Like a Little Death (2/2)
Oct. 3rd, 2011 01:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lapacifidoraTitle: Like a Little Death: Five Times Jeff Found Annie on a Table, One Time He Didn’t & What Happened After (2/2)
Author: lapacifidora
Spoilers: Spoilers for 3.02
Rating/ Warnings: T, for Tablelicious, and S, for School Girl (‘R’ for Really? I need to spell it out for you?)
Word Count: 2,739 (4,919 total)
Disclaimers: Not mine. Although I think Dan Harmon knows this friend of mine and based Troy on her… Lyrics are from the following: 20 Year Old Lover, Juliette & The Licks; Pumpkin Soup, Kate Nash; You’re So Damn Hot, OK Go; Dirty Little Secret, The All-American Rejects; Ever Fallen In Love, The Buzzcocks; And You Give, Matthew Barber; and Laid, James.
Author’s note: My mind is a twisted, weird place. You’re welcome to visit, but I strongly suggest sticking to the marked path and, please, don’t feed the animals. Also, I haven’t done a re-watch yet, so if the dialogue is off, do let me know.
***
I go around a time or two/ Just to waste my time with you
***
“Oh. My. God.”
“I know.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Right?”
“I just, I can’t believe it.”
“It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”
“No.”
“And to go around, all this time, not knowing that this was even possible.”
“I certainly had no idea. I didn’t think it was possible to be this surprised.”
“And to find out like- like this.”
“I know.” Annie turned to face her companion. “All this time, Vaughn was a cop – not just a copy, but an undercover cop.”
“Oh my God.” Britta closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “I made out. With a cop.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “It’s like all my rebel cred is just…poof. Gone.”
“And I thought I was being a rebel because I usually go the guy who’s going to be a doctor or a teacher or a lawyer.” Annie shook her head and reflexively tucked her hair behind her ear. “But I was all, ‘Hey, I’m going to date Vaughn, even if he does smell like patchouli all the time, because I’m modern and enlightened.’”
“He fooled us both.”
“Yep.”
“Damn him.”
“Yep.” Annie patted Britta’s hand and scooted closer to their study table. She looked around and leaned in toward the blonde. “Um. Considering we’ve both been interested in two of the same guys, um-” She pauses, shaking her head. “No, forget it. Forget I said anything.”
“Jeff’s not an undercover cop or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Right.” Annie’s cheeks flush and she leans back, fiddling with her pen, sliding the cap off a millimeter, then sliding it back into place with a tiny click. “No, I know that.” She shrugs.
“And, I mean, he’s weird, but all guys are weird, y’know?”
“Yeah.” Annie and Britta grin at each other. “Yeah, I know.”
Jeff backs away from behind the door, thankful the blinds on this side of the room were drawn, and heads out to the quad to meet up with Troy and Abed, so he can enter with them. It’s a strategic retreat, is what it is.
But he knows it’s not.
***
And if I start a commotion/ I run the risk of losing you, and that’s worse
***
The lights are turned down low in the cafeteria.
Hell, with the twinkle lights strung crazily overhead; a local garage band on stage, playing slightly rock-tinged versions of classic ballads; and the subtle decorations in navy and silver, the cafeteria doesn’t even look like a cafeteria anymore.
(Only the faint odor of deep-fried foods that clings to everything, even the walls, after 30-plus years disturbs the illusion.)
Leave it to Abed and Annie to plan a pitch-perfect 1940s-themed school dance.
Speaking of, Jeff can see Abed spinning a petite blonde around on the dance floor before pulling her close. Though the expressions of neither one reveal anything, Jeff notices the hand his friend has splayed in the small of the woman’s back and knows now is not the moment to congratulate his friend on a job well done.
Walking away from the refreshment table, Jeff scans the crowd on the dance floor for Annie, then turns to look over the groups clustered around the tables lining the edge of the room.
But she’s not there.
Jeff frowns and wends his way through the room, nodding to the people he knows (and shoots a thumbs up to Fat Neil, on whose shoulder Vicki is resting her head). When he reaches the doors, he turns back and scans the room again, but the petite brunette hasn’t materialized in the minute or so since he last looked.
