This began as an entry for my "Moments" story and then took on quite a life of its own. It's a thin premise at best, but it was still fun to write. I imagine this takes place anytime after Geoffrey but before TAN. You can decide from there! ;-)

"Get out of here!" Tony's voice was so sharp and frustrated, Angela pivoted around and headed back toward the basement stairs with an equally snippy, "Fine!"

Immediately, Tony back-pedaled apologetically, "Angela, no, no, not you! Please, come back. I was talking to the Wilmington's stupid cat. It won't leave me alone."

Mollified, Angela made her way to where Tony was perched on a step stool in front of an exposed window well. He had removed the sash to patch some cracks in the concrete around the sill, which had been letting water in the basement. Such was life in a nearly hundred-year-old house.

The final step was painting on a thick coat of tar-like sealant before replacing the window.

"How's it going?" Angela asked, fairly certain she had the only housekeeper in the country who would even attempt such a chore.

"Slow but steady," Tony replied. "It would be a lot easier if Garfield here would scram." The orange tabby was pacing back and forth along the top of the window well on the outside of the house, seemingly waiting for a chance to jump down into the basement. "If he gets this sealant on his paws, we'll have a nightmare on our hands."

Angela could see the problem. The bottom of the window well was about two feet below ground, and the cat was craning its neck and pawing at the opening as it ignored Tony's efforts to shoo it away. He had already applied the sticky substance to the bottom of the well and was working his way around the window frame while the gallon bucket sat precariously on the sill.

"Maybe you'd be better off just bringing the cat inside," Angela suggested.

"I thought about that, but he's too high up for me to get a grip on him, and if he lands in the well, he'll be covered in this stuff."

"Here, let me try," Angela offered, assuming it would be easy to reach up and grab the cat.

As she stepped on the rung of the stool, just below where Tony stood, and stretched up into the well, the entire chain of events that he was powerless to stop flashed before his eyes a second before it actually happened. The hiss and scratch from the cat, a yelp and reflexive jerk from Angela, an elbow connecting with the bucket of sealant, a foot slipping on the stool, the inevitable loss of balance, and the final, catastrophic crash to the floor.

Though he hadn't been more than two feet off the ground, Tony had taken most of the impact on his bad shoulder, which was throbbing in pain. Next to him, Angela was groaning, and when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the cat, unfazed and still in the same spot outside the house.

However, the worst realization came when he reached for Angela and felt his arm slide across an obviously wet surface. "Angela?"

She groaned again before managing a stiff, "I think I'm okay."

"Think again," he said, peering down at their supine bodies and the viscous pool of waterproofing sealer that surrounded and covered them.

"Oh no," Angela croaked when she saw and felt their situation. She tried to sit up, but there was no way to do so without becoming even more saturated by the thick paint. Next to her, Tony tried to roll upward but only managed to cover himself further the substance as he winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder.

Eventually, they both managed to get into a sitting position and take full stock of their predicament. It wasn't good. They both had more of the black, oil-based sealant on them than not, along with the entire corner of the floor and a fair swath of wall. It would take forever to clean up. But first they had to take care of themselves.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"I jammed my shoulder pretty good," he told her, "I didn't feel anything pop, but I don't have much use of my arm at the moment. How about you?"

Angela tried moving all of her limbs and found that aside from some general soreness, nothing was painful enough to be concerning.

"My ankle hurts, but I'll live," she assured him, then offered a helpless, "I'm so sorry, Tony. I had no idea that would happen."

"Obviously," he quipped drily.

"What are we going to do? We can't go upstairs like this, and I don't even know how to get this stuff off." As she talked, her voice got increasingly agitated as she processed the full scope of what they faced. "It's all in my hair, and our clothes are covered…"

He couldn't reach out to comfort her, so he did his best to talk her through the panic. "We'll figure it out, one step at a time, okay? We're going to need each other's help - and everyone else in the house."

His last words sent her spiraling again. "There isn't anyone else in the house!" she cried. "Mother took the kids to a movie and dinner so you wouldn't have to cook after doing all of this."

"Okay, so it's up to us," he reasoned calmly, "Let's get up and take stock of everything."

Very gingerly, they got to their feet, being careful not to slip in the paint. There wasn't much point in trying to avoid it since there was no chance of salvaging anything they were wearing. For Tony, who was in beat-up work clothes, it was no great loss, but Angela had on a silk blouse and designer slacks, both of which were now ruined. However, it was her hair that most concerned her. It felt like someone had poured Elmer's glue on it.

