Obviously, some of this lead to nothing... but snippets I wrote when thinking about Something New all the same.
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He woke up when the springs of the mattress shifted. The warmth of the covers disappearing quickly after her. He watched her shimmy into some clothing and out to the bathroom. He rolled onto his back, peeling back the comforter to keep himself from falling asleep, but he was already lucidly dreaming when she came back in.
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When he's running its like there's magic in his legs. A layer of vapor guards his feet and they never touch the ground. Of course, if that were true, she wouldn't be watching after him wishing someone else had volunteered. Or that the wind would blow away the foot prints that trailed after him.
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I hear it before I can understand it. The loud yelps and guttural screams terrifying in volume but not laced with pain. A wall muffles the words, if there are any, but the closer I come to the door, the easier it is to make out multiple sources. There's a smallness that constrains the shrill cry. Its youthful and raw, a voice barely dropped into adulthood. The other is baritone and staccato, jabbering out syllables quickly and forcefully.
I'm just outside, but all the possibilities of what await inside make me think twice about pressing the button.