He pushes through the doors and lets them fall shut behind him, the sounds of the dance fading through the steel. A glance to the right shows only an empty, dimly lit hallway. A glance to the left reveals a brunette in dark red, the swath of the skirt dotted with startlingly white polka dots, seated a card table draped in a navy cloth, tapping a permanent marker against a thick sheaf of paper.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Jeff sets down a glass of punch, fishes out a couple of cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket and settles into the empty chair next to Annie.
Her head snaps around to face him, her eyes widening even as she reaches behind her blindly for the shrug draped over the back of her chair. He puts down his own glass of punch and reaches out to help her, noting how she pulls away when their fingers brush.
“Cold?” He holds the shrug up, intending to help her into it.
“Uh. Yes.” She looks from him to the shrug, and he can see her settle some internal debate. She turns her back to him, slipping one arm through a sleeve and lifting up her hair as she slips the other arm through.
If his fingers linger on the skin of her neck, just below the strap of her halter dress, and if her breath hitches in her throat in response, it’s anyone’s guess.
And they’re not about to start talking straight about their reactions to each other, not when they’ve been building obstacles between themselves with words practically since they met.
Annie turns back to face the table and busies herself with breaking a cookie into smaller pieces.
(Really, what is it about Greendale and unusually large cookies?)
“What are you doing out here?”
“Someone has to watch the money box till the Dean comes to lock it away in his office.” Annie fidgets and wipes her fingers on a napkin. “And Abed said he wanted to dance, so I said I’d spell him for a while.”
“So, everyone gets to enjoy your hard work, except you.”
“It’s not so bad.” Annie glances at him from the corner of her eye and smiles wryly. “It’s quiet out here.” She gestures to the cookie. “I get personalized service.” She turns to look at him, resting her arm along the back of her folding chair. “And I get interesting conversation.”
“Really?” Jeff turns to face her, mimicking her pose and conscious of where her knee is brushing his. “Me?”
“Actually, I meant me.” Annie widens her eyes dramatically and plasters a crazy grin on her face. “The voices in my head are fascinating.”
“Funny.” Jeff shakes his head, watching as she glances back at the table and raises a cookie fragment to her lips. He knows he’s staring, but it’s quiet enough and he’s comfortable enough with where they are to not be bothered by it. He finds himself fascinated watching her chew and swallow, and that’s why he sees it.
A single, small grain of sugar, clinging to the edge of her bottom lip.
Without thinking, Jeff reaches up and wipes it from Annie’s mouth with his thumb, flicking it off toward the floor. He feels her gaze on his face the same way he feels the disturbance of the air from her breath. Looking up, the mixed confusion and unadulterated want scatter the thoughts he was trying to put in order.
Jeff leans forward and wraps his hand around the back of Annie’s neck, pressing his mouth to hers, as his thumb brushes the short hairs at the nape of her neck.
It’s not a first kiss; Annie had the honor of initiating that one.
And it’s not an exploratory kiss – outside the Tranny Dance, leaning into each other and learning that a quick, darting touch of his tongue to the middle of her top lip will open her mouth and produce this strangely alluring hiccoughing noise in the back of her throat, which will, in turn, make him respond with a groan – taught him the particulars of angle and pressure and length.
But it is a decisive kiss: It says that the time for talking at cross purposes, for resorting to head pats and hugs, for walking away is past. If he’s honest – which he’s usually not – and if he’s thoughtful – which he practically never is – Jeff knows it is a first kiss, in a way.
It’s the first time he kisses her the way he’ll kiss her every time from now on.
When he pulls back, sliding his hand around to cup her cheek and opening his eyes to look at her, it’s almost too much: Her cheeks are pink and warm, her lashes are dark against her skin and her lips are parted and wet.
“Annie.” Jeff smiles softly as her eyes slowly open. She stares back at him for a long moment, her tongue darting out to sweep along her bottom lip.
