This time it was Boone who pushed the door closed on the departing Cooper family, and leaned back against it.
"Never again," he stated.
"I know," Shannon agreed.
"I don't care if Andrew does like that little girl. That's the last time we're spending an evening with those people." He went on, straightening.
"I already agreed with you." She pointed out.
As the evening had progressed the Cooper's had, once again, been over pressing with their questions. Andrew had reused the same excuse from a few evenings earlier, pleading fatigue, in order to save his parents from what was turning into a 'Spanish Inquisition' type experience, and was already upstairs in his room. Boone figured he owed him big time for coming to their rescue. He'd think of a suitable thank you tomorrow.
"I don't even fucking know, or care, what kind of tea my mother drinks! Why the hell should complete strangers want to know that? For all I'm aware, she could drink ouzo, and dance the tarantella, stark naked in the kitchen every morning." He stopped, realizing what he'd said, and started laughing, Shannon joining him, the two not stopping till they were gasping for air at the absurdity of the visual image.
"Oh, my god, don't do that! I'll have nightmares now, because of what you just said." She managed to sputter, then got herself back under control. "I don't know why they'd want to know that, Boone. Some people are just celebrity junkies." She finally managed to formulate a reply to his earlier question, though she realized that it was mostly rhetorical.
He just shook his head, and rolled his eyes.
"Dinner was really good, though." She tried to salvage at least one element of the evening.
"Thanks."
"Can we have the leftovers for lunch tomorrow?" she asked, a bit hopefully.
"I don't think that'd be a good idea." He made a face. "It'd be kind of gross cold, and besides I already made Thai."
"Oh," Shannon looked a little disappointed, then rebounded. "I could have another piece, now though." She looked thoughtful.
Boone laughed, "This, coming from a woman who was a functioning bulimic for all four years of high school? You want seconds?"
"It was really good," she only marginally managed to keep the whine out of her voice. "And besides, I wasn't married to a world class chef at the time."
"You don't need the empty flattery in order to get another piece, and besides, I already knew you'd want more anyway." He looked smug.
"Oh yeah, Sherlock Holmes, and just how did you know that?" Shannon asked, loftily.
"You're a sucker for anything with saffron in it." He replied knowingly, but affected an off hand manner, and had her name her three favourite dishes from his repertoire.
He looked back at her, smirking, looking all satisfied.
"Fuck off, asshat," she laughed; guessing that they all contained what he had determined was her favourite ingredient. She crossed the distance between them, and kissed him, "I'll be in the kitchen, having a second helping of the Saffron Seafood Napoleon," she assigned a name to it, surprising him with her knowledge of the correct usage of the culinary term, though it usually meant an individually constructed serving.
Maybe he could adapt it so the name would fit better, perhaps if he cut circles out of the casserole after it was cooked? His mind started drifting with ideas as he leaned back against the door once more, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath; letting some of the tension that had built up over the course of the evening drain out of him.
By the time he arrived in the kitchen she had already served herself a portion and was putting it in the microwave to nuke. She opened the cutlery drawer and grabbed a fork, then another one, as a second thought. When the food was hot, they sat kitty corner to each other at the table, and shared off the same plate, eating in companionable silence.
When they were done, Shannon shooed Boone upstairs, offering to clean up the last of the things from the evening herself. He was only too happy to let her.
In their bedroom, he turned the fireplace on low and grabbed a seat cushion from one of the chairs, and a pillow from the bed. He propped the cushion up on an angle against the raised hearth and put the pillow under his head. He was reclined against them, his hands loose in his lap when Shannon entered, his eyes closed.
She knelt beside him and blew softly in his ear. A smile spread slowly across his face, his eyes not opening.
"Are you going to whisper sweet nothings in my ear?" He asked.
Shannon leaned in again, "Sweet nothings," she whispered, playing along.
