Disclaimer: Too late to claim to own anythign I don't anyway. (I can't believe I
have to be up at six for school tomorrow. Ugh.)
Date: 3/10/2002 (Know this 'cause I was working on fics while I should have been
doing my scholarship essay. EEP!)
Cat: P, HR
Author: Bryne aka Michelle Curtin
Clunking
She sipped slowly at her coffee, enjoying the warmth that spread through
her hands and the vanilla aroma that arose from the steam. A faint bang and the
sound of distant falling water ceased- She registered the plastic jingling from
the bathroom as the curtain was pulled back and out of the way. Another faint
thump sounded as he stepped out, onto the bathmat. Her bathmat.
She sighed into the coffee cup, listening to him as he banged through her
medicine chest and set up his shaving kit. “Men are so clunky.”
That was part of the problem.
She’d lived alone a long time now. Alone, but not lonely. She was just
there, on her own, with out a roommate. And her last roommate had been female.
Quiet, graceful like herself. None of this slamming doors and banging water
faucets and thudding on the floor. None of this clunking about in the mornings
at all. Just quiet. Companionable quiet.
It was odd to have the noise, but there were other things.
All around her apartment, he was there. His presence resounded from
everything. Probably because his clothing managed to cling to all available
space. Clunky clothing. The large, thick-shouldered shirts with their plaid and
dark blue material that hung around her like a tent. The long, heavy jeans and
suit pants that weighed more than she did. The construction boots and black
loafers that blocked the doorway.
She let her eyes flit across the kitchen table and into the chaos that had
become her living room. “So sloppy.”
Her life was organized, neat. She washed the dishes after she’d eaten and
put them in the cupboards. Closed the refrigerator after she’d found what she
needed and never, EVER drank out of the carton. Picked up her dirty clothes and
put them in the hamper.
But it was different with him around. Things just weren’t…the same. He made
them different; did things his way, put things back where he wanted to, even
though it was her apartment. He always drank out of the carton, probably because
he never washed any of the glasses, and always forgot to shut the refrigerator
when it was his turn to cook. Though it was cute the way he shed his clothes,
like so many layers of his personality, as he walked through the door and
crossed over to kiss her, holding her like she was his and making love to her on
the floor. It was when he left them there for three days that bothered her.
The bathroom door opened and he strode out, thick hair hanging in wet
clumps around his face, which was cleanly shaven and still shining. A dollop of
shaving cream hid along the edge of his jaw. Around his waist was a white towel,
wrapped loosely and, from what she could discern, in danger of falling. He
walked, no, swaggered over to the coffee pot, routed around for a cup, finally
selected what she hoped was not a dirty one from the sink and poured himself the
rest of the pot.
She let her eyes drop back to the now tepid liquid and sipped, slowly,
considering the man that slid onto the stool across from her.
“Morning,” he said shortly, taking a sip form his cup. “Mm. Good coffee.”
She looked up quickly and found him considering the cup. “Very good.” He stood.
“I’ve got work in twenty minutes.”
And just like that, he was gone, disappeared back into their bedroom.
Sitting back, she took another sip of her coffee, crinkled her nose and put
it down on the countertop. Sometimes…
The door flung open and he strode out, towel suddenly gone, and grabbed her
fiercely. “Thank you, Mrs. Quest.”
“For what?” she asked breathlessly. He smiled.
“Loving me.”
“Even if you are a little messy.” They looked around the room and he
flinched.
“Sorry, Rae.” He looked genuinely apologetic.
“If only you’d do something about it,” she grumbled, hiding the pleased
feeling that was spreading through the pit of her stomach. “Dr. Quest.” He
tipped her head back and the periwinkle of his eyes was hard.
“Don’t call me that,” he growled. “I’m never that to you. Never to you.” He
kissed her again. “I’m Benton. Benton. Benton.” His head fell into her shirt and
she pulled him close.
“Benton. Benton.” She hugged him harder. “I love you, Benton Quest. Benton.
I love you.” She held him for a long time.
****************
~ Bryne
