Cleanliness is Next to Hell
by Nelson
Couple: O/C Zach/Nelson
Warnings: None that I can think of.
It was Saturday morning and I had been up since 5:30 simply because my body's internal clock has never learned the difference between a weekday and a weekend. I passed the time reading the latest Stephen King, which was no longer new, as I hadn’t been able to find the time to read like I wanted to. The coffee was ready and I had a quick breakfast of cereal planned for Zach and me; we had a lot to do that day so I wanted to get started early. I slipped upstairs to begin the difficult task of waking the love of my life, knowing full well before I got there, it wasn’t going to be easy or pretty.
I was armed with a fresh, strong cup of coffee to entice Zach into consciousness, but I wasn’t entirely sure it would help. It was worth a try, though, so I brought it along hopefully, putting a lot of stock into its persuasive powers to arouse. I was willing to try anything in my arsenal to get him moving - coffee was a good start. As hard as it was going to be to wake him, I knew that would be the easy part; then I’d have the daunting job of actually getting him out of the bed to help me clean. I expected my request to be met with a volley of complaints, and sure enough, Zach didn’t prove me wrong.
"Wake up, Sweetheart," I said, sitting the coffee on the nightstand. “Spring cleaning day.” I sat on Zach's side of the bed and tried to gently rouse him. My fingers worked over his shoulders in a soft massage as I spoke to him and urged him awake.
My efforts were met with the anticipated groan I knew to expect. I couldn’t help but smile at his being so predictable. "I don't waaaannnnaa," he whined into his pillow without even cracking open his eyelids.
"I know you don’t, but we have a lot to do,” I said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. The stubble that had actively grown overnight chafed at my lips as they brushed against his face. “I brought you coffee." I couldn’t resist his earlobe poking out of the covers, and I caught it between my teeth.
“Nelsssoooonnn,” he griped with a raspy morning voice in response while turning his head to get away from me. He clamped a hand over his other ear in case I fancied nipping that one and said, “Leave me alone.” It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was going for but at least he made a conscious acknowledgment. Progress – if only momentary.
I watched as Zach wormed his way deeper under the covers on his belly trying his best to ignore my affections, and more importantly, my request for him to get up. I quickly saw that my gentle tactics were not going to work, so I went directly to “Plan B”, tugging the covers away from his shoulders, breaking through the folds of his cocoon. I reached for his arm that was firmly tucked under the pillow, and began to pull. "Come on, Zach. Rise and shine."
"Leave me alone, I said! I'm not ready to get up!" he complained to me. He yanked his arm away and tucked it more securely under his body, protecting it with his torso.
He was no closer to getting up than when I asked him the first time. I reached under him and grasped his arm again for leverage, pulling it until his body obeyed, even if his will did not. I managed to get him into an upright position on the side of the bed, and considered that a victory, although he turned his sleepy eyes toward me and scowled.
"Why do we have to get up so early?" he asked rubbing sleep from his eyes with his fisted hands.
"It's 8:00. That's not so early. I've been up since 5:30."
He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at me as though I had grown a second head. "Five thirty?! You have issues.”
“I can’t help it,” I explained. “You know I always wake up at 5:30.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to get UP. Eight o’clock is even too early for a Saturday,” he pointed out as if I didn’t know his opinion. “It's not my fault you can't sleep in."
"We have a lot to do today. We need an early start. Now get up and meet me downstairs in five minutes for some cereal," I told him and handed him the cup of coffee. He held it between his hands, but just continued to glare at me, letting his facial expression speak for him – and it spoke volumes. "Five minutes," I repeated as I left.
Ten minutes later, Zach was still upstairs, and I found myself alone in the kitchen. I had put the cereal and bowls on the table, but had the forethought not to pour my own, half-expecting Zach not to be down in the prescribed five minutes. I knew it would only get soggy if I had to go back upstairs, which was exactly where I was heading.
I have to admit, I was more than a little aggravated when I entered our room and found Zach burrowed under the covers again. I marched over to the bed, pulled back the comforter, summoned my most no-nonsense tone of voice and spoke while dragging him from the bed once again. "I told you to get up, NOT to go back to sleep. We need to clean today, and I'm not doing it alone."
I managed to get Zach to his feet, and swatted his bottom hard to help wake him up, and to let him know I didn't appreciate his disobedience. That snapped him awake, and he grabbed at his rear where my hand had connected.
"OW! Quit it, Nelson," he complained, groping for his backside. I expected it stung since my palm was tingling from the impact, and I’m sure my hand was tougher than his cotton-covered bottom was.
"You quit it. I'm not fighting you all day," I said, in an effort to staunch more complaints.
He must have recognized that I meant business because he didn’t argue any further. He uttered a simple, “yes, sir”, before turning away from me.
He still managed to grumble under his breath as he stumbled into the bathroom, and I was sure I heard something about an ogre and unfair partners as he walked away. I had to suppress a grin at his mutterings, and let him have his muffled say, with no intention of making him any worse if I could help it. But, knowing he might just find his way back to bed, I didn't leave him a second time. I made the bed while he was in the bathroom to further discourage him from climbing back under the covers, and to try to do something nice. Our standing rule is “last one out of the bed gets to make it”. That invariably means Zach gets bed-straightening duties. I was just putting the last of the shammed pillows back on the bed by the time he emerged, glaring at me while he fastened the tie on his favorite red robe. I refused to acknowledge the look, and escorted him down to the kitchen to be sure the beckoning bed didn't get him into more trouble.
“Ready for some breakfast?” I asked, slinging my arm around his shoulders as we took to the stairs.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Funky cereal?”
“Nope. Frosted Flakes. We’re all out of ‘Funky Cereal’.” He rolled his eyes at my feeble attempt at humor but said nothing as we neared the kitchen.
He plopped down in his usual spot across from me at the table, hugging his coffee cup to him. I admired him as he propped his elbow on the table, slipped his chin in his palm, and closed his eyes. He made no move to pour his cereal. I ignored Zach’s obvious displeasure with me while I poured my cereal then slid a bowl toward him. "Fix your cereal, Sweet Pea,” I said interrupting his tabletop nap. “We need to eat so we can get started. We have a lot to get done." His eyes snapped open at that and he fixed me with a thoroughly unpleasant glare, to which I responded, "Don't start, Zach. Eat." I kept my eyes on him until he obeyed unwillingly.
