The Question (Story 0004)
When: 09/21/2026
HerAs I swim my morning laps my mind is wandering. I love this time in the pool. Alone with my thoughts. The muffled noises when my ears are underwater. The morning sun hitting the water. It is one of the nice perks of staying over at your place. I am thinking about that stupid argument from last night. I'm right of course, but I kind of want to make up. I don't like it when we fight. The fight feels stupid now, while I am in the water, away from the heat. I can barely remember what I was even mad about, but I remember the way your voice sounded right before I walked away. I remember the echo of the door slamming, I hate that I left it like that.
I have been wanting to ask you the question for months, now with the fight last night, it is unasked again. It has been lingering in my mind, circling around and around. I stop at the edge of the pool, arms folded on the tile, chin resting on my hands. The water drips off my shoulders and the morning sun is just starting to warm the back of my neck. Just floating there thinking about how stupid it is. How I'd rather be in bed with you right now, your arm heavy across my hip, instead of out here "being right." Kissing your lips, caressing your face, looking into your eyes. Finally building up the courage to ask the question.
I fight the temptation to get out of the water, I resign myself to finishing my normal laps. One more set to go before I head in. I keep replaying that last echoing door slam as I paddle. Finally, I've finished my normal lap count and climb out. It's a little chilly now, and I left my towel at the far end. I'm scampering over, shivering slightly to get warm. Thinking about being back in bed with your body heat refreshing my own warmth. The concrete is cold under my bare feet and the air bites at my wet skin. I half-jog, arms crossed over my chest, dripping a trail behind me. The towel feels like heaven when I finally wrap it around myself, but it's not enough. What I really want is you. That penetrating warmth of your body in our bed, the way you pull me in without even waking up, just instinct. Like your body knows mine even when your brain is still dreaming.
I dry off quickly, not caring about my hair, and head inside through the sliding glass door. Your house is quiet. That almost oppressive morning quiet, and the bedroom door is still half-closed from when I left it. The anticipation of making up right now is almost electric on my skin, I've been thinking about it for 20 laps. I open the door and step inside to see the bed is empty. Now I am fuming, you left for work while I was taking that last set of laps. You are not here; we can't make up and I can't ask the question. I grab my phone and video call you to make up with you, and most importantly to tell you to get your ass back home and in this bed.
The towel is still damp against my thighs while the video call is ringing, my leg is shaking, I'm antsy about this call. 'Are you still mad at me?' It rings twice, 'Are you also thinking about the fight?' Three times. 'Are we going to be talking about this for a long time?' I'm sitting on the edge of our bed, the sheets still tangled from where you kicked them off, the pillow still holding the shape of your head. The room smells like you, pool chlorine, and the argument we never finished. You answer and I can tell instantly you have no idea.
You're in your truck, seatbelt across your chest, morning sun slicing through the windshield. Water bottle in one hand, like it's just another day. "Hey babe, did you see the cinnamon roll I left you?" Your voice is easy, relaxed. You haven't looked at the screen yet. When you stop at a light you do. Your eyes find mine and I watch the confusion land. The wet hair. The towel. The way I'm sitting on our bed, alone, with a look on my face you can't quite read yet. "Turn around," I demand. You glance at the road. "What? I'm almost--" "I don't care where you almost are."
I shift just enough to make the towel slip a half-inch down my shoulder. Just enough, "You left. Without saying goodbye to me. Without finishing what we started last night." I pause, letting the quiet stretch. "And now I'm in our bed. Cold. Wet. And really, really over being mad." Your voice was so casual when you answered, it almost makes me angrier. You just said 'Hey babe.' Like you didn't leave me in an empty bed, like the fight was nothing, like I'm just part of your morning routine between a breakfast cinnamon roll and the interstate.
I watch your face on my screen, waiting for when the meaning clicks in your brain. The wet hair. The towel. The fact that I'm video calling you from our bedroom at 7 am instead of texting like I normally do. With frustration, now I say, "You really don't know, do you." It's not a question. You glance at the screen again. Your brow does that little furrow thing. The one you do when you're trying to figure out if you're in trouble or if this is something else.
I uncross my legs. Slowly. Let the towel shift. Let you see exactly what you left behind. "I've been thinking about you since I hit the water. About last night, about the door slam, about all the things I should have said instead of walking away," I bite my bottom lip, "And now you're in your truck, driving away from me! While I'm sitting here, still wet, still cold, still ..." I let the word hang, "... unfinished!" I yell.
"Why are you wet and cold?" you ask, "Get in the shower and warm up." Now I am even more frustrated, 'Is he really that clueless' I think to myself.
"I am wet, and I don't mean my hair!" I exclaim.
"Ohhhh," you say, as it dawns on you finally. "I'm sorry babe, I have that new contract starting today. I have to do the site survey to see if they have enough rack space for the servers they ordered. Or if they need to buy another rack to house it all," you explain. My frustration level hits the roof now. You are clueless, and it seems you are saying you won't come back to me this instant.