He’s pretty sure if she hadn’t done that he would’ve noticed her reaching for her clutch, her hand bracing against the back of the chair, the switch in her eyes from ‘take me home’ to ‘oh shit.’
As it is, when she stands, knocking against the table, and backs away from him, Jeff is too stunned to speak. Annie shakes her head and turns away, her heels clicking a heartbeat staccato against the linoleum as she runs.
Scratch that: As she flees.
***
Then came fall, babe, and we fell hard/ Bruised our bodies, skinned our knees and our hearts
***
Rain strikes against window panes with quiet pings.
The only other sound in the room is Annie’s breathing, fast and harsh, and a rustle as Jeff drops her blouse on the floor.
She is too keyed up to sit still, arching without rhythm against him as he presses her down to the tabletop with the weight of his own body.
He is too impatient to understand how clothing works, nearly tearing the rivet on her skirt free as he pulls back to wrestle the garment from her.
Impatience is contagious: She raises her torso enough to reach back and pop the clasp on her bra, shrugging it off and falling back against the cold laminate with a huff and a shudder.
Distraction is catching, too: Skirt defeated, he leaves off shedding his own pants to explore the hollows of her collar bone and the smoothness of the skin stretched over her ribs.
She is immune: Her head is bent back at an angle uncomfortable at any other moment, has been since the moment his lips pressed against the skin of her breast, his scruff a shock of sensation against the warm, slightly damp patch left when he moves – but her hands still manage to find his fly.
His hands drag down her sides, curling as they raise gooseflesh in a band at her waist, hooking into the waist of her panties and dragging them down. His lips follow his fingers, with the exception of a detour to blow a raspberry against her navel just to see her squirm when he realizes she’s ticklish.
She squirms. She also smacks his shoulder and laughs breathless and leans up on her elbows, staring at him as he clears her feet and tosses them over his shoulder, somewhere in the vicinity of his stove. (She takes a moment to congratulate herself on remembering to turn off the burner when she’d made a cup of coffee and settled down to wait for him. Just a moment: Her attention is required elsewhere.)
He likes to defy expectations: He doesn’t kiss the inside of her leg from ankle to thigh. He doesn’t go straight for the kill. He doesn’t tease her.
He starts with a kiss to the crease where her thigh meets her abdomen.
She swallows her lingering discomfort – she’s not used to this yet – and lays back, her fingers curled into a claw on his shoulder, tightening enough to leave bruises when she loses the ability to care for a moment, her heart thudding in her throat and her vision unfocused.
She tugs on his arm, urging him to lean over her again, still as restless, as impatient, as easily distracted. (My, but he does have nice arms.)
He wants to be careful: She wants him to get on with it.
There is a time and a place for foreplay, and they’ve had nearly two years of it now.
When he presses into her, her legs wrapping around his back and her ankles locked, his palms flat against the table on either side of her head, her ass hanging off the edge a little, the pounding of their hearts slows for a moment.
She can hear other things now: The fridge whirs as it cycles on and off. There is a clock, somewhere, ticking. Tires on the wet pavement of the parking lot out front swish.
The tempo of the pulse in her temple slows and quickens, building to a near-constant thrumming of her blood coursing beneath her skin.
Minutes or hours later – he’s lost track – the beating of his heart slows.
Rain strikes against window panes with quiet pings. The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing, not exactly at the same time but overlapping.
“Come to bed.”
“OK.”
***
You’re driving me crazy/ When are you coming home?
***
Jeff drums his fingers against his notebook in annoyance, staring straight ahead as the rest of the study group stands and leaves for class.
“Jeff.” Annie’s tone is more conciliatory than pleading, which only grates further. She sighs and the rustle of fabric against fabric is the first indicator she’s moved into the empty seat next to his. “C’mon, Jeff. Look at me.”
He turns his head to look at her and shoots to his feet when he sees the fluttering lashes and trembling lower lip.
“No.”
“Jeff.” The expression is gone and now she is exasperated. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“No!” He points at her. “Don’t even try to use that expression on me!” He crosses his arms and steps away from the table. “And don’t tell me it’s not a big deal.” He lifts his chin defiantly. “It is a big deal.”