I was beginning to fear it was going to be one of those days, judging from the way it had started. I wanted to get the house cleaned, and I could see I would be having to push Zach along. I only hoped not every step would be a struggle.
I decided to try to make light conversation to help get Zach roused, and avert his attention from having been made to get up. Unfortunately, I picked the wrong question. "Did you sleep well last night?" I asked, innocently enough.
Zach's still-sleepy baby blues looked at me, and he nodded after a shrug of his shoulders. “Until I was rudely dragged from the bed for no better reason than to clean,” he said sour enough to curdle the milk over his cereal.
As much as he wasn’t in the mood to clean, neither was I in the mood to hear his arguments. I tried to remain calm and not let his attitude get to me. I said, “I’m sorry, Zach, but I want to get the cleaning done and I need your help. Please don’t give me a hassle today.” He looked for a moment like he might be considering my suggestion, but then I could almost see the cloud settle back over his face when he looked away. He poked disinterestedly at his cereal, and only responded to my further attempts at conversation with nods or shakes of his head. Zach was clearly in no mood for conversation so after several failed attempts, I decided to give him a break and eat my breakfast in silence.
He remained quiet as well, silently fulminating, and I waited until I saw him scoop the last of the cereal into his mouth before I spoke again. I said, "I'll get the dishes. Why don't you put some clothes on and get the vacuuming started upstairs?” I finished with a reminder of, “Don't forget the baseboards and window sills. We're spring cleaning today, not spot cleaning."
No sooner were the words out of my mouth, than Zach's eyes dramatically rolled back in his head for the second time since he got out of bed. They went so far back I could swear his irises were checking out the inside of his skull, even though I knew from my medical training it was an impossibility. He voiced his concerns. “WHY do you have to ruin a nice spring day with a cleaning campaign?” He pushed away from the table and waved a hand toward the kitchen window indicating the sun pouring through. “It’s beautiful outside!”
“We decided days ago to get the spring cleaning done this weekend. Now, we’re going to do it and do it together. That means me AND you.” I started toward the sink with our bowls while I talked. He rounded the table and caught up with me at the sink, looking ready to go toe-to-toe with me.
“WE?! ‘We’ didn’t decide anything,” he pointed out bitterly.
“Okay, then. I decided. Happy now?” I asked him, facing him to engage in this little battle if he pushed me to. I was running out of patience already, more from the prospect of fighting him all day than because of the defiance I had met so far that morning.
“No, I’m not happy,” he complained.
“Clearly. Just keep the nasty comments and snipping to yourself. Go on and start upstairs like I told you.” I looked at him steadily and waited to see if he would comply without further encouragement. He surprised me by caving after a brief pause to consider whether to continue his campaign. Deciding against it, he walked out of the kitchen, appearing for all intents and purposes as though he was going to do what I had asked.
I held my breath as I worked in the kitchen, waiting to see if he would actually obey or pull a trick out of his hat to stall the chores. Just because he went upstairs didn’t mean he intended to clean. I took a look at the clock and mentally noted the time so I would know when to expect to hear the vacuum running. Ten minutes should give him time to change and get the vacuum ready, I figured. Those ten minutes seemed like 20 as I waited them out while I cleaned. At about nine minutes and 58 seconds, I was beginning to worry that I would have to make a trip upstairs to move things along. Relieved, I heard the vacuum start upstairs while I was putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. With Zach busy doing the assigned chore, I finished wiping down the counters, thankful that he seemed ready to help.
Finished with the kitchen, I went upstairs to dress and found Zach casually pushing the Hoover upright across the carpet in our bedroom, in no hurry to get the job done. He was apparently still in a foul mood since he made sure not to acknowledge me, unless you count daggers being shot from his eyes an acknowledgment. I sighed inwardly and found my favorite broken-in Levi’s and an old t-shirt. Zach had tried on more than one occasion to pitch the old tattered jeans, but I had valiantly rescued them each time.
“No one wears Levi’s these days,” he had told me time and again.
“I like them,” I would argue.
“Tommy’s,” he pointed out. “You need Tommy’s.”
“I have your beloved ‘Tommy’s’ for going out. I just like these for lounging.”
He would ultimately end his tirade with a statement about my lack of understanding when it came to fashion, considering it a sin to wear anything less than what was “in” even if just hanging out in the house. The only exception to the rule was sweat pants when he wanted to wear them, as he was doing now. Zach claimed that sweats fell into the “loungewear” category so they were fine according to him. He was right, I guess; I didn’t understand the fashion thing. Apparently, sweats are all right under the right conditions; even if faded, old Levi’s are not. My personal opinion is that Zach just has something against Levi’s, not that he’d ever admit it.
I was pulling on the forbidden jeans when Zach turned off the vacuum and looked at me, with a hand on his hip and one on the vacuum nozzle. He looked with disdain at the Levi’s I was pulling on, and his facial expression told me he was no gladder to see them that day than he ever was. When he opened his mouth to speak, I was sure it would be to slam on my poor, defenseless jeans. I was wrong.
"What are YOU going to do?" he asked accusingly, as though I planned to recline on the porch or something.
Slightly thrown off by the question when I was prepared for our usual Tommy versus Levi’s discussion, I had to quickly regroup to give him my plan for the day. I said, "I'm going to vacuum downstairs. Then we'll mop the floors. You take upstairs and I'll take downstairs.” Knowing how much he hated to mop, I added, “I'll have more linoleum to clean so don't scowl at me.”
"Why do we have to do this TODAY?" he complained bitterly. “Just LOOK outside. It’s beautiful,” he pointed out again. “We shouldn’t be cooped up in here MOPPING.”
“Would you rather be doing yard work?” I asked. By his expression you, would have thought I asked if he wanted to torture small animals.
“NO! Bite your tongue,” he said. “I just don’t know why you’re so bent on cleaning. Why can’t we do it tomorrow?”
"Do you want me to say 'because I said so'?" I asked, pulling on my jeans. I zipped them and stood to face him bare-chested with my hands on my hips.
"No," he growled. “But, I’m sure that’s the reason.” That was not at all like Zach. Crabby first thing in the morning was not unusual, but he typically warmed up quicker. But then, he was aggravated that he had to clean on any day, despite his request to do it tomorrow.
Whatever the problem was, he needed to reel it in, and do it quickly, since the ounce of patience I had left for his temper and smart mouth was rapidly dwindling. "Watch it, Zach,” I said firmly. “It needs to be done.” I softened a bit and tried to reason, “You live here, too. It wouldn't be fair for me to do it alone, would it?"