I stare at my phone screen, watching you talk about rack space and server specs like I didn't just say I was "wet." 'Not wet-hair wet. Wet, for you!' Not mad anymore. Something quieter. My voice cuts through your work talk, "I'm sitting on our bed in a towel. I was in the pool thinking about your hands. About last night. About how I should have pulled you back instead of slamming that door." I stand up. The camera stays pointed at my face for one more second. Then I tilt it down. Just enough. The towel hits the floor. You can't see everything, but you can see enough.
"I'm not getting in the shower. I'm not warming up, and I'm not waiting until tonight," I say. I climb onto the bed, on my knees, facing the camera. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to give that site survey to someone else. And you're going to come home. Now." I let the camera drift lower. Just a little. "Because I've been thinking about you since before my swim at 6 am, and I am done just thinking."
"Ok baby girl I will get someone else to go today, but I will l need some time to set it up. Plus I will need to talk to the client about it as well. It is a new contract I can't just 'not show up'!" you reply. As you drone on about the details of what it takes to arrange work things I point the phone down. I then reach between my legs. You are still driving and not looking at the screen, but I know you will eventually. My desire has gotten the better of me, I have to touch myself right now. I need to put on a little show for you, to draw you back to me. Finally, you glance down. "Oh shit! Don't do that to me, I'm going to crash!" you exclaim. I hear the tires crunch onto the shoulder before I see the background change. No more windshield glare. Just stillness, you are parked.
You're watching my little show now. I have your full attention. My fingers slow down. Not because I'm shy. Because I want you to see. The fight is still somewhere in the room with me. In the chlorine smell on my skin. In the way the sheets still smell like you, but right now, with your eyes on me through this tiny screen, none of that matters.
I need you to see what you walked away from. Not to punish you. To pull you back. My breath catches. My eyes stay on the camera, on you. "I've been thinking about you since 6 am." My voice is softer now. Not the command from before. Something more honest. "I should have pulled you back into bed last night. I should have--" I stop. My hand stops too. Just for a second. Because this isn't about the show anymore. "I just needed to feel connected to you. Even like this. Even if it means it takes you five more minutes to get home to me."
I lean closer to the camera, my face filling the frame. "So. Are you coming home, or do I keep going until you do?" The silence after I ask, is the longest three seconds of my morning. I'm still on my knees on our bed, phone in one hand, the other still resting on my thigh. Waiting. The camera is showing my face, I pulled it back up because this part isn't about the show. It's about your answer. Your mouth opens. I watch your mouth forming the first syllable, and I realize I'm holding my breath.
I'm still holding my breath, I haven't moved. Still on my knees. Still waiting. Your mouth open. You're about to say something. "Of course I am coming home, but maybe you should finish now. I want to talk to you, hold you, to make up with you. I don't want it to just be makeup sex, I don't want your desire to get mixed up in the make up. I need you in my life always. I don't want you to ever think I am ignoring or dismissing your feelings. I am so sorry you went through that this morning. I did leave you a cinnamon roll in the kitchen. It was the last one, and I intentionally left it for you. I will pick up more after dinner," you reply.
Little do I know you are thinking to yourself 'Does the cinnamon roll even matter right now, what am I talking to her about right now? Does she even care that I am the guy who left the last cinnamon roll for her, even when we are fighting?' At the same time you're thinking about the cinnamon roll, I'm thinking 'The logistics aren't a punchline, they're the point. You're not deflecting with "pick up after dinner," you're already planning tomorrow. Already thinking about what comes after the make up. That's a man who's not just sorry, he's committed. The last roll is the apology, the restock is the promise.'
While we are thinking about very different things, the screen is still open between us. You're pulled over somewhere, I can see the light reflecting off the dashboard catching the edge of your jaw, the way your chest moves when you breathe. You're still watching, waiting. I'm still on my knees, still in the aftermath of the fight, but my hand isn't shaking anymore. It's steady now. I don't look away from you. Not once. I can't say it, but I will show you it is not over for us. I shift the camera angle back down. My fingers move exactly the way I know you like, slow at first, then faster when I see your expression shift. I can see it happening. The way your lips part as my lips part, making space for my fingers. The way you forget to blink.
I'm not performing. I'm giving you something. The fight is still somewhere in the room with me, but it's quieter now, drowned out by the sound of my own breathing and the tiny hitch in your breathing. Still looking into your eyes, I am really getting into it. I know you want to see me cum, want to know that the fight is behind me, so we can make up right when you get home. I am playing with my clit now. Breathing hard now, sucking in the chlorine, the fight, our combined smell from the messy bed.
I take it all in as I reach my climax showing you exactly why you need to be home right now. When I finish, I don't collapse. I just, exhale. A long, shaky thing that I didn't know I'd been holding since this morning. I release everything I just took in, including that pent-up energy. My legs are trembling, but my chest feels lighter. Like something let go. "Okay," I whisper. Not to you, more to myself. Then I just end the video call and the bedroom goes quiet.
