untitled
by juliette
Jake is vacuuming, moving around the floor in the way that allowed him to think, or to distract him from his thoughts. Avery can't tell what's in Jake's mind now, and he perches on the couch trying to figure it out. Azizi had tried to save them from the vacuum, but when it was turned on she had fled, shivering, and Jack was cuddling with her now in another room. (Even very brave dogs don't like monsters.) They'd probably fallen asleep together again.
Jake's shoulder rolled back, pushed forward, pulls his shirt taut and frees it again. Hypnotising, just like the slow twist and return of his hips.
Frilly white aprons of the American stereotype would be lost on Jake, and he's vacuuming but doesn't quite have to, and Avery eventually tires of listening to the overloud hum of Jake vacuuming the carpet he's already made quite clean. So he unplugs it. When Jake turns around he's confused, thrown off his rhythm.
"I think you're finished," Avery says, and steps closer.
Jake looks and nods. "I forget to stop. There's always more to do." He kisses Avery, and Avery wraps his hands around Jake's neck.
When Jake's hands move to Avery's waist, he forgets to stop them, and Avery doesn't point it out. Jake regains a rhythm then, finding a new one that's less back and forth and more up and down, and his shoulder moves in a different way and this time Avery leans against it. Jake's hand works until Avery sighs, and this time Jake knows he's finished.
But there's always more to do.