His eyes searched mine for a moment as he took in my words before he spoke. "I guess not," he relented slightly, dropping his eyes.
"No, I guess not," I agreed. "I would appreciate you doing your share without any attitude."
He looked at me for a minute and his chest heaved with a sigh. He turned back to his vacuuming without another word, and I left him to it while I finished dressing. Donning my favorite jeans and t-shirt, I went downstairs to start my share of the vacuuming and mopping. I thought the distance would probably do us good since Zach was still obviously not happy with me. I dragged out the downstairs vacuum and set to work.
Too soon to be finished upstairs, Zach came thumping down the stairwell loud enough for me to hear him over the vacuum. Actually, I think it was the thud against the floor, shaking the foundation that got my attention. I glanced around and saw immediately that he was showing more life than he had the last time I saw him, and that was a relief. He had at least summoned enough energy to gallop down the stairs in his usual fashion. I turned my vacuum off and caught his eye, as he came through the living room where I was working.
"How're you doing up there?" I asked.
"Fine. I came to get the mop," he reported.
"Hold on," I said, snagging his sleeve as he passed me. He stopped beside me, my clutch on his arm not allowing further advancement. He glanced down at my hand on his arm before looking at me to address my comment.
"What?" he asked curiously.
"Are you done vacuuming already?" I asked, looking levelly at him, hoping to dissuade him from stretching the truth at all. I knew he had barely had time to finish the carpet, much less get the baseboards done, too, especially given the speed he was moving when I last saw him upstairs.
Zach's eyes wandered to any object other than my eyes, which was all the answer I really needed. He said simply, "I'm ready to mop."
His answer, while it was a response, did not address the question and I was further convinced he hadn’t gotten the job done properly. "I asked if you were finished with the vacuuming upstairs, Zachary." His failure to meet my gaze told me the answer I sought.
He tried to pull his elbow out of my grasp, but the “elbow grab” as Zach calls it, was working just fine, and I held him firmly in place. He didn’t try to pull away again after I tightened my grip before he tried another answer. "All the floors are done," he said, again failing to directly address my question. Zach is good at sidestepping the issue when it suits him and he is adept at doing so without bold-faced lying to me. He used those skills admirably that day.
"Okay,” I said, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “We’ve established the floors are done. What about the baseboards?" I pressed.
He huffed at me and tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to hide a stomp of his foot, "WHY do I have to do the stupid baseboards? No one looks at them."
I decided to use his own tactic and avoid the question, giving him a command instead. "Go back upstairs and finish what I told you to do," I said and turned him to swat his bottom. Well aware of what I planned to do when I turned him, he surprised me by jumping out of the way. I wasn’t expecting the maneuver, and for one of the few times since we were together, he managed to get his butt out of range. It was a minor, but short-lived, victory. I grabbed his arm again to keep him from making the same move, and landed a couple of swats instead of the one I had originally intended.
He turned back to me giving me another one of his dour looks while rubbing at his bottom. "I just don't want to do the baseboards,” my lover complained pitifully, looking for some sympathy votes, I suppose. “You didn’t have to spank me over it.”
“I didn’t spank you,” I advised calmly, “I swatted you. Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference by now.”
His eyes took another dive backward, and he said, “I KNOW the difference. You didn’t have to SWAT me, then.”
“And, you didn’t have to try to get out of vacuuming the baseboards like I asked, did you?”
“I didn’t want to do them. I was just trying to explain that, that’s all,” he reasoned.
I saw it as simply arguing with me. He was pushing in classic fashion that morning, and I had just about had enough of it. I answered firmly, hoping to silence further complaints, and get him moving. "Go back and do it right, or I'll spank – not swat – your bare behind, and THEN you can go do the baseboards.” His mouth fell open in surprise at my threat, but no words came out immediately. I added, “Unless you want that, I’d suggest you get upstairs, now."
A single word fell from the open mouth. "WHY?!" he asked, taking several steps away from me as he spoke.
“One, Zachary,” I counted, knowing how much he hated it, but well aware of its ability to get him moving.
That day, it didn’t work and he asked, “Why don’t YOU do the stupid baseboards?”
He had managed to put some distance between us before he said it, so I started toward him with every intention of swatting him again before I had to follow through on my threat to really spank him. When he saw me approaching, I must have worn the look he accuses me of, because he nearly ran up the stairs ahead of me in an attempt to avert the inevitable. I continued after him, without rushing, and caught up with him on the top riser.
"NO, Nelson. I'm sorry..." he started pleading, which told me he knew full well he had crossed the line. I know I should have pulled his pants down and spanked him right then, but instead I bent him over, pulled him against my hip, and popped his butt good with several firm swats through his sweat pants. I put some power behind those swats, intending to make my point without having to be any more severe. His eyes were brimming when I allowed him to stand up, and he looked at me with his mouth turned down, clearly close to real tears.
Whether he would ever believe it or not, the last thing I wanted was a scene with Zach that morning. The way he was acting made me pretty sure he would end up over my knees before the day was over if something didn’t change. I hoped I was wrong, but the way things were looking, it wasn’t encouraging. I steeled myself against the feelings his hurt stirred, and finished delivering the message I wanted Zach to hear before he made matters worse. What I wanted to do was hug him, but he needed to know I meant business first.
"You'd better straighten up, young man. I don't want to hear any more lip about cleaning. I want it done right and I want it done now. Do you understand me?" He wiped a tear that escaped down his cheek and he nodded his head. I didn’t think the swatting was enough to cause tears, and I felt they were more likely from his frustration at not getting his way. Demanding an answer to my question, I asked, "Do you?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, his voice cracking slightly.
Having been given the answer I wanted, I pulled him to me and kissed his head firmly. “Good. I don’t want to have to spank you, Zach. Please, don’t make me have to do it today. Okay?”
He inclined his body toward me and I hugged him tight. “Make you? Are you kidding me?” he mumbled into my shoulder.
“I’m not kidding. You will make me if you don’t do what I asked you to. Let’s get it done, okay?”
He didn’t answer me at first and I felt his body slacken against me. Finally, he said, “All right.”
“Get moving, then.” I kissed him one more time then he turned to obey. Only after he did was I content to return to my own work.