“It’s just a class, Jeff.”
“I don’t want to take it.” He resists the urge to stamp his foot and watches as she stares at him for a minute before standing and collecting her books. She tucks them under one arm and pushes her chair in, crossing to stand in front of him.
“That’s too bad. You agreed to abide by the group’s vote, and we all voted to take this class.”
“That’s another thing.” Jeff drops his arms and gestures between them. “Where’s the loyalty, huh? Where’s the vote of solidarity?”
“It’s a good class.”
“Dammit, Annie, Uruguay agreed with the U.S. about everything.”
“The United States is, despite all major economic indicators, still considered a major world power.” She tilted her chin up. “It does not have to pander to every whim of smaller allied nations.”
“Annie.” Jeff sighs. “What about, y’know?” He gestures between them again. “What about the air ducts?” He frowns when she looks at him blankly. “What about your birthday? The dance?” He steps forward and leans down to speak quietly. “What about, y’know-” He scrunches his forehead and gives her a pointed look. “Y’know, what about the kitchen?” He watches as she simply raises a brow in response.
“That’s your entire argument?”
“Yes?”
“I see.” Annie squared her shoulders and stepped forward so they stood toe to toe. “You said you would take it if the rest of us voted to take it. We did that. We are all going to take this class. Man up, Winger.”
“Wait a minute.” Jeff’s forehead smoothed and he scratched at the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to get formidable with me?”
“Is it working?” Annie’s imperious gaze was belied by the smile pulling at the corners of her lips.
“Might be.” Jeff leaned down and kissed her quickly. “Can I request that you be my partner if we have any projects?”
“I think the U.S. would agree to that, for the mutual benefit of both nations.”
“Good.” Jeff stepped around her and picked up his notebook, then turned and looped an arm around Annie’s waist as they exited the study room.
“Jeff.”
“Mmm-yeah?”
“The kitchen was fun. But you really should hold onto that one for big arguments, not this stuff.” Annie paused, thumping Jeff on the back as he made a strangled noise and coughed. “Especially if you want to do that again.”
***
Author: lapacifidora
Spoilers: Spoilers for 3.02
Rating/ Warnings: T, for Tablelicious, and S, for School Girl (‘R’ for Really? I need to spell it out for you?)
Word Count: 2,739 (4,919 total)
Disclaimers: Not mine. Although I think Dan Harmon knows this friend of mine and based Troy on her… Lyrics are from the following: 20 Year Old Lover, Juliette & The Licks; Pumpkin Soup, Kate Nash; You’re So Damn Hot, OK Go; Dirty Little Secret, The All-American Rejects; Ever Fallen In Love, The Buzzcocks; And You Give, Matthew Barber; and Laid, James.
Author’s note: My mind is a twisted, weird place. You’re welcome to visit, but I strongly suggest sticking to the marked path and, please, don’t feed the animals. Also, I haven’t done a re-watch yet, so if the dialogue is off, do let me know.
***
I go around a time or two/ Just to waste my time with you
***
“Oh. My. God.”
“I know.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Right?”
“I just, I can’t believe it.”
“It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”
“No.”
“And to go around, all this time, not knowing that this was even possible.”
“I certainly had no idea. I didn’t think it was possible to be this surprised.”
“And to find out like- like this.”
“I know.” Annie turned to face her companion. “All this time, Vaughn was a cop – not just a copy, but an undercover cop.”
“Oh my God.” Britta closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “I made out. With a cop.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “It’s like all my rebel cred is just…poof. Gone.”
“And I thought I was being a rebel because I usually go the guy who’s going to be a doctor or a teacher or a lawyer.” Annie shook her head and reflexively tucked her hair behind her ear. “But I was all, ‘Hey, I’m going to date Vaughn, even if he does smell like patchouli all the time, because I’m modern and enlightened.’”
“He fooled us both.”
“Yep.”
“Damn him.”
