Like Ships

[acontrollist]

The apartment is empty when Rachel walks in. Not that she expects anything different. They've been married for a little more than a month, but since their honeymoon, she's actually gotten to spend time with Noah that wasn't just the two fo them sleeping next to each other or shoveling takeout into their mouths before they passed out maybe a grand total of 3 times. 4, if you count the quickie on the couch, which Rachel doesn't really, since she's pretty sure she was asleep before he even pulled out and she's not sure she would have remembered it happened at all the next day if there hadn't been that bruise on her ribs.

Needless to say, the whole baby thing? Hasn't happened. She was ovulating last week and didn't get to see him at all (she woke up halfway when he got into bed, and then again when he got out to go back to work) those days. Rachel's frustrated to say the least and she kicks her shoes hard into the back of their closet, grumbling to herself.

Comments

[but_idontlie]

One hazel eye cracks open, and his bones stretch beneath his skin as the tiniest of yawns escapes. Bet you can. But she's really fucking sleepy, shivering against him even as she eases down to cuddle against his chest. One arm flings to the side, fumbling and knocking a few things off the beside table on his side [no, he can't see what fell] before he grasps his phone and draws his hand back to the bed. "Use mine, call in," he mutters. They're five breaths from just passing out here and sleeping until the Second Coming. [He'd say it was the First Coming, 'cause they're Jewtastic and all, but the First Coming was a few minutes ago... so, Second Coming is probably more accurate.]

"Seriously," he yawns again, gathering her hair in one hand and dropping it over one shoulder as he hugs her closer, "if you wake up first and I'm good to go, climb on. That was so fuckin' good. I don't wanna lose time with bullshit if I only got you 'til the show." They both know that she'll come off that performance high fucking fast, and be borderline limp in his arms by the time they reach their apartment once more, good for nothing but bed. [Maybe a glass of wine, but definitely bed.] "Best make-up sex ever," he decides, even if that's not completely what it was. [Absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder sex? Hopeful baby-making sex? Wake-my-girl-up-'cause-she's-so-hot sex? Jealousy sex? Dammit, he needs to leave a mark in some random place that'll be covered during the show, just so that fucker can see it and remember.]