly prodding his desire back to life and asked her.
No?
She shook her head.
When I first revived you.
He half-sat up in surprise, his elbows supporting both their weights. His eyebrows were furrowed as he caught her hands and said.
But it was Shamash—
Exactly.
He frowned. It was the second time that she cut him off that night. He usually did not allow for such behavior. He was about to voice his thoughts when she kissed him briefly on the mouth, her freed hands smoothing his furrowed eyebrows.
She smiled at him.
'Twas the kiss of life.
He couldn't help it; he reddened. Her smile widened. She kissed him again, chastely.
You're reverting back to thees and thous.
He grunted at her again. For lack of anything to say.
I know.
There was blessed silence, where he thought that he could go back to sleep again. Wrong.
…do you remember what I told you about fairytales?
She seemed to be insistent about being talkative today, so contrary to her usual quiet. He raised an eyebrow at her.
About Snow White. Sleeping Beauty.
Ah. He knew them. She had told him about them. Tales where the women where—
Are you calling me weak?
He was a bit angry at being implied as such. He sat up fully, dislodging her from his chest. They ended up with him sitting up, her head cradled in his lap where the sheets were bunched up. Nothing covered her naked body.
She still had the nerve to chuckle up at him. An arm reached up, and a hand caressed his neck, jaw, cheek.
No, honey—
And he dimly wondered where the endearment came from; she definitely wasn't one to call him honey.
-I guess what I'm pointing out is that if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be here. Twice.
Her gaze sharpened and an eyebrow was lifted delicately, goading him to contest that fact. His eyes narrowed a bit at the way she was treating him tonight. First she cut him off then this—
He sighed. Really, there was no going around this. If she couldn't win the argument, she could just seduce him into losing.
His head inclined, his shoulders shrugged, and the corners of his mouth lifted up in silent agreement.
Her answering smile was enough to forget her offenses against him that were listed earlier.
Really, he was just whipped as whipped can be.
(And no way in hell will the others know about this, he thought, as he lay down again, bringing her with him.)
The next morning, he was writing down the family's records when he came across a bit of information—she had many other ways of reviving a person, other than Shamash's kiss.
That meant…that perhaps she had feelings for him even way back?
Even way back what?
He looked up to see his wife sashaying to him, her face questioning, her clothes still defiantly European, to the eternal consternation of his mother. He hastily rolled the scroll he was writing in and greeted her with a Nothing.
She shrugged, then went to him and sat on the edge of his table.
Why are the tips of your ears red?
She asked, flicking the renegade organ.
N-nothing.
He repeated. Stuttering. He cursed silently.
They might not show it, but oh, they were BOTH as whipped as whipped can be.
/i perpetrate feminist!fanfics. haha. i give too much focus on women's subtle controlling powers over males. and don't we women rock? HEE. and forgive me. i just remembered John Tucker Must Die. and i may be drunk. on fluff. :O/