The candles are in the drawer under the bathroom sink. I know because I put them there six months ago after the last time I tried to be romantic and burned myself on the wax. There are three boxes of them. One's lavender, too obvious. One's vanilla, too basic. The third one is unscented, I've never used them. I always thought, 'What's the point of a candle that doesn't smell like anything'. Then I choose three of the unscented ones. It feels like there is enough floating around in the air right now without adding anything else to it. The house looks different in candlelight. Softer. The mess from this morning, the blanket I threw, the mug I left on the counter, doesn't look like anger to me anymore. It just looks lived in.
I change into the shirt you left out from last night. The gray one. It still smells like you, or maybe I'm imagining that. I sit on the couch and stare at the door. I realize I have no idea what I'm going to say when you walk through it, but I know I'm going to kiss you first. Before words, before anything. The candles flicker. Somewhere on the highway, you're gripping the steering wheel rushing home.
Him
We hang up the phone, and I am befuddled. I need to get home and make up with my girlfriend, but I also don't want to lose this new client. I have to call Fred to do the site survey, I better do that first. 'Wait, should I stop and get flowers? Where would I even stop between here and home to get flowers?' I dial Fred on Bluetooth as I put the truck in drive again and start heading home. It feels like the phone is ringing forever, Fred picks up on ring 4 just before voice mail. We go over the details and I get him going on the project.
Next I have to call the client. 'Should I pick up cinnamon rolls instead of flowers? Would that be more meaningful to her? It could turn unto a cute 'thing' for us. Cinnamon rolls representing making up?' The client answers and I explain about the change in plans, family issue. I also assure them I will come by later today and verify the work, but Fred will be there this morning. They understand, I think. Always hard to tell with a new client. I'm getting close to home now. I stop at a gas station convenience store and buy a single rose and a cheap 2-pack of cinnamon rolls. I can't wait to see you.
As I pull into the driveway my heart is racing. It is not just about having watched you a few minutes ago with your legs spread. I am excited to make up with you and continue our lives together. I go to jump out of the truck, damn it, seat belt. Untangle myself and get out. Wait, where is the rose and cinnamon rolls. Damn it, I left them on the passenger seat. I open the door back up and grab them.
Now I am rushing headlong to the front porch stairs up to the house. I take a misstep and slam my shin on the second step. "Ouch! Mother Fucker that hurts." I need a minute, I can't move. I sit there rubbing the pain, and taking my time. It feels like forever, but it is only about 5 minutes. Ok slow and steady now. I restart the climb, much more deliberately this time. I am standing at the front door. I go to open it. It is locked. 'What the hell! Where are my keys.' I slide the key into the lock to open the door.
Her
I hear his truck pull up. I hear him on the steps outside. My shoulders drop, my jaw relaxes, my frown clears. I didn't realize I'd been clenched until I just let it go. I stand up too fast. The candlelight wobbles, throwing wild shadows across the walls. For a second, I think about blowing them out. Maybe three unscented candles is weird. 'Maybe this whole thing is weird. Maybe he'll walk in and see me in his gray shirt sitting in the dark and think I've lost my mind,' but I don't blow them out. I just stand there frozen, anxious, anticipating what is next.
The door does not open, I'm annoyed now, 'What is taking him so long?' Standing here in my bare feet on the cold floor, heart in my throat. I hear the door bump, but it still does not open. 'What is taking him so long?' The sound of the key is so small. Just a little metal on metal sound, but my whole body hears it. Finally, the lock clicks. The door opens. I don't know you've brought anything. I don't know about the rose or the cinnamon rolls. I don't know about the bruise forming on your shin. I don't know any of that yet, I just know you're here!
Him
The front door finally swings open, but it is totally blocking my view of you by the couch. I swing the door closed as I rush blindly towards the bedroom, right past you. After all I can't see you by the couch, and you were in the bedroom the last time I saw you on the phone. I hit the bedroom door and see the bed is empty.
Her
The candle flames flicker wildly again from the draft of the door swinging open, and I watch you move past me. Not past me, through me, like I'm not even here. You're heading for the bedroom. My mouth opens and nothing comes out. I'm standing in your gray shirt in the dark with three unscented candles, and you didn't even see me.
Him
I swing around seeking my heart. Halfway through my turn I see you. Our eyes meet, and I fall into you. I can feel your heart racing even from across the room. You can't believe I just walked right past you, then as I turn so does the brief disappointment. As our eyes meet you feel joy welling up inside you.
Her
The hurt lands before the logic does. Just a flash of it, sharp and cold in my chest. Then you stop, swinging around. Your eyes find mine across the room and the hurt evaporates, just gone, like it was never there. You fall into me. That's the word. Fall. Like gravity finally pulled you home.
Him
Now we are embraced in each other's arms. Kissing like it was the first time all over again. The over-sized gray shirt bunching up when you lift your arms to wrap them around my neck. We are lost in the moment, in each other.
