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Infinity Smashed: The Morning After
The Morning After
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Grey wakes up.
Word Count: 500
Notes: Winner of the patron poll this month, and a scene cut from the print version of Found Wanting! Sorry it’s so short guys; under normal circumstances I’d give a bonus, but to be fair, Red Roses Old Horses was quite long and also… it’s been a steamroller of a couple months. I am flattened. Sorry. Hopefully next month is less brutal.
When Grey wakes up the morning of February 15th, it’s been too long since her last dose of painkillers and moving to get more sounds worse than trying to go back to sleep. What was she thinking? Vicodin or no Vicodin, in this condition, she never should’ve considered fooling around—
Series: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Grey wakes up.
Word Count: 500
Notes: Winner of the patron poll this month, and a scene cut from the print version of Found Wanting! Sorry it’s so short guys; under normal circumstances I’d give a bonus, but to be fair, Red Roses Old Horses was quite long and also… it’s been a steamroller of a couple months. I am flattened. Sorry. Hopefully next month is less brutal.
When Grey wakes up the morning of February 15th, it’s been too long since her last dose of painkillers and moving to get more sounds worse than trying to go back to sleep. What was she thinking? Vicodin or no Vicodin, in this condition, she never should’ve considered fooling around—
The memory hits like lightning: Bob’s hands, gentle with the bandages, warm on her thigh, his cavalier “want to fuck?” The way he kissed, the way he touched, the way he felt, pushy and hard against her hip in a way that reminded her of that wrestling match all those years ago, only this was on purpose with someone she liked, someone she trusted, someone she could touch.
She registers the bite marks on her shoulder, the shirt buttons imprinted on her cheek, the warm chest she’s snuggled to.
He’s still here.
She shifts back to look at him. Except for his glasses, Bob’s still fully dressed, rumpled with five o’clock shadow and his hair slipping into his face. He’s all curves: full mouth, soft chest, belly, plush thighs, and his hands—
Bob’s hands.
She decides she does want those painkillers after all. It hurts, but she manages to roll over, reach the side table, take the bottles, get the pills, and wash them down with water, all without waking him.
Now what?
Grey has no idea what the etiquette is for this situation, and doubts she could follow it even if she did. In her condition, making Bob breakfast is out. Ditto coffee. Bob was straightforward and shameless… but also honest about this being a short-term thing. What’s Grey allowed to do?
Bob doesn’t open his eyes, but he makes a groggy sound and starts searching with his hands. He settles when she snuggles back under his arm, and even if he’s a foot shorter than she is, he makes her feel small in the best way when he holds her like this.
The pills take her under again, and the next time she wakes, it’s because Bob is getting up. He’s trying to be quiet and careful, but the sofa bed is squeaky, and there’s no leaving it subtly. The sun’s high. Grey can’t remember the last time she slept so late.
“Shit, sorry,” Bob says. He reaches over her and plucks his glasses off the side table, expression uncertain. “So… how do you feel?”
He means the injuries, but Grey grins. How can she not?
Bob chuckles and his hesitancy disappears. “Well, good morning to you too, Grace. If you’re itching for more, I saw a box of plastic wrap in that wasteland you call a kitchen…”
Even on Vicodin, she turns him down—having sex in this condition was a bad idea, however worthwhile—but she tugs him down to kiss and he lets her. His mouth is soft, his mustache bushy, and he still kisses her like she’s beautiful. Grey’s been falling for Bob for months, but that’s when she knows she’s truly smitten.
She registers the bite marks on her shoulder, the shirt buttons imprinted on her cheek, the warm chest she’s snuggled to.
He’s still here.
She shifts back to look at him. Except for his glasses, Bob’s still fully dressed, rumpled with five o’clock shadow and his hair slipping into his face. He’s all curves: full mouth, soft chest, belly, plush thighs, and his hands—
Bob’s hands.
She decides she does want those painkillers after all. It hurts, but she manages to roll over, reach the side table, take the bottles, get the pills, and wash them down with water, all without waking him.
Now what?
Grey has no idea what the etiquette is for this situation, and doubts she could follow it even if she did. In her condition, making Bob breakfast is out. Ditto coffee. Bob was straightforward and shameless… but also honest about this being a short-term thing. What’s Grey allowed to do?
Bob doesn’t open his eyes, but he makes a groggy sound and starts searching with his hands. He settles when she snuggles back under his arm, and even if he’s a foot shorter than she is, he makes her feel small in the best way when he holds her like this.
The pills take her under again, and the next time she wakes, it’s because Bob is getting up. He’s trying to be quiet and careful, but the sofa bed is squeaky, and there’s no leaving it subtly. The sun’s high. Grey can’t remember the last time she slept so late.
“Shit, sorry,” Bob says. He reaches over her and plucks his glasses off the side table, expression uncertain. “So… how do you feel?”
He means the injuries, but Grey grins. How can she not?
Bob chuckles and his hesitancy disappears. “Well, good morning to you too, Grace. If you’re itching for more, I saw a box of plastic wrap in that wasteland you call a kitchen…”
Even on Vicodin, she turns him down—having sex in this condition was a bad idea, however worthwhile—but she tugs him down to kiss and he lets her. His mouth is soft, his mustache bushy, and he still kisses her like she’s beautiful. Grey’s been falling for Bob for months, but that’s when she knows she’s truly smitten.