Do me this honor

[very_sharpe]

Thomas planned a day. It isn't exactly their anniversary - that has come and gone - but he still wants to give Greta a lovely time. Brunch at a place they both like, followed by a matinee of a ballet performance and a walk through the park and maybe a little bit of leisurely but last minute Christmas shopping. Tea at the little cafe they had their first date.

All of it is to give Greta a day off, and more than that, to simply enjoy themselves together, not as parents or as people that needed to work. Sure, he's decided to make plans to take Saoire to see The Nutcracker now, especially since Greta thinks she'll enjoy it. But beyond that, it's rather lovely to be free of any obligation for the day.

It's easy enough to decide to walk home - it's an unseasonably nice evening and there's no rush, they can be leisurely.

"I had a lovely day. Thank you for indulging me," he says to Greta as the house comes into view.

Comments

[andhiswife]

Greta shivers agreeably as his hands begin to roam, then make quick work of the ties at the back of her dress. The bodice loosens subtly, more so when she draws in a deep breath and releases it in a contented sigh. She's distantly aware that removing the garment entirely will require getting up -- or some other creative repositioning -- but for the moment, she's happy to remain where she is.

At his quiet pronouncement, she grins outright. "Best get to it, then," she murmurs, kissing him again, still unhurried, but now with an unmistakable intent. One hand sinks into his hair, curling into a loose fist; she rolls her other shoulder in an attempt to shrug out of her sleeve. It would be a quick enough task if she used both hands, but she doesn't want to stop touching him.

[very_sharpe]

Thomas leans close to kiss Greta's shoulder when her dress slides away, just enough. They could certainly undress each other faster, but there's no rush. Saoirse is out after all that excitement, and honestly, it's been ages since it felt like they weren't in a hurry (or too exhausted) for one reason or another.

He trails kisses up Greta's neck and gently bites her earlobe as his hands slide over her hips. "I love you," he murmurs against her skin, in case she hasn't heard it enough tonight. Thomas lifts his head and he can't help but smile.

"And you're going to marry me."

[andhiswife]

The nip causes her breath to hitch and her hand to tighten its hold on his hair, and she only just manages to suppress an undignified squeaking sound. But she deliberately loosens her grip a moment later, not wanting to hurt him (much, or yet -- they're pacing themselves, and she likes the thought of just being able to take her time with him).

"And I you," she breathes, leaning back a little as he lifts his head.

A warm smile spreads across her face as he reiterates the theme of the evening. Several teasing responses occur to her, but she doesn't have the heart to voice them -- not when she knows how much this means to him. A real marriage, after so many false ones. A little gentle ribbing is certainly in his future, but she can restrain herself for one night.

"I am," she agrees, running her hand down his arm, then back up to his shoulder, tracing over a spray of freckles that winter hasn't quite erased, yet. "And then you'll be well and truly stuck with me." Teasing doesn't count if it's at her own expense, she decides, before leaning in to kiss his temple, then the hinge of his jaw. "I hope you've thought this through."

[very_sharpe]

Thomas is sure he's earned some teasing at some point or another - Greta knows him, knows his history, and that they can joke about it at all is, he thinks, a good sign.

"I think I can manage being stuck with you, my dear."

He slides his hands up Greta's back, holding her as he rolls them over and gently lands on top of her.

"You know, I am terribly prone to reckless decision-making," he quips, eyes bright with amusement and adoration as he looks down at her. Teasing at his own expense must be fair game. The fact that he's been working on this decision for months is the punchline. His hand smooths over Greta's thigh and starts to gather her dress higher.

"But I think we'll be alright."

[andhiswife]

Greta has to bite back a laugh as he rolls her onto her back -- the walls are thick enough, but she doesn't want to tempt fate. Instead, she grins up at him, her arms twining around his neck.

"That's true," she says, trying (and mostly failing) to school her expression into one of solemn agreement. Thomas is many things; reckless isn't one of them. His proposal might be the boldest move he's made in their relationship, and he doubtless planned it for months. "I'll have to rephrase the apologies I'm always doling out on your behalf. 'I'm so sorry about my husband; he gets like this, sometimes.'"

Warmth pools in her belly as his hand slides up her thigh, and she wriggles a little, making it easier to push her skirts out from under her. "'You'll have to forgive my impulsive husband, Thomas,'" she gamely continues, her hands drifting down his back to trace along the waistband of his trousers. If he really wants to shut her up, she reasons, he has several options at his disposal. "'He does whatever he likes; there's no reasoning with him...'"

[very_sharpe]

Thomas tries not to laugh, he does, because even if Saoirse is out like a light right now, the last thing they need is for her to suddenly appearing, insisting she heard laughter and concerned she's missing something.

He can't even school his smile, though, struggling with it as Greta's hands tease down his back.

"Oh yes, you'll have to practice that one," he says, attempting desperately to sound solemn. "You'll be trotting it out the most, I think. Really you might want to make some cards or something that you can pass out--"

He stifles a laugh and attempts to silence both of them by sinking into a kiss. He can feel the warmth of her thighs against his hips, the laughter in her chest. And it was perfect.

[andhiswife]

He kisses her not a moment too soon, and she smiles against his lips, the laughter that had been threatening to bubble out of her escaping, instead, as a sigh. She loves making him laugh. It's always been its own reward, if only because she's gathered that 'full of laughter' wouldn't describe the life he led before they met. That he's found such an agreeable way to stifle it is a bonus.

She draws him down to her, loving the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, her thighs tightening unconsciously around him. "I believe," she murmurs, only barely breaking the kiss, her lips still brushing against his as she speaks, "you offered to give me a hand with something." There are plenty of perks to taking their time and drawing things out, of course, but that doesn't mean she isn't growing increasingly desperate for the feeling of his hands on her skin.

[very_sharpe]

"Did I? And what was that? If it was getting you out of this dress, we might have stifled our efforts," he quips, giving the fabric a firmer tug to try and get it higher around Greta's hips.

Thomas eases back, giving Greta bit more room to maneuver though he is reluctant to give up their closeness. "Come on," he encourages, a little laugh still in his voice. "You're far too dressed for this proceedings."

Levity is something that's long been missing from his life before Greta came into it. That they can still tease each other in the midst of undressing is something. But he wants to be closer, and he has a head start on undressing.

[andhiswife]

"Ugh," Greta grumbles in a general protest that might cover both his joke and the predicament (such as it is) in which they've found themselves. "You did," she insists, though she's also fully aware that the most practical thing he can do is back away a bit, and that's the last thing she wants.

Well, the second-to-last thing. The actual last thing is being stuck in this frock for the entirety of the proceedings.

So she sighs in disappointment when he draws back, but also wastes little time in wriggling out of her sleeves. With a little help from Thomas, she pulls the garment up over her head, and -- after a giggle-inducing few moments of feeling as if she's camping beneath the bloody skirt -- she's finally free. Her hair is a little worse for being dragged several which ways by the fabric, but she's finally down to just her underthings and a slip (and that is loose enough to offer little resistance).

"Huzzah," she says as they dump the dress off the edge of the bed, and then she winds her arms around him with a much happier sigh. "I've missed you terribly," she murmurs.