Her
My arms go up around your neck and the shirt rides up my thighs, your hands on my hips, my back, pulling me in. We kiss like the fight never happened. Like we've been drowning and just broke surface.
Him
It will all work out, we feel it now. As we separate, I present you with the rose, keeping the cinnamon rolls behind my back. "You're so sweet, but what took you so long?" you ask. "I'm sorry baby girl, I thought you should have this now and not have to wait," I say, bringing the cinnamon rolls out and presenting them to you.
Her
When we separate, the rose appears. You stopped somewhere? Then the cinnamon rolls. I can't help it, I laugh. Not at him. At everything. At the candles, and the gray shirt, and the fact that he stopped at a gas station. 'You're so sweet,' I say, and I mean it, 'but what took you so long?'
Him
I start to tell you about the drive home. You want to listen, but that slight rubbing on your thighs from my shirt when you reached up has turned you on again. Now it is a little hard to focus. "And then I tried to get out of the truck and forgot my seat belt," Oops. You just realize you missed part of the story. You refocus. I continue with the comedy of errors as I am trying to rush home which just slows everything down in the end. As you listen to me talk about the stairs and the 5 minutes sitting there you are thinking back to the couch at that same moment.
You were standing there doubting yourself and worried I had changed my mind, all the time I was just a few feet away. We are a little giddy at the silly story now, both laughing and kissing while I tell it. It is time to make up with you in full. I pull you up into my arms, my hands on the back of your thighs holding you in the air. Your legs wrap around me, your arms still cradling my neck. I carry you into the bedroom and sit on the bed, you slide your legs to the sides, so you are straddling me.
Her
I settle onto you, my knees pressed into the mattress on either side of your hips, and for a moment I just look down at you. Your hands find my thighs, the gray shirt still bunched there. I wonder if you can feel how warm I am through the fabric. I want to say something clever, something that matches the laughter from a minute ago, but the laughing part of my brain has gone quiet. There's just the power of you under me, solid and real, and the slow realization that I don't have to rush anymore. You're here.
You didn't leave. I lean down and kiss you, slower than before. The door-kiss was desperate, proof of life. This one is something else: a question I already know the answer to. Your hands slide up from my thighs to my hips. I let myself press down against you, just enough so I can feel what I'm doing to you. The "Mm-mm" sound you make, I want to bottle it. I sit back up, reach for the hem of the shirt. Your shirt, still hanging off my shoulders, and pull it over my head.
Him
Leaning back creates a space between us, as you are reaching down to pull off my shirt, it raises the anticipation for me. You want me right now, the fight a distance memory. You pull the shirt off over your head. The air in the room is cool on your skin, and I watch your face as you watch me. You want me to see all of it. I take in your creamy supple skin, my eyes feasting on it, devouring it. I am so hungry for it, I'm holding my breath in anticipation. I need you now, you have drawn every bit of my focus. 'I need to get my pants off!'
Her
I watch you fumble with your belt, and it's almost funny, the way your fingers can't quite work the buckle fast enough. You've been patient all day and now suddenly you can't spare three seconds. I reach down and help, my hands over yours. Sliding the leather free, popping the button, pulling the zipper down. You lift your hips and I push the fabric down your thighs, and then it's just us, skin and heat and the quiet rush of breath between us. I settle back onto your lap, and you look at me, really look at me. The way someone looks at the surface of water after fighting their way up from the deep.
Your eyes move across my neck, my breasts, my stomach, and I see it happen: you stop breathing. Just for a moment. The same man who's been drowning in the fight overnight is drowning again, but this time drowning in me. This time it's not loss, it's arrival. Your chest stills, and I wait. When you finally exhale it comes out ragged, like you forgot how. "Breathe," I whisper, and it's maybe the gentlest thing I've ever said to anyone. You breathe.
The air in the room is cool on my skin, and I look into your eyes as you watch me. I want you to see everything. The doubt I carried on the couch, the fear that you'd changed your mind, the hours of regret. I want you to watch all of it burn off in the heat between us now. My hand finds your chest, fingers spread, feeling your heartbeat under my palm. "You're really here," I say, and it's not a question. Then I lift my hips, reach down between us, and guide you in, slow, deliberate, my eyes locked on yours the whole way down.
The first stroke undoes something in me. I feel it behind my eyes, a pressure that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with release. Hours of holding my breath, and now I'm breathing you in instead of air. I move slow at first, not teasing, just feeling. The way you fill me, the way my body adjusts around you like it's been waiting for exactly this shape, this weight, this particular kind of fullness. Your hands find my hips and I let you guide me, but only a little. This part is mine. I rise and fall finding a rhythm that's not the frantic grab of the door-kiss. Not the desperate proof-of-life we started with. This is slower and deeper. The kind of sex that knows it has all night. The kind that wants to memorize, not just consume.
