Bette washed the makeup from her face and tossed the dirty washcloth into the hamper by the sink. She reached into her bag for her toner and stopped short. She could unpack her things. She could move them into the bathroom, just as Gregory suggested but it had only been six days. For six days, she had been his wife.

It didn't even seem real. She'd been in the master bedroom before. She'd spent sleepless nights with Olivia after the baby died. She'd watched the slow destruction of the best thing to happen to her friend. She'd watched- unable to help, unable to understand, unable to even think of something to say.

It could be worse. Bette stopped herself softly. It could be the old house. It could be THE bed. The bed Olivia's children had been conceived in. She couldn't sleep in that one. Ever. It would be wrong. It was still wrong. Every part of it was wrong but-

She shut off the gleaming silver faucet and reached for a towel. But she was happy. Sean was a sweet kid. Trey was a joy to have around. Cole and Caitlin warmed up to the idea with surprising ease. Caitlin wanted her father to be happy, and Cole wanted Gregory to be distracted. Bette chuckled when she realized she certainly fit the latter.

Gregory wasn't unhappy. He was polite. Like a gentle roommate he kept up his things. He was neat. He was quiet when she slept and always had a wry comment to start the day. It had taken some getting used for her to after so many years alone, but Gregory seemed comforted. That she hadn't believed, but he was relieved just by her presence. He looked at her the first morning and smiled.

There really was something special about his smile.

Bette dropped her clothes into the chute in the back of the closet and pulled on a pair of black silk pajamas. Men's nightclothes were so much easier to deal with. Gregory had found that funny.

"I expected something-" He had paused and looked up from his work as she climbed into bed next to him. "Something brighter."

"Sleep should be taken seriously." Bette had quipped back, but there was something complementary in his grin. She liked it. She really liked it and like was becoming too soft of a word. He was handsome, classic and constrained like an old Hollywood leading man. "Besides, these are comfortable."

Tonight, she opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen and brought it up to bed. Who knew when he'd be home and it was so much easier to sleep with a few glasses of wine warming her stomach. It had taken nearly twenty minutes to find something she knew wasn't too expensive in the wine cellar. She still couldn't open a seventy dollar bottle of wine without feeling a little odd about it.

She settle for the '82 Bordeaux. It was his favorite grape, and she knew the '82 hadn't been too fabulous of a year. Bette settled down with her notes for tomorrow's column that she wasn't really going to look over. If she had them that was enough. It was almost working that way.

She was nearing the bottom of her second glass when he came back from the office. Gregory didn't even look at her as he started to strip off his suit. The jacket went over the closest chair. His tie went straight to the floor. He returned her amused smile as he fiddled with the laces of his shoes.

"Fourteen hour days were more fun when I was younger." He dropped a shoe to the floor and wiggled his toes in the open air as a balled up sock followed his shoe to the carpet. "Strike that." He reached for the other shoe and tore it from his foot. "They've never been fun."

The bed creaked as she slipped to the foot. Handing him the newly filled glass of wine that had been hers up to that moment made him smile gratefully. "Thank you.'

"It's your wine." Bette watched as he downed it all in a smooth gulp.

Making a face as he retreated to his closet, Gregory removed his shirt with his back to her. "Why did you pick the '82? I try to save that for company I don't like."

"I didn't want to open a good one." Bette explained defensively. When he turned around, bare-chested and incredibly delicious in just the trousers from his suit, Gregory looked truly amused.

"You can open the good ones. Especially if I'm home." He rolled his neck until it popped easily back into place. "After all- life is too short to drink bad wine."

He nodded to the glass she held in her naked fingers. "Unless it's the one that happens to be open."

Giggling as she filled it and took a sip before passing it over, Bette started to look away as he undid his belt. Then she changed her mind. Licking her lips without even realizing her hunger, Bette felt his eyes on her face. "I've often wondered what it was, for you. Olivia told me of course, but it's different to see it for yourself."

"First hand?"

Bette felt the rush of blood heat her face as Gregory slid his pants easily off his hips and revealed simple navy blue boxer shorts.

"So to speak." He revealed in her blush for a moment before turning back to his closet. The pajama top rolled easily across his shoulders, and soon the bottoms covered the legs that had looked so wonderful in the kilt he'd wore to their impromptu wedding.

"I don't think I've ever experienced the quiet Bette." Gregory joined her on the bed, listening to the creak of the frame as she looked down in shock at the hand on her thigh. His fingers were warm. Distracting.

"You get me flustered." Bette stared at his fingers as they toyed with the fabric covering her leg. "And then it's hard to think of what to say."

