Laundry Day
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Disclaimer: Hah, no
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By: Bunny-chan
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Author's Notes
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Please don't ask me what this came from. Please don't. Because I don't know. I don't even know what this is about, really, just a lot of bantering because I'm pretty sure they'd banter a lot. Um, I don't even know how they're living together, damnit, I plan on making a prequel to this, I just need to find a way to make it believable, so…yeah, expect that soon-ish!
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He blinked in surprise at the sight before him, swiping at his eyes that are half-lidded with sleep to make sure he's not seeing things. When he opens his eyes and the spots fade away, she's still there, sitting in the middle of his living room floor, dark hair pulled into a messy bun, and wearing nothing but one of his shirts, sorting clothes and humming lightly under her breath. He's not used to seeing her so…domesticated, and it's weird, but not unwelcome. "So, laundry day?"
She jumped at his voice, hand over her heart, and she turned her head to glower at him, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"So wasn't sneaking, I think I was pretty loud, actually, you just weren't paying attention."
She rolled her eyes, mutters a "Whatever," and turns back to the dirty laundry.
He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest, warmed at the sight of her, like always, "Since when do you willingly do laundry?"
"When I feel like it."
"Which is, oh yeah, never," he smirked at her annoyed huff, "and why are you wearing my shirt?"
She stood up, laundry basket in hand, one hand on her hip, and an eyebrow raised, "Complaining?"
He swept his gaze over her, strands of hair framing her face, blue eyes narrowed in a challenge he can't help but to accept, one of the light blue dress shirts he wears to school hugging her body, filmy around her thighs, drawing his attention to her long, tanned legs, all the way down to her feet, toes painted navy blue to match her fingernails. He draws hazel eyes back to her, and gives her a shit-eating grin, "Definitely not complaining, you should wear that around the place more often."
She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head, and starts to move past him, but he grasps her wrist, halting her, and she looks up at him, a question in her eyes, "You're seriously going down to the laundry room at this time of night?"
She stared at him like he was an idiot, "It's 7:30 in the morning."
"Exactly! It's dangerous down there, there's loonies, and crazies, and…and rapists." He frowned a little, partly at the thought of her walking around the apartment building by herself, and at the fact that he's an English teacher and he can't even speak in proper sentences to explain to her why she shouldn't do laundry now.
She lowered her gaze to where his hand was still grasping her wrist, easily covering it with his much larger hand, but he makes no move to let her go, stroking the soft skin gently, and despite the fact her expression doesn't give anything away, he can tell he's getting to her by the way her toes curl into the rug.
"I need to do laundry though."
"You can't do it at a normal hour of the day? Like…later? When it's not an un-Godly time of the day?"
She raised an eyebrow, "You're awake at this so called un-Godly time of day."
"Don't remind me," he grumbled, it's a Saturday, but after teaching for so long, having to wake up at 6 and earlier every weekday, he can never sleep past 7 anymore, 7:15 if he's extremely lucky, "the only thing that's making this bearable is the amazing view."
"Oh God, don't start."
"Start what?" He looked innocent, "Complimenting you?"
She merely cleared her throat, "So can you let me go now?"
"So you can go downstairs all by yourself? Hell no."
"Oh for fuck's sake," he raised an eyebrow at her language, but she just cut him a look, "look, if I let you go with me, will you feel better?"
He thought about it for a moment, and then nodded, "Yes, actually, yes I would."
She gave him a humoring look, "Fine, fine, let's go then."
She started to move towards the door again, but he hauls her back, "Okay, what now?"
"You can't go down there barefoot, who knows what you'll catch."
She wanted to make a sarcastic comment involving him being her dad, but she refrains from it, for damn obvious reasons, and instead goes into her bedroom silently. When she comes back out, she's wearing ridiculously pink slippers that are pig shaped, and he smirks at her. She makes a face at him, "Don't say anything."
"Oh, c'mon, I've totally stopped making fun of those ridiculous things."
"They're not ridiculous! They're…cute."
"Cute? Seriously?"
She stuck out her tongue, "Quit making fun of my slippers and escort me to the laundry room, you big, strong man, you."
"You know, this wouldn't be an issue if you'd take a lesson after me and wash your clothes at least two times a week instead of waiting until you're completely out of clothes and you have to resort to wearing mine."
She stiffened, her back towards him, and her voice coated with frost, "You knew what you were getting into when you offered me a place to stay. I never said I was the cleanest person in the world, I'm not little Miss Susie Homemaker, you know."
He winced at the ice in her voice, the edge in her posture and the hurt in her words, and he moved over to her, knowing that she needs action and not words, and he slides a hand under her chin and tilts her head up, slanting his mouth over hers. Her breath hitched in her throat, and he dimly heard the basket hitting the floor with a dull thud, as she turned around, sliding her arms around his neck. He nipped at her lower lip, her mouth opening to his advances, and he slides his tongue in to meet hers. She fell into his kiss like always, still feeling the way she's felt since the first time he decided to push away his guilt and give in. He only pulled back when he realizes he's got her pressed against the front door, fingers digging into her hips and steadily pushing his shirt up her hips.