"You feel that?" I whisper, and I don't know if I mean the way I'm moving, the way my pulse is drumming against my ribs, you inside me, or the radiant heat building between us. "That's what I was so scared of. This-- Feeling this much. I can't lose us." I can handle wanting you. Wanting is easy, wanting is surface-level, but this-- The way my chest aches when you look up at me. Like I'm the first solid thing you've touched in days, this is something else. This is the deep water. I lean forward, my hair falling around your face like a curtain, and kiss you. Open-mouthed, unguarded, the kind of kiss that doesn't ask permission.
My hips pick up speed, not because I'm chasing the finish but because I'm chasing you, all of you. The parts you've been keeping behind your eyes, the parts that went quiet during those hours after the fight. Your hand slides up my spine and into my hair, and the pull is gentle but deliberate, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. Your kiss on my skin. I gasp. The sound is sexy and real. Letting you know what you're doing to me. You are talking to me now, "I thought about this." The words coming out ragged between strokes. "The whole drive back. I could see your face in my mind. It felt like I was underwater. Swimming against the current. Struggling to get back to you."
I press down harder, deeper, and the sound you make goes straight through me. I need to respond, "I've been drowning too, I just didn't know how to say it." The rhythm changes. Less controlled now, more need than anything. My thighs are shaking, my breath is stuttering, and I'm saying your name like it's the only word I remember. Everything fades out, and my focus narrows down to just this: the slide of skin, the heat where we join, the way you're looking into my eyes. It is like I'm the answer to a question you stopped asking years ago. I'm close, I'm so close, but I don't want to get there alone. "With me," I manage, my voice cracking on the second word. "Stay with me."
Him
As your orgasm is unleashed it rolls over you, bouncing off your edges like the waves in the pool this morning. I have pulled you into me, sitting up with my face buried in your chest. Your beautiful skin touching my cheeks your smell filling my breath with new life. I gulp in huge lungfuls of you while those waves of passion bounce around inside of you. As the waves fade you lean into me kissing me with the passion that just consumed you. I feel that heat, that need, just belonging here in your arms.
I am lifting you up again as I did when I carried you into the bedroom. Turning us around I lay you down on your back. I take this moment to strip off the rest of my clothes. You are enjoying the mini show as I did when you removed my gray shirt earlier. Now I go down on you. Pressing my lips to your clit while you moan my name. It is my turn to push that breath of life back into you, my tongue sliding over your skin as you feel your heat rising again so soon.
Her
I feel the second wave building, because your mouth is on me, and I'm still trembling from the first one. My body doesn't know which orgasm it's riding anymore. But I don't want this one yet. Not like this. I want you behind me, wrapped around me, the weight of what we just did settling into something quieter. I reach down and pull you up by the shoulders. "Come here," I whisper, and it's not a command, it's a request. The kind you don't need to think about. You understand. You always understand. I turn onto my side, my back finding your chest like it's been shaped for this exact fit. Your arm slides under my neck, the other drapes over my hip. I can feel you still hard against my lower back, that patient pressure, not demanding, just present.
Him
I wrap my arm around your body, it lands naturally on your full breast. I am now in full contact with your whole body, but I sense you want the moment to last. So I just stay there, letting our bodies feel each other. Letting 'us' feel each other. I breathe in your ear "Are you ready sweetheart?" You let out a satisfied moan, the time we stayed locked together is satisfying. "Yes, I want to feel you again," you say.
I adjust the space so I can enter you, that little gap allows a rush of cold air in, you get a little shiver. Only partially from the cold air. Your skin is still cool from the shiver and I press myself against your back, my chest against your shoulder blades, one arm sliding down your waist. You stir a little but don't open your eyes. Your hand finds mine on your hip and squeezes. We are one now, our movement in sync like a water ballet. Every movement seems to come from one thought, one mind, one body.
It is almost like we don't even have bodies it is like we are just 2 breaths of air combining with each other. Equalizing and blending, there is nothing left now but 'us'. We start to increase the pace feeling each other's bodies, they read each other. The timing is perfect just as I explode inside of you, the splash of my seed sends waves of pleasure though your body one more time. As we lay there together you can feel the fight leave the room. It is almost like a door shutting behind us. You let out a satisfied sigh and start coming back to yourself.
Her
The sheets are damp under us. The room smells like sex, and us, and faintly of the chlorine still clinging to my skin from the pool. I'm facing the edge of the bed now. And there it is, the crumpled bathing suit on the floor. Still damp, still holding the shape of a morning that feels like it happened to different people. The towel next to it, tangled and forgotten. It seems like a lifetime ago, was it really only 2 hours ago. I see the girl who put it on this morning. 'Standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap, checking herself from angles she already knows by heart. She was nervous and she didn't know why.