I went back downstairs to pick up where I left off before I had to deal with Zach. I was busily vacuuming the living room when he came more sedately downstairs the next time. Over the noise of the vacuum, I hadn't heard him come up behind me, and only knew he was there when he switched off the vacuum I was using. He was standing behind me when I turned to investigate the quiet.
"What's up, Sweet Pea?" I asked him when I saw him. I didn’t see the anger in his eyes that had been brewing there all morning. Hope stirred in me that my fear of things getting worse might have been unfounded, or at least, deterred.
"I'm...I'm sorry..." was all he said, looking earnestly at me as he spoke.
I was grateful for the apology and I wrapped my arms around him. I wondered for about the millionth time if he knew how much I loved him. I told him often enough, but words are words. I stroked his back gently and kissed his head. "Thank you, Sweetie. I appreciate it."
His arms slipped around to my back and I felt his hands grip me. He was silent other than the apology. I continued, "I know you don't want to spend your Saturday cleaning, but we need to take care of our home. If we stay focused, we can get it done quicker." He nodded against me and I pulled him away so I could look at him. "Are you finished with the baseboards now?" He nodded again. "Are you down here for the mop?"
Another nod. I could tell from his silence he still felt bad about the way he had been acting. I gave him another squeeze. I said, “Let’s move on, put this morning behind us, and get the work done.”
That comment got a verbal response. "I love you," he said with a sigh. “Even if you make me clean on Saturday.” I had to chuckle at that.
He pressed against me again and continued to hold me, I'm sure partly to put off the mopping and partly to be sure he was in my good graces. “As much as I’m enjoying this,” I said after kissing the top of his head. "You'd better get back at it. The longer we stand here, the longer we'll be working this afternoon. I don't want to take up your WHOLE Saturday."
"I don’t want you to either. Not for cleaning, at least," he said as I gently pushed him away.
“Hmm. That’s sounds like the kind of proposal I would like. We should spend time doing something fun together when we finish,” I said with a wink.
He smiled at me genuinely for the first time that day and said, “Now, that, I’d take you up on.”
He went toward the closet in the kitchen where we kept the mop and supplies, and cast a smile my way again when he came back through. I smiled back, extremely grateful for the improvement.
I finished the floor and baseboards downstairs then turned to the ceiling fans, vacuuming the blades. I hadn't told Zach to do that so I was sure they were missed upstairs. I could do those while Zach worked on something else when he finished the mopping.
I was just opening the windows downstairs to let in some sunshine and fresh air when I heard Zach start mewling like a cat who just got his tailed stepped on. If he was cursing about whatever set him off, he did it without allowing the words to reach my hearing, but he was clearly not happy about something from the tone I picked up on. I was hoping he would keep any expletives to himself so I wouldn’t have to stop and soap his mouth; that would do little to improve his mood, I was certain.
I stopped what I was doing to go investigate what was behind the outburst. I rounded the corner of the second floor corridor and Zach stomped right into me, having not heard me coming. I grabbed for his arms to not only stop him from barreling on, but also to keep my balance. He had run into me hard enough to toss me back down the stairs if I hadn’t caught his arms.
Zach's face was stormy as he looked into my eyes, his own registered surprise to see me as well as from our collision. "What's wrong?" I asked him.
He paused slightly when he saw me, I'm sure wondering if I had heard him, judging by the change in his expression. He said, "I knocked the darn bucket over. Water is ALL over the floor. It’s going to take forever to get it up."
I moved him aside to look behind him, and saw his wet footprints on the carpet where he had come out of the water-soaked bathroom, wearing equally water-soaked socks. I pushed past him to see the mess, and he was right; there was water all over the floor. But, in my opinion, it wasn’t the mess Zach made it out to be. It wouldn’t be a problem to clean it up, just a minor setback.
"Wait here," I told him patting his shoulder for encouragement, and I went back down the stairs to get a couple of our large sponges under the kitchen sink. I came back and handed one to Zach. "Come on. I'll help you," I told him. He looked at the sponge in my hand as though it had done something to him personally then he gave me the same look. “Take it,” I said. “It won’t be so bad, I promise.” He semi-snatched the sponge from me and I looked behind him at all the water. “Let me get some towels,” I said.
I left him to start working and went to our bathroom pulling several dirty towels out of the hamper. Zach was busy scowling and swiping angrily at the water when I returned. I noticed his wet socks dangling in the sink and he had hitched up his sweat pants to mid-calf to keep them dry.
"This day SUCKS!" he snapped when I stepped in the doorway. He didn’t even give me time to get inside before he lashed out at me with his hands on his hips. The stern posture and expression were severely inhibited by the hiked up sweatpants and bare feet; I had to hide a smile – one that Zach would neither appreciate nor understand – at the presentation.
I didn’t respond to the outburst, but rather turned my back on him as I threw the towels over the water. I started trying to soak up the mess while Zach was squeezing out the water from his sponge into the bucket. “Zach, it will be fine,” I said trying to assure him. “It isn't going to take us long to get this up and when we're done, the floor will be, as well."
I got another loud glare from him while he peeled off his sweats to kneel on the floor. I tried to lighten the mood a bit by saying, "You know, you didn't have to clean the floor on your knees. You could have used the mop."
"Very funny, Nelson," he said. His visage didn't exactly crack but I saw the barest hint of a smile. I winked at him and he stuck his tongue out at me with his eyes crossed playfully.
"How did you knock it over?" I asked, pushing the dirty towels around with my toe.
"I was backing up mopping and bumped the stupid bucket hard enough to knock it over."
I nodded understanding. We removed the last remnants of soapy water from the floor, and I got Zach ready to work on the remaining bathroom upstairs. I heard him huff loudly as I turned to leave to remind me he wasn’t happy with the plan for the day.
A little later, Zach came down the stairs, in fresh sweats and socks, to put the mop and bucket in the kitchen where I would need them next. "Do you have to be so cheery about this?" he asked me as he passed through.
"What do you mean?" I answered, pausing my humming.
"You're whistling, practically singing a happy tune, while you work."
"I was humming,” I corrected. “Why should I be sour? It needs to be done and we're doing it together."
"You've got issues," he said, rolling his eyes at me yet again. "What do you want me to do now?"
"We still need to wipe down the kitchen. Do you want to work on that?" The fresh smells of Pinesol and Pledge were heavy in the air where I had been working on the first floor.
He curled up his nose, "Anything else?"
"We have the windows to do," I offered.
