alwaysright | 31 October 2007

Shrill blares pierced Amber’s mind, tearing her from absolute unconsciousness. At first she didn’t even know what to make of it, what the fuck it could be, and what the fuck she herself was to be bothered by it. Instinctively she threw an arm out, fumbling, finding by sound only. Her hand wrapped around an object, squeezed it; by pure habit her thumb pressed down on the snooze button, and once the noise was gone, she retracted, coiling her arm into her chest, curling into herself.

It was impossible to ignore what was out of her, though. Sunlight insisted its way through the curtains, through her eyelids. Amber groaned, covering her arm with her eyes. Why. Her head hurt. Her eyelids felt huge, her mouth, foul. She ached everywhere, shoulders, back, thighs, ass-- even her vagina was sore. Like she’d overexerted herself.

Or, Amber realized, feeling the heat near her, like she’d overdone the fucking. Pieces came back to her: the crying (oh, god, the crying, why, no wonder her head throbbed), the “baby,” letting Eric—- she flushed. Was surprised by another wave, soft, almost undetectable, of pleasure, as if she were still riding the aftershocks. Amber groaned, covering her face. Sat up, closing her thighs together. Inside, she could feel the memory of his shape, even if she hadn’t been very aware of much at the time.

It was light, too light for when she should be waking up on a weekday. Why? Amber opened her eyes blearily, glanced at the clock. Seven. The time she’d set it for, on Sunday, the last time she’d set her alarm. She hadn’t come home last night, fucking, again, Eric, in his own apartment. “Fuck,” she said, and sprang out of bed, fully alert, trained from years of being on call. “Eric, wake up,” she called out, heading for the bathroom. “I set the alarm too late, we've got no time.” They’d have just about enough time to clean up, get dressed, and maybe grab food to eat on the way. Why did this keep happening? Amber normally woke up well, not brain-dead, spent her morning before work relaxed. It seemed that she always woke up confused, after fucking him. She left the bathroom door open; they wouldn’t have time for separate showers.

Threaded | Flat

Foreman had already been half-awake before the alarm went off. He'd gotten a full night's sleep, and his dreams had gradually faded out as he became aware that he was lying next to Amber, that she'd barely rolled away from him in the night, and that he was vaguely achy from sleeping so deeply that he hadn't moved much in the night. He was too warm and comfortable to get up, but perfectly alert, when Amber slapped the alarm off and called his name.

He opened his eyes, blinking after her long enough to watch her head to the bathroom. The time--yeah, they'd be cutting it close, but he wasn't hampered like Amber was, washing and drying her hair and doing her makeup. He had a few minutes longer.

Sitting up, Foreman swung a his feet over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes clear of sleep and letting out a spine-cracking yawn. He stood up and--shit. Stepped on the used condom. Cold and slick. Disgusting, but--Foreman chuckled quietly at himself--he knew he would, last night, when he hadn't bothered doing anything about it. He found a garbage can and tossed it in. All his clothes were in the living room, so he'd be walking through Amber's apartment naked. Good thing he'd checked that the curtains were closed last night.

For the moment, he dropped down to the only open space in Amber's bedroom and did thirty quick push-ups, and then the same of crunches. He hadn't been to the gym since the weekend and he wanted to get of the sluggish feeling. Once he'd worked up a bit of sweat, he padded out to the living room, double-checking that he wouldn't be giving any passers-by the surprise of a lifetime, and grabbed his sports bag. God, a toothbrush. Deodorant, cologne, no time for a proper shave though. Usually he could skip a few days without coming out at the end looking like House, so that was fine. He took the bag, and his suit, back to the bedroom, and then went to knock on the bathroom door. Finding it open, he stepped inside, where the air was steamy and moist. "Morning," he said, with a completely satisfied grin at Amber's shadow through the shower curtain. Tugging it open, careful not to let the shower spray on the floor, Foreman stepped in behind her.

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