It was just a swim. Just a morning. Just another day in a life she'd built to be safe and manageable and hers. She had no idea the fight would feel like she was about to drown. She had no idea she was about to be pulled from the water by hands that would, hours later, be wrapped around her body like they'd been carved for the exact curve of her hip.' I think about reaching down and picking it up. Holding the damp fabric, pressing it to my face, breathing in the chlorine, the morning, and the person I was before all of this happened. But I don't. Because that girl isn't gone. She's still here, still me, just, rearranged. The pieces are the same, but someone has come along and shown me a different way to put them together. That someone is you.
The bathing suit can stay on the floor. It did its job. It carried me from that morning to this moment. From alone and breathless, to warm and satisfied. From the surface of the water to the deep end and back again. Behind me, your breathing has slowed. Your arm is heavy on my hip, just as I imagined when I exited the pool. I can feel your heartbeat against my back, that steady rhythm that half an hour ago was racing against my chest. I don't want to move, I don't want to break the spell.
I turn my head just enough to see your face, the stubble, the way the light from the window has shifted since we started. "Hey," I whisper. My voice is hoarse in a way that surprises me. I have wanted to ask him this for SO long it is almost painful at this point and now is finally the time to ask. "Can I ask you something?" You don't answer, maybe you are sleeping. Instead of waking you, I just keep the image of your face in my mind as I drift off to sleep with you.
I wake first. The question still burning in my mind. Now that the fight is over I need to ask you. The light through the window is bright now, late morning or early afternoon. You're still curled on your side, bare shoulder rising and falling. I don't wake you. I slide out of bed, pull on my jeans. When I walk out into the living room I see the 2-pack of cinnamon rolls sitting cockeyed between two couch cushions where you dropped it when hoisting me up into your arms.
I grab it and take it into the kitchen. I put each of them on a plate. Not even warming them up. When I come back to you in the bedroom, your eyes are open. Sleepy, squinting against the sun, and now watching me approach. "Hey," I hold up the plates grinning. "Do you want a cinnamon roll?" You blink. Still half in the dream. And then you smile. I know I should ask you the deeper question that is really on my mind, but what if you say "no"?
"Baby, I bought those for you," you set the plate I just handed you on the nightstand cinnamon roll untouched. "I want you to have it. I told you I will go pick up more after dinner". I eat my cinnamon roll while we talk out the fight. It does not really matter anymore, but we need to air it all out. The question still in the back of my mind. Did I miss my chance to ask you before we fell asleep? My plate joins yours on the night stand. We are done talking.
I watch you cross to the closet. You choose a light blue Oxford button-down. The one with the slightly frayed collar you keep meaning to replace. You lay it out to put on after your shower without looking at me. For a second the morning light catches the scar on your shoulder. The one from the remodel, that stupid attic beam. "You're staring," you say, still not looking at me. "I'm thinking," I reply. "About?" you ask. "Cinnamon rolls," I respond. You laugh, one short exhale. "Liar," you disappear into the bathroom. The shower runs.
By the time you come back you are dressed, hair damp, belt buckled, you notice the cinnamon roll still on the nightstand. "After dinner," you say. Pointing at the plate on the nightstand on your way to the dresser. "I'm picking up more. Don't let me forget." "I won't," I say. You put your keys, phone, and wallet in your pockets turning to go back to work. You pause in the bedroom doorway, your hand on the frame like you're about to turn around and say something real.
I can see you deciding. The math happening behind your eyes, the thing you actually want to say versus the thing that's easier. I recognize it because I've been doing the same math for 12 hours. "Lock the door when I leave," you finally say. "The door," I say lost in my own thoughts. Then I am brought back to the present when I hear the front door click shut, and the apartment goes quiet. On the nightstand the uneaten cinnamon roll sits next to the empty plate. Mirroring my mood. Half full from the makeup, half empty since I still haven't asked the question.
Him
I am driving to the data center again, this time I am not focused on the site survey, I am thinking about what you were going to ask before we fell asleep, but didn't. I heard you ask if I was up, but I didn't want to lose the moment we just had. 'What is on your mind? Why is it so hard to communicate?' Lost in thought, I arrive and park the truck. Before I know it I am signing in to the data center. I have about 30 min before the client arrives, I should be able to check Fred's work in that time.
When the client arrives I am a little frustrated Fred missed a lot of stuff, I am going to have to tell them they need a second rack. I know that's not what they want to hear, but if they want a 4U database server they just don't have the room for it. The client arrives, and we start talking, I am getting into the details with them and giving them some options. Again still with your question lingering in the back of my mind. It is running on its own loop trying to solve the unsolvable.
The client starts making choices, and I am taking notes. They are pretty happy actually, they don't love the second rack, but the 2 or 3 suggestions on how they can leverage the additional space and grow more easily in the future is making it worthwhile. When the client leaves I call Fred to talk about his work from this morning. He is a good guy he is just young and needs a little guidance. I also lay out the plan moving forward. I guess that is why I am the system architect and he is the junior developer.