"So I make you speechless simply by my presence?" He leaned close enough for her to smell wine and expensive aftershave. "Or is it something else?" He took the wine glass from her hand and her heart skipped a beat as his free hand tightened on her leg. He didn't. He wouldn't-

Bette swallowed slowly and backed up to the bottle of bordeaux that was disappearing quickly between them. What if she did?

"You just make it hard to talk." The wine splashed onto his hand as hers trembled in the pouring.

"I make you speechless." He raised his hand to lick deep red droplets off of his hand.

"You make me speech-impared." Bette took the wine away and kidnapped his hand. "There's a difference." Her tongue made quick work of the spilled wine and his eyes darkened with anticipation.

"Are you sure it's not just a general intoxication?" Gregory took the wine back and finished it again. His face was starting to deepen in color.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "From you?"

His clean hand caressed her chin. "From the wine." His eyes were close enough to swallow the light in the room. Had they always been so dark? Why hadn't she noticed before?

"Oh-" The empty glass hung limply from his fingers. She reached for the bottle, but he stopped her. Playing with her fingers as he moved, he brought her hand back to his chest.

"Which is gone." The glass's position grew more precarious as he closed the distance between them. "I suppose we could always get another bottle."

"They're all the way downstairs." Her eyelashes were still damp from the sink. They were nearly insubstantial, unlike the darkness of Olivia's. It almost made it easier.

"Way too far." Gregory's lips were a breath away from her own. "I think I'm intoxicated enough."

She licked her lips nervously. He wouldn't. She wouldn't. They shouldn't-

His mouth was as warm as it was soft. Bette wasn't sure who had closed the last part. Who had changed the tone of their relationship from quiet to desperately intimate.

But she didn't care.

The wine glass tumbled across the coverlet of the bed and bounced gently on the thick carpet. His hand was better off grabbing her shoulder. Pushing her back towards the head of the bed.

She gave as good as she got. Her tongue won the battle for supremacy and she heard him laugh in the back of his throat. He liked to lose occasionally. Gregory's hand left her shoulder as he forced her back into the bad. He grabbed her breast, nearly rougher than she liked, but the wine dulled the sensitivity of her flesh.

Instead of pain, it made her breath speed all the more. Her knee slipped up along his side and the simple presence of his body was enough to bring a flash of something she'd tried to forget she even wanted. His lips toyed with the skin on the way down to the collar of her pajama top. Bette removed the obstacle of buttons with quick fingers. He reached for the lamp and her top hit the floor in the dark.

The darkness was comforting. In the light she could watch his face, but, without it, he was anyone. That was preferred. It was easy to run her hands over the back of a stranger and relax into his arms. His thumb brushed her shoulder blade for a second before digging in. His hands were rough on the skin of her stomach. She tore through the buttons of his shirt and dove delicate fingers into the hair on his chest in retaliation. He chuckled, purring deep in the back of his throat. His teeth scraped the line of her collarbone and he licked his way across one pink nipple.

He found her hand sliding beneath the waist of her bottoms and entwined it with his own. His fingers searched her for a moment, discovering the hidden places of her body as his own desires became steadily more obvious. There was no regret as she stroked the soft hair on the crown of his head. No guilt as her teeth toyed with fullness of his upper lip.

Gregory's hand slid up her stomach, danced around her breast long enough to win a voiceless moan. Names were too personal. They brought a sense of realism neither of them wanted to deal with. He was heavy and new when he mounted her. She tightened her eyelids and turned her face away. Her teeth clenched tightly together and he turned her face roughly back.

He wanted to look.

Bette didn't have a choice once she opened her eyes. She couldn't look away. He captivated her eyes as easily as he had conquered her body. He was the center of her existence. For tonight, he was everything. She was well versed in the art of becoming a lover. The delicate balance was best achieved when she knew what she wanted. tonight she wasn't sure what it was, but only that he had it.

Gregory rolled back, leaving a gaping space for a moment as they switched positions. Her bottoms followed her top on the tenuous journey to the floor. Her hair flew back across her shoulders. He pulled it back and dug his fingers into it. Her knee slipped up along his side. Sweat was slick on her back, pooling neatly at the base of her spine. The coverlet bunched beneath them, torn from its place. His hips were hard beneath her as they rose to meet her.

There were no whispered names. No cries of passion. Her fingers grew taunt, before she dug them into the muscles of his chest. Intimacy was limited to a silent understanding. Bodies were easy to share, to meld together without anything more than a few words of consent. Consent had been given and nothing else was asked.