Tangled Sheets

He dreamt of this before. Tangled sheets, limbs intertwined, a soft body pressed to him.

It then occurred to him that this was no dream, and that there were, in fact, tangled sheets, limbs intertwined and a soft body pressed to his. There was a faint smell of something raw permeating the air, very much like sweat, yet not quite unpleasant. It was quite arousing, to be honest, and he had to control himself.

Tangled sheets, limbs intertwined, a soft body pressed to him.

He was currently spooning a girl who he wasn't quite sure he remembered. Her hair was short and curly, orange and vibrant. He'd prefer to call it titian, being the artist he was, but why bother with semantics?

His eyes widened when he realized that he didn't quite know that many people with orange/titian hair.

"Janet!"

"Go back to bed, sleepyhead," she moaned and pressed back, but then her voice took on an amused tone, "unless there's something else you wanted to do on the bed."

"I've no time for your dirty innuendos, Janet. Shove it. Just, get dressed or something. I'm not quite sure what we did, but I know it was a mistake."

"Oh please, you're totally aware of what happened, and even better, you were a consenting adult," Janet rose, letting the sheets fall down to reveal her torso (and cause a faint flush over Tim's face). "We're both reasonably attractive, in our mid-twenties, in a steady job with good financial prospects, and needed a good lay. I'd like to think that I was one, at least, but no matter."

"Could you at least put a shirt on?" Tim asked, his voice strained as he tried to find a pair of trousers – anything, really – to put on.

"No."

"No?"

"No," Janet repeated, amused. Her smirk seemed to have become ingrained. "I don't want to. And you obviously don't want me to. What's the matter? You ashamed you liked it? Did it break the bromance code you have with my cousin and his pathetic little friends?"

"Don't be silly, Janet. It was a mistake because I didn't intend to, but I did it anyway."

"Oh, go ahead then. Put the blame on me," Janet sighed, melodramatically. "Call me a scarlet woman, intent on seducing innocent, naïve Tim into having sex with me."

"You can stop the histrionics now, Janet. Just get dressed."

"What, no threatening remarks about how this never gets out?"

"No, you should just leave."

Instead, Janet approached him, pressing her body to his. "Are you sure about that?" Lowering her voice down to a whisper, she added, "I don't think that's what you want. Think about it, Tim, we've known each other since… childhood, really, and I know that your so-called friends don't really get you. Not like I do." She laughed. "Not that it's their fault, really. If you had a crush on them in 3rd grade, I'm sure they would be able to read you like and open book."

Tim raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his astonishment. No one really noticed him in third grade. He wasn't shy, but he was passive. If people wanted his company, they'd have to approach him; something few people did, even his third grade gang.

"Look at it this way, Tim. You're the artist. I'm the curator –"

"I am an artist, and you are a curator."

"Digressing from the point," Janet sing-songed. "For some reason, you only show me the beautiful paintings you draw, and I'm the only one who gets them…"

Tim felt disheartened by this, because it pretty much resembled real life. He'd been trying to make it as an artist ever since he realized architecture as pertaining to the corporate world wasn't really his thing… And Janet, who had surprisingly become a curator, gave him a chance.

"You only open up around me. Why is that, I wonder?"

Damn Janet.

"I could probably chalk that down to homoerotic fantasies you might have concerning my beloved cuz, Arnold, because we're pretty much identical looking; I mean, I'm like, his face on a girl's body, no?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Janet. I'm not a homosexual, and not interested in Arnold that way."

"Well, then, tell me what's so special about me?" Janet challenged, eyes gleaming.

He guessed she wanted a grand declaration of love from him or something, for him to break down and proclaim her as his muse. She was fond of the finer things in life, and of having the best things in life too. It suited her notions of self-importance.

He wasn't going to satisfy her. If she truly wanted to be in a relationship with him (which she'd been hinting at, coming a bit strong ever since they reunited while he was trying to find a buyer for his paintings), then he'd do it his way; passively, quietly, with very little style but great substance. "Tell me what's so special about me?"

Janet seemed to be at a loss of words, and she drew away from him, although her hands were still loosely around his shoulders. "I think we've just reached what some folks call an impasse, my dear," and she withdrew her hands, but not before she planted a searing kiss on his lips. "I'll get going now."

She picked up her clothes, a flimsy dress which showed as much skin as it covered, and slipped into strappy stilettos. "You know Tim," she said, flashing a saucy smile, "I've no doubt you enjoyed it. But until you realize that I can be serious, even in relationships, you're going to have to deal with me on a daily basis. I like challenges, you see, and I like people who want me. You happen to be one of the few who do both." She winked at him. "You better hurry though, or you'll miss the best relationship of your life."

With that, she sauntered out of Tim's penthouse apartment… but not out of his life.

He sighed and sank down onto a comfy sofa in the room. His eyes strayed to the bed, where not long ago there had been tangled sheets, intertwined sheets, a soft body pressed to his – which turned out to be Janet Perlstein's… and an arousing scent that still lingered in the air after she was gone, which reminded him of how achingly he wanted a release. Groaning, he put his head in his hands.

It was unbearable to be attracted to a person who was as incorrigible as Janet Perlstein was.

-Fin-

Author's Note: Because Tim/Janet is a guilty pleasure of MSB fandom.