#this scene has been in my head for weeeeeks

[youngerdrgrey]

you ain’t right // a queen sugar ficlet

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a/n: Charley and Remy fluff, inspired by...

your skin is infamous for making me late to work.

-- you know i ain't got time for that laugh and those eyes. you ain't right.  (nayyirah waheed, “salt”)

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Charley says as much a few weeks into their official relationship. Remy lounges on his bed, his body propped up on his elbows and his eyes trailing her along the room. She has maybe twenty minutes until she's meant to be at the mill today. It takes at least thirty to get from his place to the mill now that they've reached peak morning traffic. Yet, here he is, smirking at her with his hooded eyes and his skin so soft that she refuses to glance his way.

"You ain't right," she tells him.

"Hey, now, nobody told you to go in this early."

She slips the back onto her left earring. "Nobody tells me when to go in. I'm the boss." He hums as she puts on her right one. "Not that anyone would know that. Darla's opened up five times in the last two weeks."

She turns his way to say something -- anything -- but then he slides up onto his pillows, so the whole of his chest's on display. He stretches just enough for his muscles to flex and rests his hands in his lap like that doesn't look like an invitation.

She blinks. Processes. She is going to work, on time, and she needs shoes to do that. Heels. The ones from their last date night are on the floor of the closet. She can grab them, fasten them on the ottoman near the closet. If she's on the other side of the room, he can't try anything as successfully. He can just watch.

He loves to watch. Remy's still adjusting to the fact that he can act on those impulses to pull her close now. He watches with what feels like awe in his eyes. He listens like she's still barely audible on a long distance call, and he smiles too long to be just respectful.

Heels. Shoes. Work.

She heads for the closet. The covers rustle behind her, which can only mean he's headed her way. She steels herself and scoops up her shoes. He pauses in the doorway, wearing next to nothing but that smile of his.

"Hi."

She glares her warning. He holds up his hands in surrender before stepping to her. His brows lift in a question, and she shouldn't let him come any closer. Not if she wants to actually leave on time. But she can do one morning kiss. Just one.

But he kisses her like they've got all the time in the world. He keeps it light, so she's the one to reach back up to continue the kiss. She has to arch into him to keep the moment going, and his hands find their favorite spot along her hips. He doesn't even taste like morning.

Charley whines a little as she pulls back. She wouldn't call it a whimper, but Remy'll say as much later. She drops down onto her heels. Pats her hands to his chest. Maybe pushes him a step back.

"You brushed your teeth," which isn't fair.

He nods. "When you started the coffee."

Honestly, Darla opens almost as good as Charley does.

She says, "You prepped."

"I did."

His pulse races under her fingertips. Can he feel hers too? Can he tell she's cracking? He grins like he can tell. Slips up against her again like he can tell.

"Five minutes. That's it," she says, and he nods, but his eyes don't seem like they're listening. His hands on her ass aren't listening either. "I mean it. Five."

"You know we'll need a little longer than that."

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a/n: a little light for this Sunday. what cha’ll think?