His eyes opened and he grinned, pulling her onto him. She squealed, and he started tickling her, she gave it right back. They rolled and wrestled across the carpet, each trying to outdo the other, squirming, laughing and trying to find the most sensitive spots. Their years spent together as kids, giving them each an inside edge. She took full advantage of his uncommonly playful mood, enjoying seeing him giving himself over to almost childish abandon.
A knock at the door brought them abruptly back to reality, "Guys?" Andrew called.
"Yeah? Come on in." Shannon managed to get out, for the second time that night breathless with laughter.
He opened the bedroom door a bit tentatively, given the noises that he'd heard from the other side. His parents were lying in the middle of the carpet, his mom on top of his dad. They both looked flushed and totally dishevelled, grinning like idiots, thankfully fully clothed, though he couldn't imagine Shannon would have told him to come in if they weren't. They were strange, but not that strange.
Andrew shook his head at the scene, "I don't even want to know."
Shannon pulled away from Boone and stood; he sat up and spun around so he was facing the door.
Andrew still looked unimpressed at the state he'd found them in. "Anyway, I'm going to bed, so I wanted to say goodnight."
"Okay," Boone smiled at him. The boy crossed the room, and gave him a hug, then went to Shannon; she bent down and kissed his cheek.
Before closing the door, he turned back to them, "Thanks."
"For what?" Boone frowned.
"For having the Cooper's over again. I know they're not your kind of people, but I really like Amy, so I just wanted to say thanks." He pulled the door closed.
"We have a 'kind of people?'" Boone turned to her, questioning.
"Yeah, I think they're called 'plane crash and Craphole Island survivors.' You're such a dolt." Their peculiar experiences, even after all this time, made it difficult to really relate to anyone who hadn't been through it all. She crossed the room, running her fingers through his hair as she passed, and headed to the ensuite.
When she returned, he'd turned off all the lights and put the seat cushion back in the chair, he was still on the floor, however, lying again in front of the fireplace, flat on his back with the bed pillow under his head. He'd left the fire turned on low, the gentle flicker adding a romantic glow to the darkened room. Shannon lowered herself to the floor, and lay down turning on her side to face him, running her hand over his chest through his sweater. He opened his eyes and turned his head smiling, wrinkling his nose a bit, somehow managing to look sexy, sweet and vulnerable all at the same time.
"Sex in front of the fire?" she guessed.
"That was the plan," Boone confirmed.
"I'll have to send the planners a gift basket, then." Shannon leaned in for a kiss, and slid on top of him.
His hands came up and buried themselves in her hair, pulling her mouth tighter against his, then slid down her back and up under the hem of her shirt, stroking her, kneading the muscles briefly, before releasing the catch on her bra. She pulled back, sitting up to shed them, pausing so he could enjoy the sight, her naked skin glowing golden in the firelight. His eyes were dark and wide with unconcealed desire as she tugged at the bottom of his sweater. He raised himself up a bit so she could push it up and off. They regarded each other for a moment before she settled back down against him, finding his lips again.
They continued slowly, pausing often to touch and tease and just look, the novelty of the richness of the wavering warm light, adding an extra edge as the minutes passed. Time seemed to stretch, while simultaneously coming to a stand still, catching them in the moment as they shifted positions restlessly, before settling into one.
She relaxed and gave herself over to the sensation, letting him get her close before reaching down to pull at his shoulder, tugging softly at his hair when he failed to respond. He raised his head, his eyes more than a bit glazed; she knew he'd been grinding his hips into the carpet; she pulled at his shoulder again. He wiped his hand across his chin and obediently moved up her body, kissing her; she could taste herself on his tongue.
Locked together they started to move in a comfortable rhythm, slowing and stopping frequently, drawing it out as long as possible, before losing what little control they still had.
Once his ragged breathing steadied somewhat, Boone reached out and grabbed the leg of the nearest chair, pulling it towards them; then tugging the afghan off the back of it. Shannon took it from his hand and draped it over them, raising one leg, carefully not dislodging him, using her foot to push it down.
"I love you," she whispered and sunk back into the carpet crossing her arms across his back as he melted into her; they gave themselves over to sleep.