Zach looked up toward the ceiling thoughtfully and said with a tap to his chin, "Let's see. Do I want a root canal or my nails pulled out one at a time?"
I smiled at him. With his sense of humor peeking out, he might be all right after all. "I'd go with the root canal if I were you. At least you get Novocain."
He grinned at me reluctantly and said, "I'll wipe down the kitchen.” Then a look of slight confusion crossed his features and he said, “I thought you cleaned the kitchen already."
"I did the dishes. I didn't wipe down the refrigerator, cabinets, and appliances. You know, the spring cleaning-type stuff."
He nodded at me. “The bathroom floors are still wet upstairs so don’t go tramping through them," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," I said with a salute. He smiled a bit and headed into the kitchen to begin.
All was relatively quiet, but for our cleaning efforts, for about another hour. Around 11:00, Zach and I both appeared back in the living room, him from the kitchen and me from dusting upstairs. He was ready for a break and wanting some lunch.
"Zach, it's only 11:00," I said glancing at my watch. "Can't you wait until at least a little closer to 12:00?"
"But, I'm hungry and I need a break,” he said as he took the Pledge and dust cloth from my hands. He cradled them in one arm and grabbed me with the other hand. “Come on, Nelson."
"One more hour, Zach. Why don't you start on the windows? I'm getting ready to do that myself. We can work together and bang out the last of it."
"I don't want to," he pouted and folded his arms around the can of Pledge and dust rag. "I want to eat. Cereal doesn't last, you know."
I glared at him for several seconds but he held my gaze. It was a small standoff and one I didn’t see the need to try to win. I softened and said, "Go get a snack to hold you over.” He immediately took off for the kitchen and I called after him, “But, JUST a snack, Zach."
Zach paused en route to the kitchen long enough to give me another eye roll over his shoulder. He returned in short order with a bowl filled to capacity with ice cream. Actually, beyond capacity was more like it. Judging from the amount in his bowl, there couldn't be much left in the container. He flopped down on the sofa, watching me work to tie up a bag of trash while he ate, keeping the bowl in plain view, taunting me with it.
I glanced at the bowl and admonished, "Zach, that's way too much ice cream for a snack. You won't want lunch at all after that. You aren't eating that whole bowl."
"Share it with me then?" he said enticingly, swinging a spoonful of ice cream to tempt me.
My stomach had yet to let me know it was lunchtime, but I figured a little snack wouldn't hurt. I looked at him knowingly, and he grinned back conspiratorially. Knowing my partner, I asked, "You fixed too much on purpose, didn't you, young man?"
His smiled broadened as he raised his eyebrows at me, shrugging innocently, giggling all the while. “Would I do that?”
“Yes, you would.” His laughter was infectious; a pleasant change from what I had been subjected to all day. I laughed with him and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself, tempting me like that.”
“Who, me?” he said with a wide grin.
"Yes, you. Mind getting me a bowl while I finish this up?"
He gladly went to the kitchen and split the ice cream between two bowls, pleased with himself for distracting me, if even for a little while. He was back in no time just as I was finishing with the trash. I joined him on the sofa and we sat together enjoying our snack and each other.
"So how much more are you going to make me do today, Dr. Jekyll?" he asked around a mouthful of mint chocolate chip.
I tried to summon a purely disapproving visage before I answered, in an attempt to address the “Dr. Jekyll” crack. "If we get the windows done, we'll stop. Will that make you happy?"
Apparently not. He frowned immediately and barked, "ALL of them? That'll take forever!"
His insolence was back in full force and it was beginning to wear thin with me. "They're all dirty," I answered calmly before taking another bite of ice cream.
"Can't we do them another time? There's too many to do today." I cringed at the whine that had crept into his voice replacing the angry tones. I wasn’t sure which was worse, quite frankly.
"We'll do them today, Zachary,” I answered with finality. “Don’t argue with me about it."
He pouted and refused to look at me, staring intently into his bowl of ice cream to avoid my eyes. He took the liberty of moving away from me on the sofa, taking up space on the far end opposite of where I was sitting. I was getting a little tired of the attitude and having to push him along at almost each step. So far, he had managed not to get in too much trouble, but I was definitely losing patience.
I stood up and took his bowl away that was, by now, half empty. His mouth opened in shock and he looked at me for an explanation. I gave him one. “If you’re going to act like that, then snack-time is over.”
“Act like WHAT?!” he asked. His hands flung up, and his palms pointed toward the ceiling, punctuating each stressed word out of his mouth with a flick of his wrists. “I’m JUST sitting here, MINDING my OWN business, NOT doing ANYthing, and YOU have to be…”
I cut him off sharply before he made matters worse. “Stop it, right now. You know good and well you were trying to make a point and I’m just letting you know I got it. I’ll be right back.”
“But, Nelson!” he stormed to my back.
Without turning around I dismissed him saying, “I don’t want to hear it.”
While I was in the kitchen disposing of what was left of the ice cream, I took the time to open the package of new cleaning rags I had bought. I pitched the package and went to face my angry lover again.
“That was wasteful,” he let me know. “Ice cream is almost $4.00 a half-gallon.”
“It won’t break us,” I answered.
Stealing one of my lines, he asked with his arms folded, “Is that appropriate behavior? Does that make it right?”
"Drop it, Zach. The ice cream is gone,” I said cutting him off and not answering the question. “Here." I handed him a cleaning cloth and explained, "These things don't require anything but water to clean windows. It should make the job easier."
He rolled his eyes at me for about the hundredth time, but took the rag from my hands. The cloth had almost a rubbery feel that didn’t slip Zach’s attention. "It's weird,” he said, intrigued. “What kind of rag is this?"
"You can't use anything on it but water. It's supposed to clean glass without streaking. If it works, we won't have to worry about re-wiping the glass after we clean it. I thought we’d try them out."
"Can we at least work in the same room?" Zach asked me somewhat sheepishly. I was glad to hear him invite me in since he had been so angry most of the day.
I leaned down and kissed him, unable to resist his full, pouty lips. "Sure, Sweetie. Let's start in here."
We set to work again and the cloths were performing according to the manufacturer's promise. We just had to rinse the dirt from them frequently to keep the windows from streaking. Once we had finished the downstairs windows, I started toward the stairs.
I paused halfway up when I noticed Zach wasn't following, and looked back down the stairwell to see him nowhere in sight. I heard the television switch on from my place on the risers and groaned to myself. I yelled down the stairs for Zach, "Come on, Zach. We're almost done."