“Yep.” Annie patted Britta’s hand and scooted closer to their study table. She looked around and leaned in toward the blonde. “Um. Considering we’ve both been interested in two of the same guys, um-” She pauses, shaking her head. “No, forget it. Forget I said anything.”
“Jeff’s not an undercover cop or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Right.” Annie’s cheeks flush and she leans back, fiddling with her pen, sliding the cap off a millimeter, then sliding it back into place with a tiny click. “No, I know that.” She shrugs.
“And, I mean, he’s weird, but all guys are weird, y’know?”
“Yeah.” Annie and Britta grin at each other. “Yeah, I know.”
Jeff backs away from behind the door, thankful the blinds on this side of the room were drawn, and heads out to the quad to meet up with Troy and Abed, so he can enter with them. It’s a strategic retreat, is what it is.
But he knows it’s not.
***
And if I start a commotion/ I run the risk of losing you, and that’s worse
***
The lights are turned down low in the cafeteria.
Hell, with the twinkle lights strung crazily overhead; a local garage band on stage, playing slightly rock-tinged versions of classic ballads; and the subtle decorations in navy and silver, the cafeteria doesn’t even look like a cafeteria anymore.
(Only the faint odor of deep-fried foods that clings to everything, even the walls, after 30-plus years disturbs the illusion.)
Leave it to Abed and Annie to plan a pitch-perfect 1940s-themed school dance.
Speaking of, Jeff can see Abed spinning a petite blonde around on the dance floor before pulling her close. Though the expressions of neither one reveal anything, Jeff notices the hand his friend has splayed in the small of the woman’s back and knows now is not the moment to congratulate his friend on a job well done.
Walking away from the refreshment table, Jeff scans the crowd on the dance floor for Annie, then turns to look over the groups clustered around the tables lining the edge of the room.
But she’s not there.
Jeff frowns and wends his way through the room, nodding to the people he knows (and shoots a thumbs up to Fat Neil, on whose shoulder Vicki is resting her head). When he reaches the doors, he turns back and scans the room again, but the petite brunette hasn’t materialized in the minute or so since he last looked.
He pushes through the doors and lets them fall shut behind him, the sounds of the dance fading through the steel. A glance to the right shows only an empty, dimly lit hallway. A glance to the left reveals a brunette in dark red, the swath of the skirt dotted with startlingly white polka dots, seated a card table draped in a navy cloth, tapping a permanent marker against a thick sheaf of paper.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Jeff sets down a glass of punch, fishes out a couple of cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket and settles into the empty chair next to Annie.
Her head snaps around to face him, her eyes widening even as she reaches behind her blindly for the shrug draped over the back of her chair. He puts down his own glass of punch and reaches out to help her, noting how she pulls away when their fingers brush.
“Cold?” He holds the shrug up, intending to help her into it.
“Uh. Yes.” She looks from him to the shrug, and he can see her settle some internal debate. She turns her back to him, slipping one arm through a sleeve and lifting up her hair as she slips the other arm through.
If his fingers linger on the skin of her neck, just below the strap of her halter dress, and if her breath hitches in her throat in response, it’s anyone’s guess.
And they’re not about to start talking straight about their reactions to each other, not when they’ve been building obstacles between themselves with words practically since they met.
Annie turns back to face the table and busies herself with breaking a cookie into smaller pieces.
(Really, what is it about Greendale and unusually large cookies?)
“What are you doing out here?”
“Someone has to watch the money box till the Dean comes to lock it away in his office.” Annie fidgets and wipes her fingers on a napkin. “And Abed said he wanted to dance, so I said I’d spell him for a while.”
“So, everyone gets to enjoy your hard work, except you.”
“It’s not so bad.” Annie glances at him from the corner of her eye and smiles wryly. “It’s quiet out here.” She gestures to the cookie. “I get personalized service.” She turns to look at him, resting her arm along the back of her folding chair. “And I get interesting conversation.”
“Really?” Jeff turns to face her, mimicking her pose and conscious of where her knee is brushing his. “Me?”
“Actually, I meant me.” Annie widens her eyes dramatically and plasters a crazy grin on her face. “The voices in my head are fascinating.”