Next I have to head back home to my home office to work on the final proposal and project schedule. I wonder if you will be ready to ask your question when I get home. When I get home around 2:30 pm you are on a call, sounds like it is about your car. I am so behind today I can't wait for you to hang up to kiss you hello, instead I head into my office getting right to work. It is almost 6 pm when I stumble out of my office ready for dinner.
Her
The afternoon stretches in a way mornings don't. Mornings have shape, alarm clocks, coffee, the sequence of getting someone out the door. Afternoons just pass more slowly. I stand in the kitchen for a full minute with the fridge open before realizing I'm not hungry. Close it, open the cabinet, close that too. The house is too quiet. Not in a bad way, just in a way that makes everything else feel loud. My bare feet on the hardwood, the ice maker dropping cubes, the neighbor's dog next door losing its mind at a delivery truck.
Checking my phone for about the hundredth time in 5 min, 2:23 pm seems like time has stopped. I guess I better call and check on the car. I took the day off to have it fixed, and I have not heard anything from them all day. When they answer they tell me they are still waiting on the parts to be delivered, they might have to keep it another day. This is not the news I wanted to hear, we talk about the other options for about 10 min, but it seems waiting on the parts is still the best one. That is inconvenient, I will have to go back to my place at some point, to get work clothes for tomorrow. I saw you come home and head to your office, the timing sucks that I'm on the phone and don't even get to kiss you hello.
The kitchen doesn't need cleaning, but I clean it anyway. Wiping down the counters that are already wiped. Loading the few plates and forks into the dishwasher. There really isn't anything else to clean. I find myself in the bedroom doorway. Not going in. Just standing. The bed is still unmade, sheets pulled back, the impression of your body already fading. The room still smells like your shampoo and something else, something I can't name and don't try to. It is the smell of the question still hanging there. Wedged in my mouth now, it had been sitting in my chest all day.
That's the part I haven't admitted to myself yet. If someone asked me the same question right now, standing in the doorway of a bedroom that smells like sex, and your shampoo, how would I answer it. I don't know. I see the empty plate and the untouched cinnamon roll side-by-side on the nightstand. Walking in to collect them. I cover the untouched cinnamon roll and leave it on the kitchen counter, I wash the empty plate by hand. Not because I need to, I could just drop it in the dishwasher. I clean it for something to do, while my mind is racing.
I can hear you typing in your office, I know you need to work, but it is infuriating to know you are just on the other side of the door and the question is living in this room with me. We still need to eat dinner though so I guess I will set the table. You do not deserve: anger, frustration, neglect? What am I feeling? Maybe it will feel better on a full stomach, maybe over dinner I will finally be able to ask the question.
Just then you walk out of your office, you are still in your work head, but the fog is clearing. You kiss me hello in the dining room while I'm setting the table, "Hi baby, how was your day? Did the car get fixed? I can give you a ride to pick it up in the morning if you need me to." "No the car still needs parts, can you give me a ride to and from work or should I get a ride-share?" I reply. You go into the kitchen for the first dinner patter. On the way back you reply, "No, I can take you. I'm working from home tomorrow. If you really want, you can just take my truck."
I go into the kitchen now, you forgot the serving spoon and there are still the dinner rolls to bring in. "Thank you, that is sweet. If you don't mind I will take your truck. It will save me a trip to my place tonight. I can go to my place in the morning to shower and put on work clothes, and then run errands over lunch," I say. Sitting down to eat dinner the table is all set now, you even put out 2 candles while I was in the kitchen. As we sit down I look into your eyes. I get 2 bites in and just can't eat. I am thinking way too much, I am just playing with my food, not eating. 'He really does not know I have been living with the question all day, he thinks the conversation after our nap has cleared it from my mind. Well he is not a mind reader, if I don't tell him how is he going to know.'
My voice cracks at the single word "Babe." It's quiet, haunting, yearning all in one word. You look up at me, "What's wrong?" you ask. "Well nothing is wrong, but--" How do I even continue? "I don't know. I am just stuck today." You stand up and walk over behind me, you are rubbing my shoulders it feels so good, to just feel your hands, to stop thinking while I take you in. I don't know what it is, but you just lit a fire inside me, suddenly dinner does not matter right now. Your hands on my shoulders and I'm gone. Whatever I was going to say, being stuck, the question, dinner, all of it dissolves the second your thumbs press into the knot between my shoulder blades. I let my head fall forward, and a sound escapes me, not a word, just air and want. "Right there?" you ask. Your voice is next to my ear now, not behind me. 'When did he lean down?' "Don't stop." I beg. You don't.
Your thumbs work the base of my neck, then your palms slide down over my shoulder blades, slow and deliberate, like you're memorizing the shape of me through my shirt. I reach back without thinking, my hand finding your thigh, warm through the denim. I dig my fingers in. That's when you turn me around. The chair scrapes the floor but neither of us looks down. Your hands are on my face now, thumbs along my jaw, tilting me up to you. You're reading my face, the way you always do, and I let you see it. The fire you just lit, the question that's been eating at me all day, the answer I don't have words for yet. So I show you instead. I stand up pressing into you, my hands sliding under your shirt, palms flat against your stomach. You're warm, and I want more of that warmth, all of it. You pull my shirt over my head in one motion and then your mouth is on my neck, and I'm already unbuttoning your jeans, my fingers clumsy with wanting.