I could swear I heard him grunt even with the distance and the television to block the sound. The television continued to emit noisy chatter and Zach failed to appear. I raised my voice a notch, although I knew he heard me the first time. “Zachary!”
“What?!” he said roughly from the living room.
I walked purposefully down the stairs more than willing to deal with Zach’s attitude after almost having had a full day of it. He must have heard me coming because I heard the television die before I hit the bottom of the stairs. By the time I entered the living room, Zach was standing, ready to face me, with an angry scowl. He crossed his arms and I saw the early signs of another storm warning. I had enough of his attitude and he obviously had enough of the windows.
"Do you have something to say to me?" I asked after taking in his posture.
He tipped his chin up defiantly and said, "Yes. I don't want to clean anymore."
I struck a pose of my own with one hand on my hip while the other held the dirty bucket of wash water. I was about a hair away from putting the bucket down, taking a seat on the sofa, and spanking my petulant lover’s bare bottom. He had no idea just how close he had come. I decided to wait on whether or not to spank him based on his response to my direction. "I'm tired of arguing with you about this today,” I said calmly. “Get your butt upstairs and help me finish without another word."
He continued to stand there glaring at me, making no move whatsoever toward the stairs. "One," was all I had to say to melt his resolve and get his feet moving. I waited until he caught up with me and watched him turn ever so slightly, moving his butt out of my reach in case I had designs on swatting it as he passed. Had I not been holding a bucket of water, he most definitely would have had his butt swatted at that point in time. Instead, I waited until we topped the stairs and I put the bucket down and promptly grabbed his arm, turning him to get at his rear. His hand flew back automatically, yet unsuccessfully, in an attempt to protect his vulnerable rear end.
I delivered a couple of strong swats then turned him back to face me. "That's the last time you get a warning today. The next time I have to speak to you, you're going across my lap. Do you understand me?"
He was clearly still stewing but he answered with an appropriate, "Yes, sir."
In my mind, he had earned one already, but I was trying not to let things go that far. I didn’t want to spank him, but my threat would quickly become a reality if he didn’t straighten up. I had given him as much rope as I planned to give him in one day. He was pushing the limits and he had reached the end. I wanted to be sure he got the point, so I reiterated, "I mean it, Zach. That's it. You've been asking for it all day. One more time, and I promise you, you will get it."
He dropped his eyes from mine and muttered, "All RIGHT, Nelson. I said, 'yes, sir'."
He obviously wasn’t getting the point and I was terribly afraid he wouldn’t change his attitude until he was facing the carpet. I warned him again, "A sharp answer like that isn't convincing me you meant it, young man."
"But, I DID mean it,” he pleaded. He finally seemed sincere. “I'm sorry. Let's just finish, okay?"
Hopeful that things were beginning to turn around, I said, “Okay, let’s get finished. I’d like to see us get this done without any unpleasant encounters being necessary.”
He muttered something under his breath, and I thought I heard him repeating ‘unpleasant encounters’, probably mocking me, but I couldn’t be sure. “What did you say?” I asked, piercing him with my eyes.
He turned innocent, wide blue eyes to me and started shaking his head. “Nothing,” he said simply.
“Nothing you want to repeat,” I said.
“Can we just do the windows and drop it? Please?”
I was sure he meant it that time because even Zach knew at that point, he had pushed as far as he could, and get away with it. “All right,” I said, relenting one more time.
Zach followed me into the bedroom with a bucket of fresh water and started on the windows in our room. We had a set of double windows so Zach took one and I took the other. My window folded inside easily, but I noticed Zach was having some trouble with his. He started huffing and tugging at the window, but it didn’t appear to be budging.
I saw him struggling and moved to help him, "Here. You want me to try?"
"NO, I can get it myself," he grumbled at me and continued to fight the window.
I watched him continue to struggle, and he was getting madder by the second. "Are you sure you don't want me to..." I offered, but was cut off by Zach who kicked the wall at the same time he slammed the cleaning rag into the bucket of water.
He slammed it hard enough for water to slosh onto the floor, and it was right then that the eruption started. “NO, I don’t want you to help. I'm SICK of the stupid windows. I'm SICK of cleaning. I just want to be done so I can eat lunch and relax! I want to be doing just about anything else, but YOU…WON’T…LET ME!"
I glanced down at the bucket and saw water streaking down the sides from the splash. I looked back at Zach without saying anything, letting his mind catch up with his mouth. The change in his expression was almost palpable as the realization sank in that he had gone too far this time. I had just warned him, after all. There was no way I was going to let that outburst go after all the chances he had been given. Not to mention the warning of just minutes ago that obviously went unheeded.
I pointed behind him to a place he knew intimately and said, "Corner. Right now."
Zach's eyes had turned from angry to worried, and it was all I could do not to relent when he turned them on me. He said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just mad about the window. Don't be mad at me..."
"What did I say, Zachary? What did I JUST tell you? What have I been telling you all day?" I asked, reminding him of the multiple warnings he had been given that equated to several Get Out of Jail Free cards willingly handed to him throughout the day. The deck was finally empty and he had no recourse.
The look on his face told me that he remembered clearly what I said not five minutes earlier. If I had any doubt, he clarified it for me with his next comment. "Please don't spank me, Nelson. I swear I'll stop being chappy about the cleaning. Please...? I’ll clean and won’t complain anymore."
The reprieves were over and it was time to for Zach to be punished. I couldn’t turn back and send him the message that I didn’t mean what I said, even though I had given him chance after chance all day. I told him, "You've had all morning to get your attitude straightened out. You can't seem to do it without my help. I warned you I would spank you if you didn't straighten up, but that wasn't enough. You were clearly, unconditionally warned, so don’t expect me not to follow through."
"PLEASE...I don't want a spanking!" he said with worry painting his face.
"I’m sure you don’t,” I said while taking his elbow and helping him to the corner. “We aren’t negotiating this. You should have thought about the consequences earlier. And, quite frankly, I should have spanked you a lot sooner.”
I parked him in the corner, but he turned slightly to see me. Those huge blue eyes were settled on me again over his shoulder, and they began to fill before he spoke, “Please? I promise I won’t gripe anymore…”
I summoned my strength and managed to think more of Zach’s needs rather than his wants, in an effort to break the spell of his eyes. “Turn around," was all I managed to say, pointing toward the corner again. He started toward the corner then paused with those pleading eyes on me. I said more sternly than I felt, "Don't make me tell you again."