Tony made his way to the utility tub by the washing machine as Angela limped behind him, favoring her right foot and tracking sealant across the floor. He picked up a canister the size of a coffee can that said Goop on the side and tried to open it but winced in pain. His right arm was still useless.

"What's Goop?" Angela asked as she took it from him, pried the lid off and eyeballed the gelatinous ointment inside.

"The only stuff besides turpentine that will get this sealant off us. Mechanics use it to wash off grease," he explained while grabbing a pile of old towels and rags from underneath the laundry table.

"That's quite a tub," she observed.

"Good thing, since we're probably going to use most of it. When I bought this, I figured it would last me a decade."

They stood facing each other, not sure who was going to address the elephant in the room. As it turned out, they both spoke at the same time.

"We can't stay in these clothes …" he said.

"I guess we need to get these off …" she said.

Despite his sore shoulder and her tender ankle, they shared a laugh that was equal parts awkward and relieved. They could do this, right? Already, the chemicals in the sealant were starting to irritate their skin and cause them to feel itchy. They didn't have the luxury of excessive modesty.

"Tell you what," Tony said, placing the Goop on top of the washer, "we'll leave this here between us, and then we can turn back-to-back and do our best to respect each other's privacy. Sound good?"

Angela assessed their lack of options and decided that was the best they could expect. They couldn't even hang up a sheet without ruining it and wasting precious time while the chemicals ate at their clothes and skin.

Angela nodded and asked, "So how does this stuff work? Is it like soap?"

"Not exactly," Tony explained. "The sealant is oil-based, so water won't work. You smear on the Goop, let it lift the paint from your skin, and wipe it with a dry towel. When it's all off, then you can use soap and water."

"What about our hair?"

Tony considered for a moment before answering, "I've never used it in my hair, but I don't see why it wouldn't work. All we can do it try."

Angela nodded and turned away from Tony to begin the painstaking work of removing her clothes. She glanced over her shoulder to see him do the same, and decided she could handle the relative lack of privacy. It was Tony, after all. And he'd already seen her naked once, so what was one more time, she thought with a rueful internal groan. Given it was her fault they were in this predicament, she probably deserved any embarrassment she felt.

She kicked off her shoes, vainly grateful they weren't her Guccis. Her blouse and slacks were so thin that the paint had soaked through and clung to her arms, legs, and torso. Even her bra and panties were stained with black residue, but she decided to keep them on for the time being to preserve an important degree of modesty. No sooner had she dropped everything to the floor and reached for the Goop than she heard a sharp gasp from Tony.

"Is everything okay?" she glanced over her shoulder, suddenly feeling very exposed and self-aware – until she saw Tony was only wearing his underwear and sweatshirt.

"It's my shoulder," he said tightly, "I can't get my shirt off."

She could hear the strain and guilt in his voice and knew she had to help. But dammit, couldn't he have said something before she was practically naked – even though she knew he'd never do something like that deliberately. When she turned toward him, she found he was facing way from her, but his rigid posture told her he was aware of her state of undress. "I'm going to come behind you and help lift your shirt over your head, okay?"

When he nodded, she had him lift his good arm, and she pulled the shirt out as far as she could to give him room to pull his arm though. As the sweatshirt crept up his back, she noticed he had far less sealant on his skin than she did, probably due to the thicker material of the sweatshirt. Next, she guided the shirt over his head and down his injured right arm, trying to keep the sticky stuff away from both their bodies.

Without thinking, he turned to take the shirt from her, only to realize they were now face to face with little else between them. Angela tried to quell an internal flutter at his sharp intake of breath when he fully saw her, but his quick, reflexive perusal sent her heart skipping.

The atmosphere seemed to have changed dramatically in just a few minutes. While Tony tried to keep his eyes averted, it was impossible not to be aware of Angela in nothing but her bra and underwear. When she reached for his shoulder, she thought it would help turn their attention back to something practical, but the contact was electric, despite the disastrous circumstances.

"I'm worried about your shoulder," she explained.

He kept his eyes on hers as she probed the area around his baseball scar, but the air still grew thick with awareness. She lifted his elbow and then moved his arm in a circle, none of which made him cry out. But when she applied resistance, he uttered a controlled hiss of discomfort. "I'm hardly an expert, but I don't feel anything shifting or popping. You definitely have some tenderness, particularly in the back where you landed. Once we're cleaned up, you might want to have it checked out just in case. You at least need some ice."

"Well, then let's get this gunk off us."

