(no subject)
craig rolls over and mutters "good morning" into the back of audrey's head. he licks his lips and smiles at her grunted reply. strands of her bedhead stick to his lips; the noise he makes must be endearing by the way she presses into his chest, noses along the line of his collarbone.
she sighs against him. "go back to sleep." her feet are warm. she does not try to avoid his cold ones that wiggle at her ankles.
"hey? baby?"
"hmm?"
he smooths her hair away from her face, tucks it back behind her ear and touches her jaw. "you're beautiful."
it throws her off guard. he loves that. she mutters something indistinguishable and most probably in french against his skin and budges up to kiss the underside of his chin. kiss, kiss, kiss. it's like she's keeping time, and when she stops he knows she's fallen asleep again. he chuckles drowsily - just to himself, a little private joke that he thinks he missed but is still amusing - and does the same.
when craig wakes up a few hours later she's gone but the blinds are up and the bed is still warm and he can smell coffee so he groans into his pillow and rubs a hand over his face. he can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs and hear her pause briefly and hiss "merde!" at something and when she comes in with coffee for the both of them he wonders briefly if it's karmic payback for his comment earlier that morning. they both know it is, and they both know that's a little fucked up but for whatever reason today it's okay. audrey shifts uneasily from foot to foot, the newspaper crinkles under her arm, and offers him his mug with snoopy and woodstock on the side. he takes it and sets it on the bedside table and makes room for her on the bed as she sets her mug - cream and navy horizontal stripes, "boring" he said, "classical" she replied - next to his. she crawls into bed with him and curls up between his legs, her back against his chest. they pick up their respective mugs; he lips at the shell of her ear.
"your mother called," she starts, a few minutes later when they have both begun to enjoy their coffee and wake up but are too comfortable in their places, "she wants to know if we will come for thanksgiving."
"we should. you know my mama hates us" she laughs aloud but it's an accusatory sound, he smirks but she can't see that "not driving to see her. it's only a few hours."
audrey makes a racket out of unfolding the newspaper and flipping to the world news section. when she hands the paper to him over her shoulder he kisses the sharp bone of her wrist before he takes it from her. he clears his throat, takes a swig of coffee, and begins to read the headlines in his heaviest tennessee accent. craig is halfway through an article about iranian nuclear scientists turning up dead ("is this a covert operations, and if so, who is behind it?") when she says in a very un-audrey like voice: "don't let your mother call me a whore again."
it takes a second for him to catch his breath. "i won't." the 'promise' is as carefully hidden as her 'please'. he moves on to a story about how some luxury cruise liner scraped her hull open in the mediterranean.
craig makes eggs for breakfast when they finish the paper and holds the utensils hostage until audrey eats her share with her fingers, complaining and laughing and so not meaning a word of it all. she does the dishes afterwards (because he cooked) and when he gets out of the shower he finds her humming and swaying around the kitchen with the drying towel that is really more of a rag and he cuts in. neither of them can dance, so they sway between the island and the sink and audrey finger-combs the tangles out of his hair while she's on her tiptoes and her arms are up around his neck. he perches on the bathroom counter while she showers and makes up another story about how he lost his eye and she laughs and almost slips in the tub and craig almost makes himself sick laughing at her. she's red in the face and he's amused and they lose an hour at the bathroom sink as he makes it up to her.
they spend the rest of the day on the bus and traipsing around town and audrey's made up like some old hollywood starlet and he thinks it's silly but he makes fun of her little white wrist length gloves the same way she pokes and prods and wrinkles her nose at his stetson. the super market is near empty this early in the day but they still keep to themselves as they browse, fingers laced, and audrey hums in reply to craig's ranting about the meat market these days as she reads the label of a jar of pasta sauce, wondering aloud if they should just make their own to which craig says "hell no". they fill two baskets with groceries even though craig doesn't even think they need this much but audrey spouts some bullshit about balance and he gives her a long look and asks if she actually believes in that shit and she sniggers and says no but they've each got a bag to hold when they leave.