“Funny.” Jeff shakes his head, watching as she glances back at the table and raises a cookie fragment to her lips. He knows he’s staring, but it’s quiet enough and he’s comfortable enough with where they are to not be bothered by it. He finds himself fascinated watching her chew and swallow, and that’s why he sees it.
A single, small grain of sugar, clinging to the edge of her bottom lip.
Without thinking, Jeff reaches up and wipes it from Annie’s mouth with his thumb, flicking it off toward the floor. He feels her gaze on his face the same way he feels the disturbance of the air from her breath. Looking up, the mixed confusion and unadulterated want scatter the thoughts he was trying to put in order.
Jeff leans forward and wraps his hand around the back of Annie’s neck, pressing his mouth to hers, as his thumb brushes the short hairs at the nape of her neck.
It’s not a first kiss; Annie had the honor of initiating that one.
And it’s not an exploratory kiss – outside the Tranny Dance, leaning into each other and learning that a quick, darting touch of his tongue to the middle of her top lip will open her mouth and produce this strangely alluring hiccoughing noise in the back of her throat, which will, in turn, make him respond with a groan – taught him the particulars of angle and pressure and length.
But it is a decisive kiss: It says that the time for talking at cross purposes, for resorting to head pats and hugs, for walking away is past. If he’s honest – which he’s usually not – and if he’s thoughtful – which he practically never is – Jeff knows it is a first kiss, in a way.
It’s the first time he kisses her the way he’ll kiss her every time from now on.
When he pulls back, sliding his hand around to cup her cheek and opening his eyes to look at her, it’s almost too much: Her cheeks are pink and warm, her lashes are dark against her skin and her lips are parted and wet.
“Annie.” Jeff smiles softly as her eyes slowly open. She stares back at him for a long moment, her tongue darting out to sweep along her bottom lip.
He’s pretty sure if she hadn’t done that he would’ve noticed her reaching for her clutch, her hand bracing against the back of the chair, the switch in her eyes from ‘take me home’ to ‘oh shit.’
As it is, when she stands, knocking against the table, and backs away from him, Jeff is too stunned to speak. Annie shakes her head and turns away, her heels clicking a heartbeat staccato against the linoleum as she runs.
Scratch that: As she flees.
***
Then came fall, babe, and we fell hard/ Bruised our bodies, skinned our knees and our hearts
***
Rain strikes against window panes with quiet pings.
The only other sound in the room is Annie’s breathing, fast and harsh, and a rustle as Jeff drops her blouse on the floor.
She is too keyed up to sit still, arching without rhythm against him as he presses her down to the tabletop with the weight of his own body.
He is too impatient to understand how clothing works, nearly tearing the rivet on her skirt free as he pulls back to wrestle the garment from her.
Impatience is contagious: She raises her torso enough to reach back and pop the clasp on her bra, shrugging it off and falling back against the cold laminate with a huff and a shudder.
Distraction is catching, too: Skirt defeated, he leaves off shedding his own pants to explore the hollows of her collar bone and the smoothness of the skin stretched over her ribs.
She is immune: Her head is bent back at an angle uncomfortable at any other moment, has been since the moment his lips pressed against the skin of her breast, his scruff a shock of sensation against the warm, slightly damp patch left when he moves – but her hands still manage to find his fly.
His hands drag down her sides, curling as they raise gooseflesh in a band at her waist, hooking into the waist of her panties and dragging them down. His lips follow his fingers, with the exception of a detour to blow a raspberry against her navel just to see her squirm when he realizes she’s ticklish.
She squirms. She also smacks his shoulder and laughs breathless and leans up on her elbows, staring at him as he clears her feet and tosses them over his shoulder, somewhere in the vicinity of his stove. (She takes a moment to congratulate herself on remembering to turn off the burner when she’d made a cup of coffee and settled down to wait for him. Just a moment: Her attention is required elsewhere.)
He likes to defy expectations: He doesn’t kiss the inside of her leg from ankle to thigh. He doesn’t go straight for the kill. He doesn’t tease her.