The time Angela spent helping him get his shirt off made their efforts toward privacy effectively moot. There was no longer much to hide. So, when she reached for the Goop, she didn't bother to turn her back to him and instead just held out the canister so he could scoop some out.

They began in silence, smearing it on their arms, hands, and face. Angela was relieved to see how easily it removed the thick sealant, which was wiped away with the towel she dragged over her skin. Next, she tackled her neck and shoulders and tried not to notice how often Tony's eye flickered in her direction before darting away – which she only noticed because her eyes were doing the same.

She wasn't completely oblivious to her appearance, and Tony had never been shy about appreciating her figure in the rare cases she found herself in a position to show it off. While their current situation hardly qualified as such an instance, she was still standing in front of him in a lacy bra and bikini panties while his chiseled torso and muscular legs were on full display, and his briefs left little to the imagination.

The hardest part came after they both wiped the sealant from the backs of their legs, where their time sitting in the pool of it on the floor caused the most coverage. Angela, though, had suffered the worst of it, as evidenced by her repeated applications of Goop, while Tony was able to get by with far less. By the time he was combing it through his hair, his shoulder had loosened up considerably, even affording him enough range of motion to get most of the stuff off his back with the help of a towel. Angela, however, was covered in the residue, which had thoroughly soaked through her silk shirt, leaving her efforts pitifully insufficient. In contrast, Tony's thicker sweatshirt and jeans had afforded him a better barrier and less mess.

Seeing her struggle, he immediately said, "Here, let me. I'm mostly clean."

Silently, she accepted his help and presented her back to him, far more grateful than self-conscious. As quickly as possible, he smeared a healthy portion across her shoulder and down her back before wiping away as much as possible with yet another rag from the dwindling pile, and then he repeated the process. If his hands slowed down as they coursed over her skin and slid her bra straps down her arms, neither acknowledged it. If he stepped closer than was strictly necessary and indulged in a long gaze at the unmarred skin revealed by the towel, she may have responded by leaning into him ever so slightly. And if he didn't absolutely need to unclasp her bra and push the straps forward so that it didn't transfer more sealant onto her back, he told himself he was as perfunctory as possible in the intimate task. But when he tested the flexibility of his shoulder by reaching up to gather her hair and coat it in the cleaning gel, he could no longer pretend it wasn't in response to his desire to keep his hands on her. But she didn't stop him.

Strand by strand, her hair became free of the tar-like sealant as it dissolved into the Goop that Tony worked through it. Angela leaned her neck back, even as her effort to say "Thank you" came out as an aroused whisper when his fingers massaged the gel into her scalp. Eventually, the Goop came away clean, and there was no remaining evidence of the sealant in her hair, which admittedly needed desperately be to washed with shampoo and conditioner.

After more than twenty minutes of methodical scrubbing, they found themselves clean, bare, and hyper-cognizant of the mounting arousal arcing between them.

When Angela finally turned to face Tony, he was so close they were practically nose to nose, though neither made any move to step back. Angela was also aware she was without even the small barrier of her bra, which she'd carefully discarded when Tony had released the clasp.

"Feel better?" he asked in a low voice, hinting at a deeper meaning to his words.

"In every way," she replied, boldly testing the increasingly strained atmosphere.

With complete disregard for the farcical circumstances, their restraint finally crumbled. The sealant was removed, leaving them just a man and woman who had spent the last half hour with their hands all over each other and no release valve for their growing desire.

Angela didn't know who moved first, but in an instant, their arms were around each other and their mouths were fused. It was passion unleashed. Hands roamed and grasped, skimmed and reached while lips plundered and pushed for more.

Without hesitation, Tony directed Angela backward toward the washer, never letting go or breaking their kiss until he moved to slide her last remaining article of clothing down her legs while allowing his hands to trace the counters of her body in their journey downward. As she stood there naked and wanting, he turned on the water at the stationary tub, adjusting the temperature, and bringing the small, attached hose above her head to let the warm water cascade over her. Suddenly, his shoulder didn't hurt at all.

When he stepped toward her, she guided the water over him as well, and met his mouth once again as her hands pressed past the waistband of his briefs and pushed them to the floor. Her name was a plea, a prayer, on his lips. A moment later, he made use of a nearby pump of handsoap to ensure they were both fully devoid of the paint and residual Goop. His hands returned to her hair and worked the soap through the tresses, and she all but melted into him. Slowly and erotically, they washed each other with shamelessly wanton intentions that were practically nonexistent when Angela walked down to the basement less than an hour before. Their fingers spread lather over each other's back, shoulders, torso, and chest, then dropped lower to slide over backsides, cupping the tense muscles, all while their mouths wrestled and tangled in mutual fervor.

