Author's Note: Here's the other half of the double update. I'll warn you now though: this piece implies some sexual themes. So if you don't wanna read it, don't; but I'm sure most of you can handle it.
Summary: A simple conversation among tangled bed-sheets.
Disclaimer: Again, I own nothing.
"Who gave you that bruise on your arm?"
"Why do you care?"
"I want to hurt the bastard who did it."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the one who gives you bruises. No one else is allowed."
"Not where anyone can see them."
"Exactly. Only I can mar your skin and I wouldn't dream of doing so where it's noticeable."
"It's always noticeable to me. I'm the one who walks around with sore legs everyday."
"I'm just as tired as you are after these meetings."
"I don't believe it."
"So who gave you the bruise?"
"My door."
"Your door?"
"Yes, my door. I walked into it this morning."
"You're not lying are you?"
"No. Why would I? It's hard enough to keep a true thought—much less a lie—in my head when you're doing…that!"
"Good to know."
"Yes. Now, if you're quite finished interrogating me I have a better use for our mouths."
"Right. I like the way you think."