How the Pieces Fit Together
Six short stories written with tongue in cheek and mind in the gutter, for 42_souls.
Part Two: It Started as a Joke
Prompt: Stay
At first, Liz had meant it as a joke.
Of course her mounting frustration hadn't been very funny. Are you sure you turned the stove off? he would say, or I know there's an unlocked window downstairs, somewhere, I can feel it and also Stop knocking over the candles, what are you trying to do, set us on fire?! There were a million reasons why he would hop off the bed, usually right in the middle of the good part, and go running off to soothe the needling anxieties pinpricking his brain to distraction. (Admittedly, fine, maybe the candles had been a legitimate concern. But only the candles.) Of course he would come back in a minute or two, he always did. Not to be rude or anything. But there was little that Liz hated more than coital interruption. She could unplug the only phone in the house, turn around all the mirrors, and lock all the doors, but it still wouldn't be enough to prevent interruptions. She couldn't exactly turn off his brain, after all.
So she joked. "One of these days," she said, as he extracted himself from her and ran for the bedroom door, "I'm going to have to tie you down to the goddamn bed."
"Be back in a minute," he muttered, as a non-response. And he was back, a moment later. "You're right, I'm sorry. The stove was off." The he tapped his chin. "Or was it? I was in a rush, think I might have looked at it too quickly. Let me go check again."
Liz buried her head in a pillow and screamed. Then she started seriously thinking about where she could procure some comfortable rope. Or hell, uncomfortable rope. He deserved to have scratches on his wrists. Maybe she'd go with handcuffs instead.
At some point, her jokes became a tentative plan. Then a definite plan.
As it turned out, he rather liked the handcuffs. Which worked out well for everyone.