Though hardly as thorough as a real shower, the soap and water made it possible for Tony to drag his mouth across her neck and collarbone, then down her breastbone, without tasting the chemicals that had covered them a short time ago – and that alone made the improvised shower well worth the effort. In return, Angela gasped his name, nipped at his shoulder and kissed her way back to his mouth as her hands slid across his back and down to grip his hips and draw him to her.

When their skin was warm and clean, Tony drew back and met her eyes, hooded and glistening with desire, and asked pointedly, "Do you want to take this upstairs?"

"More than anything," Angela responded, content to leave the disastrous mess in the basement for another time. There were more pressing matters at hand.

No longer remotely self-conscious, they made their way to the steps, careful to avoid any sealant on the floor. Knowing the house would be empty for a few more hours, neither wore a stitch of clothing as they walked hand-in-hand up the basement stairs, down the hall and ultimately up to Angela's bedroom.

It seemed to Angela that Tony hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment before following her inside. The bed was soft and inviting after the cool hardness of the concrete basement as Angela reclined back and invited Tony to join her. Whatever trepidation he felt at crossing this threshold, both literal and metaphorical, disappeared when he saw her arms extend toward him, drawing him to her. Regardless of how she had looked covered in sticky tar an hour before, she now was nothing less than perfection. "You're sure?" he asked, knowing there was no going back once he took her in his arms.

"I'm positive, Tony. Are you?" she asked quietly, unable to imagine the incomparable anguish of stopping now.

"More than sure," he confirmed, lowing himself to join her on the bed.

The intensity that had consumed them in the basement gave way to patient exploration. His fingertips caressed her cheek as he sipped at her lips, her throat, and her breasts before climbing his way back up. His hands danced along the same path, then skirted lower still, searching her eyes for any hint of reluctance as he reached his destination, and found only anticipation.

The sharp gasp when he touched her emboldened him. He pressed on and drew a whimper as she arched toward his hand. Her response to him was a gift that was both instant and intoxicating. He knew there was little he could offer her in the material realm, but if she let him give her pleasure that made her fall apart beneath him, he was the richest man on Earth.

In turn, Angela urged him on top of her and sought more of him as her hands guided him to her center, evoking a deep, guttural groan. When the most casual brush of her fingers could sear his skin like a brand, the brashly confident stroke of her hands across every inch of him set his very soul aflame.

Though few words had been spoken since they'd entered the room, the final step demanded vocal assent. She wanted to know, to hear him affirm what was radiating from his body. "Tell me you want this, Tony," she whispered as her mouth sought his.

"More than my next breath," he assured her, chasing her kiss with his own and finding himself poised above her. "I've wanted this from the moment I saw you, and I'll never stop wanting it."

"Neither will I," she promised, crying out as he found home within her.

…

Later, when the room stopped spinning and his heart rate dropped back to its normal range, he spoke quietly. "Not exactly how I envisioned our first time unfolding," he mused, combing his fingers through her nearly dry hair as they lay wrapped in a down comforter. Then he rushed to add, "Not that I'm complaining about the outcome."

Angela laughed softly but couldn't disagree. "It sounds like you gave some thought to us being together like this." When he didn't deny it, she continued, "May I ask what you did envision?" she added pointedly.

He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered seductively, "I pictured candlelight, wine, a table full of rich, decadent foods, and you in that sexy red evening gown with the sparkles and slit up the side. I pictured us dancing to Sinatra and Bennett while I nibbled at your ear," and he did just that, "until you turned to putty in my hands."

"You got that part right," she confirmed breathlessly, feeling quite like putty at the moment.

Turnabout was fair play, he decided, and asked, "What about you? What did you think our first time would be like?"

Angela moaned in response to his continued attention along her jawline and tried to gather her thoughts. There was no point pretending she hadn't thought about it.

"I always imagined it would be spontaneous. Unexpected."

"It looks like you got your wish," he pointed out.

"I could have done without the waterproofing paint," she quipped. "Definitely more like our first kiss on my birthday, after the flour fight, or when we were at the motel near Jonathan's camp. Do you remember that?"

"One of the best and worst nights of my life," he confessed.

"We just had so many moments we resisted that I figured eventually we would have to give in, and it would be amazing."

"It was definitely amazing," he confirmed, stroking his hand along her side and coming to rest at her breast.