head against her shoulder, craig dozes off on the bus back home, hat tilted over his face, and audrey traces the lines of his palm and touches the gray in his hair. she kisses him on the cheek to wake him and they stagger home, craig yawning every block and insisting he's not tired.
someone makes dinner and no one feels like doing the dishes so they sit in the sink and they (the couple, not the dishes) sprawl together on the couch where audrey only pays enough attention to toddlers & tiaras to comment about how 'collant' something looks but is really reading a book and craig just makes a noise close to a cackle when one of the girls hits the mom in the face with a rolling iron but mostly he's playing online poker. his legs are stretched across audrey's lap and she rubs at his leg hair.
he can tell she is waiting for him to leave, for him to have one of those nights, because she can't sit still. she glances at the clock, at his phone on the table, to the television, to her book. his cell buzzes and she makes to get up, hauling herself up from under his legs, collecting the blanket off the couch and her book. it's just a text message (cumming out tonight? ;] xx), and he watches her even as he replies (nah. sick.)
"going to bed, babe?"
"tired." her smile is tight.
"i'll be in soon. gonna finish this game."
she nods, and obviously doesn't believe him.
it's close to 2am when he finally makes it to their bedroom and audrey is barely conscious, bleary eyed with her book closed in her lap. she jerks awake when he tries to take the book from her and sets it on the bedside table herself, yawning, waving vaguely at the far wall for him to turn the light off. he does and strips and settles into the bed on his side, tugging at the back of her nightshirt.
she doesn't turn, only glances over her shoulder. "you're back early."
"didn't go anywhere. one game turned into six or so and i wasn't feeling a night out." he tugs again, gets an arm around her waist and pulls. "i'd rather stay in with you." audrey smiles despite herself, groans and turns around so they can be face to face because craig is so very tall compared and has such very long arms that can wrap her up and keep her where he wants her. a talent.
__
craig rolls over and mutters "good morning" into the crook of audrey's neck.
she sighs against him. "good morning, mon cochon." she does not flinch away from the cold hands that ghost across the small of her back.
she sighs against him. "go back to sleep." her feet are warm. she does not try to avoid his cold ones that wiggle at her ankles.
"hey? baby?"
"hmm?"
he smooths her hair away from her face, tucks it back behind her ear and touches her jaw. "you're beautiful."
it throws her off guard. he loves that. she mutters something indistinguishable and most probably in french against his skin and budges up to kiss the underside of his chin. kiss, kiss, kiss. it's like she's keeping time, and when she stops he knows she's fallen asleep again. he chuckles drowsily - just to himself, a little private joke that he thinks he missed but is still amusing - and does the same.
when craig wakes up a few hours later she's gone but the blinds are up and the bed is still warm and he can smell coffee so he groans into his pillow and rubs a hand over his face. he can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs and hear her pause briefly and hiss "merde!" at something and when she comes in with coffee for the both of them he wonders briefly if it's karmic payback for his comment earlier that morning. they both know it is, and they both know that's a little fucked up but for whatever reason today it's okay. audrey shifts uneasily from foot to foot, the newspaper crinkles under her arm, and offers him his mug with snoopy and woodstock on the side. he takes it and sets it on the bedside table and makes room for her on the bed as she sets her mug - cream and navy horizontal stripes, "boring" he said, "classical" she replied - next to his. she crawls into bed with him and curls up between his legs, her back against his chest. they pick up their respective mugs; he lips at the shell of her ear.
"your mother called," she starts, a few minutes later when they have both begun to enjoy their coffee and wake up but are too comfortable in their places, "she wants to know if we will come for thanksgiving."