He starts with a kiss to the crease where her thigh meets her abdomen.
She swallows her lingering discomfort – she’s not used to this yet – and lays back, her fingers curled into a claw on his shoulder, tightening enough to leave bruises when she loses the ability to care for a moment, her heart thudding in her throat and her vision unfocused.
She tugs on his arm, urging him to lean over her again, still as restless, as impatient, as easily distracted. (My, but he does have nice arms.)
He wants to be careful: She wants him to get on with it.
There is a time and a place for foreplay, and they’ve had nearly two years of it now.
When he presses into her, her legs wrapping around his back and her ankles locked, his palms flat against the table on either side of her head, her ass hanging off the edge a little, the pounding of their hearts slows for a moment.
She can hear other things now: The fridge whirs as it cycles on and off. There is a clock, somewhere, ticking. Tires on the wet pavement of the parking lot out front swish.
The tempo of the pulse in her temple slows and quickens, building to a near-constant thrumming of her blood coursing beneath her skin.
Minutes or hours later – he’s lost track – the beating of his heart slows.
Rain strikes against window panes with quiet pings. The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing, not exactly at the same time but overlapping.
“Come to bed.”
“OK.”
***
You’re driving me crazy/ When are you coming home?
***
Jeff drums his fingers against his notebook in annoyance, staring straight ahead as the rest of the study group stands and leaves for class.
“Jeff.” Annie’s tone is more conciliatory than pleading, which only grates further. She sighs and the rustle of fabric against fabric is the first indicator she’s moved into the empty seat next to his. “C’mon, Jeff. Look at me.”
He turns his head to look at her and shoots to his feet when he sees the fluttering lashes and trembling lower lip.
“No.”
“Jeff.” The expression is gone and now she is exasperated. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“No!” He points at her. “Don’t even try to use that expression on me!” He crosses his arms and steps away from the table. “And don’t tell me it’s not a big deal.” He lifts his chin defiantly. “It is a big deal.”
“It’s just a class, Jeff.”
“I don’t want to take it.” He resists the urge to stamp his foot and watches as she stares at him for a minute before standing and collecting her books. She tucks them under one arm and pushes her chair in, crossing to stand in front of him.
“That’s too bad. You agreed to abide by the group’s vote, and we all voted to take this class.”
“That’s another thing.” Jeff drops his arms and gestures between them. “Where’s the loyalty, huh? Where’s the vote of solidarity?”
“It’s a good class.”
“Dammit, Annie, Uruguay agreed with the U.S. about everything.”
“The United States is, despite all major economic indicators, still considered a major world power.” She tilted her chin up. “It does not have to pander to every whim of smaller allied nations.”
“Annie.” Jeff sighs. “What about, y’know?” He gestures between them again. “What about the air ducts?” He frowns when she looks at him blankly. “What about your birthday? The dance?” He steps forward and leans down to speak quietly. “What about, y’know-” He scrunches his forehead and gives her a pointed look. “Y’know, what about the kitchen?” He watches as she simply raises a brow in response.
“That’s your entire argument?”
“Yes?”
“I see.” Annie squared her shoulders and stepped forward so they stood toe to toe. “You said you would take it if the rest of us voted to take it. We did that. We are all going to take this class. Man up, Winger.”
“Wait a minute.” Jeff’s forehead smoothed and he scratched at the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to get formidable with me?”
“Is it working?” Annie’s imperious gaze was belied by the smile pulling at the corners of her lips.
“Might be.” Jeff leaned down and kissed her quickly. “Can I request that you be my partner if we have any projects?”
“I think the U.S. would agree to that, for the mutual benefit of both nations.”
“Good.” Jeff stepped around her and picked up his notebook, then turned and looped an arm around Annie’s waist as they exited the study room.
“Jeff.”
“Mmm-yeah?”
“The kitchen was fun. But you really should hold onto that one for big arguments, not this stuff.” Annie paused, thumping Jeff on the back as he made a strangled noise and coughed. “Especially if you want to do that again.”
***