"Definitely," she sighed, when his fingers got bolder.

She turned into him and met his mouth in a deep kiss. "So where do we go from here," she asked softly. "I don't think I can pretend like something so wonderful never happened."

With his hands all over her body and the knowledge of what it felt like to be inside her, to feel her shudder around him, he knew there was no going back. He never wanted to keep his hands off her again. "Neither can I," he assured her. "It's what we were both afraid of, though, wasn't it? The change, the risk."

She nodded. "I don't want to diminish those feelings, but I can't help but think how silly they seem right now compared to how good it feels to be wrapped in your arms."

His heart leapt at her words, and he knew they had to get this right. There was no Plan B for him. "I think maybe it's time we had a proper first date. Then, maybe we could let the kids and your mother see me kiss you at the front door, and we can tell them we had such a nice time, we want to do it again. Let them get used to the idea – and us, too. And then we could go out again, until it becomes a regular thing and we decide it's time to take the next step, and the next." Each point was punctuated with a kiss that would have left her weak-kneed had she been standing.

"I like that plan," she replied. "Like everything else we've ever done, we'll figure it out."

"Together," he clarified, as she climbed atop him to find him proud and ready.

Easing down, she took him into her. "Together."

For the second time, they moved as one, enthralled that in one afternoon, they had so easily become the lovers they had tried desperately hard not to be. With his hands guiding her hips, sending euphoria through his veins, he knew the cosmically unlikely events of the day had changed their lives forever. He pulled her forward to meet her lips with his, wrapping his arms around her and finding a rhythm that carried them closer, faster, and harder toward the summit.

And for the second time, they drifted back to Earth together, sated and content.

Angela knew she could spend all afternoon, all weekend, all year, in bed with Tony. In fact, she'd never felt such dread at the prospect of leaving the comfort of another human being's embrace, and that knowledge caused sly tendrils of fear to wrap themselves around her. Suddenly, their earlier fears no longer felt silly.

"I'm glad today happened, Tony. I don't care how, I'm just glad it did. But I don't want to lose it. I couldn't bear it."

"Ay-oh," he replied softly, uncertain where her sudden fear was coming from, "we're not going to lose anything. This isn't some kind of weekend tryst."

"I know," she conceded. "I just hope all the reasons we fought against this for so long are truly as insignificant as they seem. I mean, you're still my housekeeper, and we still have two kids who need us to provide a solid family any way we can."

He held her close and acknowledged her words. "I know, and we're probably going to have to deal with those issues down the road, but as much as I resisted my feelings for you, I don't regret what happened today. Not one little bit."

"Neither do I," she assured him. "Well, except that you hurt your shoulder and we got covered in sealant," she added with mock flippancy. "By the way, how is your shoulder? We never put any ice on it."

He rotated the joint backward and forward. "Funny thing, it stopped hurting entirely right around the time your bra came off."

"A miracle," she declared, while blushing profusely.

"How's your ankle?" he asked, remembering she'd said it was sore after their fall.

"What ankle?" she said by way of dismissing any lingering concern.

"It seems we're both healed."

"Amazing what an afternoon in bed can accomplish," she added wantonly.

With a glance at the bedside clock, Tony realized their time was quickly dwindling. "What time are Mona and the kids due home?" he asked.

"The movie was at three, and then they were going to that new burger place by the mall, so probably around seven or so. Why, what time is it?"

"Six-thirty," he said, "which means we better get moving unless we want to do a lot more explaining than we're prepared for. But first," he said, lifting her chin so he could look directly at her, "I want you to know I'm on board with this, Angela. I think we both know there are some deep feelings here we still have to talk about, but today didn't happen by mistake. You and me, and this here between us, isn't a mistake."

"No, no it's not," she agreed. "It's a beginning, right?"

"A beginning, yeah, I like that. Today is a new beginning for us." To make his point, he leaned in to kiss her once again, knowing to the depths of his bones he would never tire of the feel of her lips on his.

When they parted, her deep sigh of contentment evolved into a resigned groan, "Unfortunately, I fear we need to begin by cleaning up the horrific mess in the basement."

He blew out a reluctant breath and nodded in agreement, "We better get started on that."

Knowing their unplanned and wholly unexpected afternoon together was over, they each took one last moment to absorb all that had happened. They both instinctively knew this wouldn't be the last time they would make love in this bed – it might not be the last time that week – but it was the only first time they would ever get. Clasping hands and meeting each other's gaze, they also keenly suspected they had just shared their last first time ever, and nothing in the world could feel more right.