"we should. you know my mama hates us" she laughs aloud but it's an accusatory sound, he smirks but she can't see that "not driving to see her. it's only a few hours."
audrey makes a racket out of unfolding the newspaper and flipping to the world news section. when she hands the paper to him over her shoulder he kisses the sharp bone of her wrist before he takes it from her. he clears his throat, takes a swig of coffee, and begins to read the headlines in his heaviest tennessee accent. craig is halfway through an article about iranian nuclear scientists turning up dead ("is this a covert operations, and if so, who is behind it?") when she says in a very un-audrey like voice: "don't let your mother call me a whore again."
it takes a second for him to catch his breath. "i won't." the 'promise' is as carefully hidden as her 'please'. he moves on to a story about how some luxury cruise liner scraped her hull open in the mediterranean.
craig makes eggs for breakfast when they finish the paper and holds the utensils hostage until audrey eats her share with her fingers, complaining and laughing and so not meaning a word of it all. she does the dishes afterwards (because he cooked) and when he gets out of the shower he finds her humming and swaying around the kitchen with the drying towel that is really more of a rag and he cuts in. neither of them can dance, so they sway between the island and the sink and audrey finger-combs the tangles out of his hair while she's on her tiptoes and her arms are up around his neck. he perches on the bathroom counter while she showers and makes up another story about how he lost his eye and she laughs and almost slips in the tub and craig almost makes himself sick laughing at her. she's red in the face and he's amused and they lose an hour at the bathroom sink as he makes it up to her.
they spend the rest of the day on the bus and traipsing around town and audrey's made up like some old hollywood starlet and he thinks it's silly but he makes fun of her little white wrist length gloves the same way she pokes and prods and wrinkles her nose at his stetson. the super market is near empty this early in the day but they still keep to themselves as they browse, fingers laced, and audrey hums in reply to craig's ranting about the meat market these days as she reads the label of a jar of pasta sauce, wondering aloud if they should just make their own to which craig says "hell no". they fill two baskets with groceries even though craig doesn't even think they need this much but audrey spouts some bullshit about balance and he gives her a long look and asks if she actually believes in that shit and she sniggers and says no but they've each got a bag to hold when they leave.
head against her shoulder, craig dozes off on the bus back home, hat tilted over his face, and audrey traces the lines of his palm and touches the gray in his hair. she kisses him on the cheek to wake him and they stagger home, craig yawning every block and insisting he's not tired.
someone makes dinner and no one feels like doing the dishes so they sit in the sink and they (the couple, not the dishes) sprawl together on the couch where audrey only pays enough attention to toddlers & tiaras to comment about how 'collant' something looks but is really reading a book and craig just makes a noise close to a cackle when one of the girls hits the mom in the face with a rolling iron but mostly he's playing online poker. his legs are stretched across audrey's lap and she rubs at his leg hair.
he can tell she is waiting for him to leave, for him to have one of those nights, because she can't sit still. she glances at the clock, at his phone on the table, to the television, to her book. his cell buzzes and she makes to get up, hauling herself up from under his legs, collecting the blanket off the couch and her book. it's just a text message (cumming out tonight? ;] xx), and he watches her even as he replies (nah. sick.)
"going to bed, babe?"
"tired." her smile is tight.
"i'll be in soon. gonna finish this game."
she nods, and obviously doesn't believe him.
it's close to 2am when he finally makes it to their bedroom and audrey is barely conscious, bleary eyed with her book closed in her lap. she jerks awake when he tries to take the book from her and sets it on the bedside table herself, yawning, waving vaguely at the far wall for him to turn the light off. he does and strips and settles into the bed on his side, tugging at the back of her nightshirt.
she doesn't turn, only glances over her shoulder. "you're back early."
"didn't go anywhere. one game turned into six or so and i wasn't feeling a night out." he tugs again, gets an arm around her waist and pulls. "i'd rather stay in with you." audrey smiles despite herself, groans and turns around so they can be face to face because craig is so very tall compared and has such very long arms that can wrap her up and keep her where he wants her. a talent.
__
craig rolls over and mutters "good morning" into the crook of audrey's neck.
she sighs against him. "good morning, mon cochon." she does not flinch away from the cold hands that ghost across the small of her back.