Even if he's drunk, she can't help but be moved. This time last year, he would never be able to have this conversation, even with a whole bar's worth of bottles in him.
"Our future. A baby." Or two or three, whatever. She doesn't fight being rolled, reaching up to run her hands over his body wherever she can reach once on her back.
Cute. So very cute. She taps the tip of his nose with her index finger.
"I always thought we'd name our child Elwin." Because Jill has thought about this, and she has decided their firstborn will be a son, and they will name him after Clive's father. A thing she thinks safe to admit to a drunk Clive.
He loves her, and in this particular moment loves the softness of her mouth, and he kisses her as long as he can drunkenly support himself above her. Then he sinks down, having the decently to list to one side so his weight isn’t entirely on her.
Jill sighs, the solid weight of his head against her welcomed. He gets another run of her fingers through her hair before she closes her eyes and wills herself to sleep.
At least until her bladder wakes her in the early hours of the day, sunlight just peeking through the curtains. She grunts softly.
Oh, how sweet he is, cuddling up like she always adores. It just puts that much more pressure on her bladder. Jill grunts and clenches down.
"Clive, please," she says, and starts to wiggle out from under him. Even a portion of his weight can feel like the mattress is on top of her rather than beneath.
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"I'm always precious to you," he says. "As you are to me."
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"How much thought have you given that, exactly?"
Even if he's drunk, she can't help but be moved. This time last year, he would never be able to have this conversation, even with a whole bar's worth of bottles in him.
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Babies? Being precious?
He rolls her over so he can be atop her.
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“All the time,” he says. “I want to fill you up with babies.”
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"One at a time, please."
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"I always thought we'd name our child Elwin." Because Jill has thought about this, and she has decided their firstborn will be a son, and they will name him after Clive's father. A thing she thinks safe to admit to a drunk Clive.
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“That is exactly what I would want,” he says. “My father would like that.”
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"I'll ask you in the morning."
He's going to have one hell of a headache.
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"Is the room spinning? Rocking?"
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Not that she can swim, either. She reaches a hand around to rub his back.
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Within a minute, he's out like a light.
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At least until her bladder wakes her in the early hours of the day, sunlight just peeking through the curtains. She grunts softly.
"Clive," she says. She has to piss.
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“Mm?”
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“In a bit,” he mutters.
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"Clive, please," she says, and starts to wiggle out from under him. Even a portion of his weight can feel like the mattress is on top of her rather than beneath.
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The price of staying hydrated.
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