The Job
By Akasha
This is my answer to the BCRUS challenge
Write a story, any leaning, containing the sentence:
"You sure you know how to use them, have you done this before?"
This is a Cupcake story, inspired by the mysteriously absent washer and dryer in LMT
Please let me know what you think, there's the potential of a second chapter if there's interest
The characters are not mine and sadly never will be, all JE's…
"You sure you know how to use them, have you done this before?"
Morelli threw me a look that could have passed for a Burg glare and picked up the screws I was holding for him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing here. Hand me the Philips driver."
"Huh?" He was talking Greek as far as I was concerned.
"The screwdriver with the green handle, on the left," he said, pointing in the direction of the tool box. "Unlike you, I grew up with tools and learned how to use them."
I gave him the screwdriver and a look that hopefully told him to keep those comments to himself, and resumed my position at the door jamb, watching him. I didn't need to say anything, I knew he was teasing, but the look had been instinct, he knew all my buttons and how to push them.
He turned and focused his attention back on the washer. I loved to watch him work, the way his muscles moved under that tight white shirt of his was mesmerizing. And since I was sort of the inspiration for this movement, I thought I deserved to watch.
It all started this morning. It was Saturday, and Morelli had wanted me to stay in bed with him. Hell, I'd wanted to stay in bed with him, but there was this pressing issue of laundry to do. I had no clean clothes left.
His washer was still broken, so every Saturday, I gathered up the laundry and drove it over to my Mom's. That had the benefit of free ironing service, but it was still a pain in the ass because it basically took half of every Saturday. Granted, that meant I could mooch lunch, but still, it was also one of Joe's few days off and I'd much rather spend time with him.
And this morning, it had been really hard to get up because, while we had gone to bed before ten, Morelli and I hadn't gone to sleep until way past 3 AM and my body was telling me in no uncertain terms that moving was not such a good idea. I was pleasantly sore in all the right places.
It had all started with me telling Morelli about my fantasy involving men in uniform and he'd dug up his white Navy dress uniform. I'd pretty much had an orgasm on the spot when he emerged from the bathroom dressed in it, and everything that followed had been pure bliss.
I didn't know about Morelli, he had sort of a mutant healing factor where that was concerned. As I tried to scramble out of bed, he'd grabbed me and pulled me back against him, and from what I felt against my lower back, nothing was tired about him.
Bob came galloping down the stairs, tripped over his front legs and did a half roll, half slide to where I was standing, effectively pulling me out of my thoughts. I absentmindedly fondled his ear as he pressed himself against me. He'd been sleeping upstairs, but when we didn't return after a certain amount of time, he had to come check what kept our attention.
Morelli straightened and put his fists on his hips, frowning at the washer. "I think that should do it," he said, but there wasn't much confidence in his voice.
I bit back the 'Are you sure' and bent down to plug the machine back in. "Now what?"
"Get some dirty clothes and let's try it out," Morelli said. I gave him my version of a wolf grin at the second part of his suggestion but didn't share that I didn't have dirty clothes right here, but plenty of dirty thoughts, would that do? There was something about Joe and the washer, and the combination of the two, that had me thinking thoughts to improper, a gazillion Hail Marys wouldn't come close to getting me out of them.
I went back upstairs, swaying my hips so much on the stairs, I almost tripped and made a complete ass out of myself.
"Careful Cupcake," Joe said, confirming he'd caught it. "You don't want to sprain anything you might need tonight."
Basically, that's the difference between me and Morelli. He was sexy without trying to be, and when I tried to be, it came across as comical. I don't know how men do it. I'm sure Ranger doesn't spend an hour in front of the mirror each morning practicing that intense stare of his. I know Morelli doesn't, he's just natuarally sexy.
It must be a man thing, another one of those universally unfair things. Okay, maybe some women have it too, you know what I mean, the kind that all men drool over, but I definitely didn't have it.
I gathered up some clothes upstairs, threw them in the laundry basket and sauntered back downstairs. Since Morelli had worked on the washing machine, he apparently wanted to be the one to try if it worked, because he took the basket from me as soon as I came close. That worked for me, domestic goddess that I wasn't, I was more than happy to take a seat on the bottom step and watch him.
He sorted the clothes, making sure only darks went into the washer, threw some detergent on top and turned the dial. For some reason, I was strangely turned on by that. Clearly, Morelli's horniness was contagious.
Nothing happened. No water was sloshing, no machine parts were rumbling, nothing.
Still I bit back a sarcastic comment. And not because of Morelli either, it was because of my dad.
When I was ten years old, I'd watched my dad repair the lawn mower. He'd tinkered for an hour when he tried to turn it on and nothing happened.
"It still doesn't work," I'd said.
"Do you think you can do it better, Pumpkin?" he'd asked. Probably he was beyond frustrated at that point and my comment pointing out the obvious didn't help.
That very day, I learned to keep my mouth shut unless I thought I could do it better. And I was sure I had no dice with the washer. So I kept quiet.
"Fuck," Morelli commented and his fists were back at his hips as he studied the uncooperative machine. I still thought he looked sexy, even when he was frustrated, but I kept that to myself as well. Not because I thought it would irritate Morelli, but because I thought it would distract him. I knew him, one comment about how he turned me on and we'd be back upstairs in bed, the washer forgotten.
"Should we maybe call…" I started to suggest.
"No!" Morelli cut me off. "I can do this."
Male pride, I figured. Bob and I got bored when there was no more Morelli in action to watch, so we went back upstairs and I tookBob for a walk.
We got back an hour later, I'd taken him for the grand tour, and Morelli was still downstairs.
"What do you think, should we venture another look?" I asked Bob.
Bob looked at the basement door, but then sent me a look that told me he'd had all the fun there was to have downstairs and took off for his bed in the living room.
I figured what the hell and went downstairs. I'm so glad I did.
Obviously, Morelli had been waiting for me.
He sat on the rumbling washer, his arms crossed over his chest, grinning like a loon, looking like a proud 8-year-old.
I could hear water sloshing and all kinds of healthy washer sounds. He'd done it, he'd fixed it.
"You fixed it," I said, hoping my voice had enough pride for him in it.
"You sure about that?" he asked and when I looked up, he waggled his eyebrows. "Can't be certain until you take it for a test drive…"
He did have a point there…
A/N: So what do you think? More like this?