"Bedroom," I manage, but you're already walking me backward, your mouth never leaving my skin, and I'm pulling you by the belt loops because I can't stand even an inch of space between us right now. We don't make it to the bed. You press me against the hallway wall and one of my legs wraps around you on instinct. One of your hands hooked under my leg the other hand slides between us. Finds me through my panties, and I gasp into your mouth. I'm already wet, have been since your hands touched my shoulders, and you feel it. "Fuck," you breathe. "Don't make me wait," I say. You are rubbing me through the fabric, it is soaked, and your fingers are getting wet too. I reach down and get your pants off while you're working on me and kissing me deeply. Pausing only to look into my eyes, both of us moaning in pleasure.
Finally, I get you out and pulling my panties aside you are finally inside of me. We fall into each other right there in the hall enveloped in our passion the rest of the world fading out. We are moving together feeling each other, the heat of our bodies raising the temperature in the hall. You turn me around, my chest against the cold wall my body heat raging war against the cold, you are pressed up against the whole back of my body it's like you don't want one inch of us not touching. You are so heavy against me, pressing inside me, it is pure, raw, sublime. I can't get enough. As we climax together we collapse to the floor in each other's arms just breathing in each other. When we recover we go into the bedroom now, making passionate love over and over, you are taking me in every way I can imagine. Spent, exhausted, and fully satisfied we fall asleep. The food is cold, and the candles are still burning on the dining room table.
I wake up, still blurry, it is still dark. You are lying next to me the smell of you still strong in the air, mixed with the smell of our sex. I am so hungry I think the growling from my stomach is what woke me up. I crane my neck to see the clock on the nightstand on your side of the bed, we knocked my clock over. It is after 2 am. I slide out of bed trying not to disturb you and head toward the kitchen.
Him
'What the fuck is she doing?' I wake up to clanging coming from the kitchen. 'Oh no, she is trying to cook something at ...' I crane my head to see it is after 2 am. 'She knows better, she was never any good at cooking in the middle of the night, she needs a plan to cook.' I get up throwing on my robe that is hanging on the hook on the back of the door. You are standing there by the stove in my button down shirt with a huge pan and 2 of the plates from the dining room.
"Babe, let me do that," I say. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and yawning as I talk. You spin around really fast, clutching at your chest. "You just scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim. "Sorry baby girl. I didn't mean to," I apologize. I walk up to you, taking the pan from you, lifting it over your head and setting it on the stove. This puts my chest in your face, you wrap your arms around me and kiss my bare skin where the robe is open. I drop my arms around you into an embrace, and you look up at me so I can kiss you. We stand there in each other's arms for a moment. Our bare skin is touching. My robe is mostly open, and you have only buttoned 3 buttons on the bottom of my shirt when you threw it on.
"Clear the rest of the table and bring it all in here I will get the food ready. Set the kitchen counter, we might as well eat in here now." I instruct. I am focused on the mess in front of me, getting the pans, food, plates and random spices you took out of the cabinet for some reason. 'We are just reheating dinner why does she think we need more spices?' I get everything in order and put in its place. As I am about to get going, I see the wrapped up cinnamon roll on the counter. I laugh to myself, I guess I did not get to the store after dinner to pick up more.
By this time you've brought in the rest of the food in and set up the kitchen counter with the plates and utensils. You are behind me wrapping your arms around me swaying as I reheat the food. It is nice, just being held sometimes. I twist a bit, holding out some pasta, "here taste this, be careful it is hot," I warn. You let go of me and slip under my arm, we are nuzzled together as you take the food in your mouth from my fingers, sucking them and licking off the sauce a little. "Oh it is like that now, huh?" I tease. "It is always like that with you, bear," you reply batting your eyes at me playfully as a joke.
We cook and taste and tease and play at the stove for the 20 min it takes to reheat the food. Talking and laughing. It is a wonderful little experience for us after leaving the dinner table in such a rush. Now we get to just enjoy us here in the kitchen. No rush, no fight, no question, just us. I re-plate the food, while I take it over to the counter, you hit the fridge and get us cold drinks. We could use some hydration. We are sitting side by side on the bar stools at the kitchen counter. Just eating in silence now. We were both so hungry. After a few minutes pass I see you playing with your food again. 'Oh no, she is going to try to ask "the question" again. I wonder if she will get it out this time?'
Author's note.
I hope readers will comment with what you think the question is or better yet, a question you struggled to ask sometime in your life. I really hope the community will get engaged with this story.
If you want to know what I had in mind for the question when I wrote the story please email me at:
to ask. I will try to answer all feedback within 24 hours.