He slowly turned back around and faced his usual corner of our room. I watched him standing there motionless at first before I noticed the gentle shake of his shoulders from his tears. All the anger and frustration had finally culminated into him needing to be punished, and from his crying I knew he regretted his actions too late.
I made him stay there long enough for me to get my temper in check and clean the windows in our room. I also took the time to clean the little bit of water that sloshed from the bucket during Zach's little tantrum. At least the water hadn't gotten dirty yet, so there was no harm done to the carpet.
Watching Zach begin to fidget from foot to foot, I knew he had spent enough time in the corner. He didn't stand still long once his nerves went on alert causing him to stir. He had stopped crying, and his fingers found the crease in the wallpaper, and were busy running over it. I knew it was a distraction to take his mind off what was about to happen. I walked over to him and covered his hand with my own. “Fingers off the wallpaper, Zach.”
“I hate this wallpaper,” he rambled nervously. “Stupid blue and pink flowers. Stupid yellow accents. Stupid…”
“You picked it out,” I said, cutting him off as I turned him from the corner.
“Yeah, well, that was before I had to stare at it so much.” He pulled back away from me slightly as I tried to move us toward the bed.
“You know how to avoid it,” I said. Stopping to look back at him, I added, “Walk, Zachary.”
With his feet unmoving, he said, “I don’t want to.”
“Move,” I said firmly, and he reluctantly followed.
There was no way around it, but I sympathized with him and wanted merely to get it over with as quickly as possible. I hitched up the Levi’s he hated so much, and took a seat on the edge of the bed, covered with the yellow comforter that picked up the accents in the wallpaper he now hated as much as my jeans.
Zach looked at me, obviously holding out hope that I would change my mind. I held my hand out to him denying his request for a reprieve, and he hesitated only slightly before placing it back in my palm. My heart tore when I realized it was trembling a tad. I gripped it tightly, trying to reassure him as best I could. He was still going to get spanked, but I hated to see him so upset. The best I could do was to be sure I had his understanding, and get it done quickly so we could move on.
I settled him on my thigh and rubbed my thumb across his hand. I asked, "How many times today did I have to tell you to calm down and behave?"
He sniffed and kept his eyes down and on his hand in mine. "A few, I guess" he consented.
"At least,” I said; it was far more than a few times. “I told you this morning I needed your help cleaning. We share this house and the responsibilities it brings, and YOU have a responsibility to help keep it in shape."
His eyes quickly flashed up to mine then dropped again. His mouth was turned down, and I noticed his chin quiver almost imperceptively. He was clearly upset recognizing he had pushed too far. Seeing him so upset didn’t make my job any easier, but I loved him far too much to falter when he needed correction.
"Do you think it's at all fair that I do the cleaning alone?" I asked him.
"No, sir. But I just didn't feel like cleaning today.” He finally brought his eyes upward to me mine and besought me dismally, “Why did we have to do it today?"
He asked the question as if things would have been different on another day, but I had a sneaking suspicion it would have ended much the same way no matter when we did it. "It needed to be done. We had time today and there was no need to put off the spring cleaning."
"But, it’s barely even spring," he complained, voice cracking. “We could have done it later.” I looked at him, unconvinced. “Well, we could have,” he finished.
Zach’s logic never ceased to amaze me. I’m sure mine was just as baffling to him or we’d always be on the same page. I answered, "It doesn't matter what time of year it is. It's just an expression. We needed to get the cleaning done, and YOU, young man, needed to help without showing yourself.” I pushed him from my lap and tugged him around to my right. “Get your pants down."
His brows knitted together and he looked at me pitifully. “But, you just said I shouldn’t have shown myself,” Zach pointed out to sidetrack me. “Now, you want my pants down?”
“You know what I meant.” Zach often poked fun at the various sayings I had picked up in my youth. “Showing yourself” was my mother’s phrase for misbehaving, more often than not, by having a bad attitude. Zach had heard me use it before, and knew exactly what I meant. We had covered it in the past. Getting us back on topic, I said, “Let’s have your pants down, right now.”
His face flushed when I told him to drop his pants again, and I prepared myself for the protests I knew would follow. The first of many was delivered. "Please, I'm sorry..."
I refused to waver, although I was quite moved by his tears and protests. Whether he knew it or not, I wasn’t sure, but I never liked to spank him. It was difficult for me to cause pain to someone I loved as much as I loved Zach, and I had to constantly remind myself that it was because of the love I had for him that I was willing to set boundaries, and enforce the consequences when necessary. This was one of those times. As painful as it was for both of us, although in different ways, it worked for Zach. I was able somehow to ignore the pleas and I pushed him along, "I'm waiting, Zachary."
“But, Nelson…”
“Don’t argue with me. Pull down your pants and lay over my lap.”
“I don’t want to,” he informed me again.
I looked at him steadily and said, “I’m not asking you again.”
“Does that mean if I don’t pull my pants down this time, you won’t spank me?” he asked hopefully.
“What do you think?” I answered.
“You’ll still do it,” he said knowing it was true.
“Yes, I will, you’ll just make it worse,” I pointed out, telling him what he already knew.
He hesitated then moved his hands to the waistband of his sweats. He pushed them down his legs, stopping just below his cheeks, barely baring his behind. I knew I would have to pull them down further, but I could handle that. Without reaching for his underwear, he paused and looked at me again. I was sure he was hoping I would change my mind at the eleventh hour but that wasn’t going to happen. His delays just made it that much harder on us both, so I said, "Hurry up. Underwear, too."
His mouth turned down further and the tears were puddling in his eyes by this point. He finally obeyed and pushed his boxers barely out of the way like his sweats. I took his hand again and helped steady him as he lay across my lap, feeling his weight distribute across my knees. I heard him whimper slightly after he found himself with his bottom raised over my lap, toes off the floor.
I slipped my fingers into the waistbands of his sweats and boxers, and lowered them further at the same time. He tensed across my knees and gripped at my jeans near my ankle as I spoke. I rubbed his back trying to get him to relax as much as possible. "Tell me why you're getting this spanking, Zach."
He sniffed before speaking, "Because I've been a brat all day about cleaning, I guess."
His word choice brought a smile to my lips even in the midst of the tense situation. "You could say that. Any reason more specific?"
