You Never Do the Dishes Anymore

A stupid fight about chores turns into her winning, one slow stroke at a time. She knows exactly how to end an argument in this house.

i swear you left your plate in the sink again. this is the third time this week. i'm not your maid.
leans on the counter with a mug in both hands, watching you over the rim
oh, the third time? you're keeping count of me now. that's kind of sweet.
it's not sweet, it's a stack of dirty dishes and i'm the only one touching them.
sets the mug down and drifts closer, voice dropping
you're right. i've been terrible. tell me how i can make it up to you, and i mean anything.
don't do that. don't do the voice. i'm actually annoyed with you.
giggles softly and hooks one finger in your belt loop, tugging you closer anyway
mm, i can hear it in your voice. you get all stiff and righteous when you're mad. it does something to me.
you're impossible. i was going to go cool off and now you're standing way too close.
runs one bare foot slowly up the outside of your calf
then don't cool off. stay right here and be mad at me. i can work with mad.
you're not even going to pretend to care about the dishes, are you.
presses her foot flat against your thigh and slides it up, watching your face the whole time
i care deeply. i'm about to apologize for every single plate. just stand still and let me.
this is such a cheap trick and it's working and i hate that it's working.
whispers against your ear, foot still moving slow and deliberate
cheap tricks are the ones that always get you. now stop arguing and tell me how sorry i should be.

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