She looked up at him, blue eyes the color of dark sapphire, and a grin curls her lips, that makes him swallow, and she nips at his neck, tracing her tongue up his skin until she reaches his ear, where she bites at his earlobe, causing him to moan, eyes closing and head falling forward. A wicked little smile lights up her face, but he doesn't see it, as she whispered in a sing-song voice, "I'm not wearing any underwear."
His eyes flew open, and he choked on air, sputtering out, "W-what?"
"Underwear. Not wearing any."
He groaned, dropping his head to rest on her collarbone, "Goddamnit, Erin."
She didn't flinch at her given name anymore like she used to, before him, only her mother called her Erin, and only when she was drunk and pissed at the world, which was 90 percent of the time, only indulging in her whimsical tendencies with a humoring smile the other 10 percent of the time. She shook those thoughts off, and curled her fingers into his shaggy brown hair, and he sucked at her collarbone, teeth scraping her skin, "Why do you do these things to me?"
"What things?" She asked innocently.
He gave her a look, and then hitched his shirt up a little higher, revealing more of her perfect skin, and he slid a knee between her legs, nudging her thighs apart, the fabric of his sweatpants brushing against her, soaking up the wetness that was already there, and she gave a moan of his name, head falling back onto the door with a thud. He enjoyed the look on her face, tracing a finger down her neck, as she rocked against his thigh. When she bursts apart at the seams, crying out his name, and fingernails digging into his bare shoulders, he covers her mouth with his, making her sounds his own. He allowed her to ride out the after waves, and pulled back, feeling her moisture on his thigh, and he quieted her groan with another kiss.
Her eyes are back to their normal pale-blue color, and she gives him a smug, satisfied smirk, and something tells him he's lost whatever game he didn't even know they were playing. He just sighed, retrieving the forgotten laundry basket, sliding his free arm around her waist and pulling her away from the door. He nudged her hip with his, a silent request to retrieve the apartment key so they're not locked out, she does just that, and gives the key to him, because he has pockets, and she obviously doesn't. He gave her a once-over, wishing she had at least one outfit to put on, to hide that beautiful body, and her long, long legs, so nobody can see what only he's supposed to see.
As if sensing his concern, she rolled her eyes, "Quit worrying, Ryan," her voice became sarcastic, but still tinged with sincerity, "I'll be fine as long as I have my big, strong man with me."
He gave her a smirk, pulling her close, kissing her forehead tenderly, and then handing her the basket, before vanishing into his room. She wondered if she had done or said something wrong, nervous fear making her tongue feel thick, and she hated the feeling, hasn't felt it since she lived with her mom, always afraid somebody's going to leave her, and she'll be completely alone. She's not entirely sure she'd be able to handle it if he kicked her out, told her he never wanted to see her again. So it came as a relief when he came back out, shoes on his feet and another pair of sweatpants slung over his bare shoulder, navy blue, the color of her nails, instead of the gray he was wearing. She raised an eyebrow at him, able to breathe easier now, and he shrugged his shoulders, grinning lightly, "You're not the only one that needs to do laundry."
She shook her head, "You did yours two days ago."
He merely smirked, indicating the large spot on his thigh, the fabric dark with her wetness, "I'd rather not walk around down there in only my boxers."
She rarely ever looked embarrassed, but does this time, a faint blush on her cheeks that he finds completely endearing, "Sorry."
He chuckled, "It's fine. Ready to go?"
She nodded, and he made his way over to her, holding out his arm gallantly, she rolled her eyes, but hooked her arm through his as he opened the door. She wondered what they looked like to outsiders. No doubt just a normal couple about to do their laundry, and really, that's what they were, just without the normal. There's always something, the age difference, the secret of the whole relationship, his goddamn irritating nobility when she tries to seduce him, but at least she's not his student anymore, and that's something. When she was silent for too long, he glanced down at her, nipped at her neck, causing her to smile up at him, a swell of something unidentifiable rising in her chest, whatever it was though, she liked it and wanted more of it.
They walked out into the hallway, and he locked the door behind them, before taking her hand and raising it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She grinned, kissing his jaw line, his ever-present stubble brushing against her lips, "C'mon, let's go be domestic."
He laughed at the wrinkling of her nose at that word, "Yeah, let's."
So they weren't the picture-perfect, normal couple. They lived in a tiny, two-bedroom apartment, they always had to make sure they weren't together too often outside of school, and it was so goddamn tiring sometimes, but they somehow made it work. She trusted him, and her trust wasn't easy to gain, and he never treated her any differently depending on his moods, something she wasn't used to, and they had each other, come hell or high water. And it wasn't much, but it was enough, and in the end, that was all that mattered.
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