"I spilled the water and kicked the wall," he replied honestly.
While that was partly true, it wasn’t the heart of the matter. I explained, "I'm spanking you for your mini-tantrum and your behavior about helping around here today. Are we clear?"
He struggled a bit to get comfortable in the awkward position I had placed him and he answered, "Yes, sir."
I curled up the tail of his t-shirt with the fingers on my left hand to get it out of my way, and I settled the rumpled fabric at the small of his back then slipped the same hand around him to grip his bare hip. He flinched his bottom when I raised my right hand from it; he surely knew it was time to begin, with his shirt out of the way and my hand in place to hold him firmly. I quickly began bringing my other hand down against his backside causing both tears and immediate squirming over my lap. I anticipated the wiggling as I had encountered it every time we ended up in this position. I had my left arm draped across his waist, and I tightened my grip against his hip as his struggles increased.
I concentrated on his entire bottom making sure the redness growing there was evenly distributed. I knew my message was getting through when he began to kick his legs with the swats. The kicking continued to increase as his bottom heated up under my hand. He cried out apologies repeatedly, intermingled with promises never to act that way again. I heard the words but did not let them sway me from what I had to do. I continued to focus my attention on spanking his rear end until I was sure he was repentant.
He continued to cry heavily after my hand stopped falling. I lay my stinging palm against what I was sure was his equally stinging bottom. I could feel the heat emanating from his rump under my touch while my left hand was busy rubbing his shoulders and back, now that it wasn’t needed as an anchor. As he began to calm, I helped him to his feet and reached for his pants, pulling them back into place. It was over as far as I was concerned, with the exception of showing Zach tenderness and support. I pulled him into my lap and wrapped my arms tightly around him, gently rocking him on the bed. His hands slipped around my neck and gripped me tight, and I could feel the heat coming off his head as he cried against me.
"It's okay. Shhhhh," I said softly. I fed my fingers through his damp hair and pulled him back to look at him after he began to calm a bit.
"I'm s…s…sooorrryyy," he hiccupped when his teary eyes met mine.
"It's okay, Sweet Pea."
"I didn't mean to lose my temper," he sniffled.
"I know." Zach's temper only flared occasionally but when it did, it generally resulted in him having to spend some time across my lap. He was extremely sweet-tempered most of the time with a playful side to him, which was one of the things I loved best about him. Although, his practical joking and picking had gotten him into some hot water with me on more than one occasion.
As much as I hated to say it, there was still work to do. I couldn’t let it slide because Zach had thrown a tantrum, and ended up getting spanked. He would have, in effect, gotten his way then, albeit at a price. "We still need to finish the rest of the windows up here," I said to him. He wiped at his eyes, ran the back of his hand under his nose, and nodded. "Do you want to finish or get lunch first?"
He shook his head, "Finish the windows. It's hard to eat after...after...you know."
I did know. That was the reason for giving him a choice. He had complained about being hungry earlier so I didn't want him to have to wait if he felt like eating. A spanking is an excellent appetite suppressant, so I really didn't expect him to want to eat. Better, in fact, than any diet on the market. Whether pre- or post-spanking, both had the same effect on the appetite causing the punished, or soon-to-be-punished, difficulties in swallowing and keeping food down. The nerves, I knew, played a big role before a spanking, and the tears afterward had a hand in making eating difficult. Neither time was good for eating.
"Well, let's hurry up and get them done," I said and pushed him off my lap, but not before kissing his head first. He grabbed at my still-stinging hand after his feet hit the floor, still wanting the contact; I allowed it without complaint. I picked up the cleaning bucket with my other hand, and hanging on to Zach, led us into the guest room.
We worked in silence with the exception of Zach sniffing occasionally, and it didn't take us long to finish the other upstairs rooms.
"Finally finished,” I said with a final swipe at the last upstairs window. “What would you like for lunch?" I picked up the cleaning bucket to head downstairs and waited for him to come to me. I held my hand out to him, and this time, he came willingly with no hesitation.
"I don't know," he answered quietly, placing his hand in mine. I could see he was still subdued from having been punished.
"How about I light the grill and fix some hotdogs or something?" That question got a spark of interest and he nodded in response, but he still had trouble meeting my eyes. I couldn’t help but put the bucket down and draw him into a tight hug. “I love you, Sweet Pea. Let’s put today behind us, okay?”
I felt him nod against me and he held me loosely. I strengthened my grip and firmly kissed the top of his head that was resting just by my chin. “I love you,” I said again with another squeeze.
He whispered, “I love you, too. I’m sorry about today.”
I pulled him back so I could see his face but he dropped his head. My finger found the underside of his chin and I tipped his face up to look at me. I said, “Don’t you worry about today, do you understand?”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“I mean it, Zach. You were punished, and that was that.” I finished my sentence with a kiss to his forehead.
“Okay,” he mumbled to me again. I could see I needed some reconnecting time with my partner because he wasn’t readily buying that I was over his behavior. There wasn’t much I could say to convince him since he obviously wasn’t swallowing it. We needed time and I needed to show him with my actions that I bore no grudges. I took his hand in mine again and led him to the kitchen so we could eat.
I sat Zach at the table, and saw him wince when his bottom met the wooden kitchen chair, but he didn’t complain. I gave him a head of lettuce, a cucumber and a tomato to make us a small salad to go with our hotdogs. He never uttered a word of protest as he worked this time.
He finally commented after a little while. "So, we were spring cleaning today. Does that mean we don't have to do it again for a year since spring only comes once a year?" he asked hopefully.
It sounded like he was feeling better since he was able to discuss the issue that led to his now warmed and certainly uncomfortable behind. I saw him occasionally squirm against the kitchen chair where he was sitting. Since his mood seemed to be improving, I began to hope maybe we could salvage something positive from this day after all.
"I won't make you any promises on that, Zach. We'll see.” He sighed a bit and looked back at the lettuce he was working on. I added, “What do you say we try to catch a matinee this afternoon? Are you feeling up to it?" I put the offer on the table hoping that time together on a date would make him feel a bit better.
He shifted again slightly in his chair as if to assess whether he could sit for the movie. He smiled a bit sheepishly at me and said, "I think so. That would be nice." He sat quietly working on the salad then he said, “It will be nice with just the two of us as long as we AREN'T cleaning."
I smiled back at him, pleased that his mood was lifting, and stopped what I was doing for a kiss. "Sounds like a plan to me."
End.
