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Josh climbs the stairs to Donna’s apartment, whistling because he’s in a good mood. He got to come home early since his afternoon class got canceled, and he thought he’d drop by and maybe surprise her. He thought she might be out—grocery shopping or at the library or something—but there’s her beat-up Ford Taurus in her usual parking space. He grins to himself. They’ve only been dating a couple of months, but he’s down bad for her and he knows it. (More to the point, he doesn’t care. He knows it’s too early, but he’s starting to think that she’s it for him. Permanently.)
He gets to her door and tilts his head to one side. He doesn’t remember there being a wreath on the door day before yesterday, which was the last time he was over at her place. It’s a nice wreath, he supposes—faux holly berries and little frosted plastic leaves wrapped around fake pine needles. He shrugs and knocks on her door, leaving the question of wreaths aside.
“Coming!” he hears her yell, and then she opens the door and he starts laughing. He knows it’s not very nice, but he can’t help it—she looks such a mess and it’s absolutely adorable. There’s flour all down the front of her blue polka-dot apron, flour on one cheek, and he’s pretty sure there’s flour in her hair too. He thinks there might be a smudge of chocolate on her chin.
“What?!” she says, looking somewhat harried, and he tries to smooth out his expression without a whole lot of success.
“I…ummm, you seem to have some…stuff,” he says, waving a hand to encompass the whole of her floury self. She makes a huffing noise of exasperation.
“It’s not my fault!” she says, brushing at the front of her apron and releasing a small cloud of white dust. “I’m making cookies and Ginger’s damn cat jumped on my leg right as I was measuring out a cup of flour. I’ve been cleaning up the mess for half an hour.”
He grins at her. “You look cute all covered in flour. What kind of cookies are you making?”
“Chocolate peppermint.” She frowns when he reaches out and tries to wipe the smudge of chocolate off her chin. “What, is there more flour?”
“Nah, I think it’s chocolate,” he says, and gives up when it becomes clear she’s going to have to wash it off. “You know that thing people say about looking good enough to eat? In your case it’s literal.”
She makes another exasperated noise. “Joshua.”
He leans in, cupping her smudged face in his hands. “Uh-huh?”
He loves the way her eyes go a little hazy when he touches her. He thinks he could love that for the rest of his natural life.
“You’ll…ummm, you’ll get flour all over you,” she protests, and he shrugs.
“Worth it,” he says, and kisses her. It’s a soft, slow kiss, sweet, and he finds out that she tastes like chocolate and peppermints. By the time he lets her go, they’re both breathing a little fast, and he’s thinking about persuading her to abandon the cookies and maybe take a joint shower to clean up.
Just as he’s about to persuade her what a brilliant idea this is, a timer dings in the kitchen and she wriggles out of his arms before his brain catches up to his body.
“Donna!” He looks down at himself, brushes idly at the flour smudges on his sweater, and then gives up. He can throw his clothes in the wash with hers, she won’t mind. He kicks off his shoes, sets down his battered leather messenger bag, and hangs up his coat on the row of hooks in the little hallway.
Feeling more relaxed than he has in days, he follows her into the kitchen and finds her bent over the stove, pulling out a tray of cookies that smell sinfully delicious. Another tray is sitting on the stove top. He’s contemplating snitching one until she says, “Don’t you dare touch those, Joshua, they need to cool first.”
He leans back against the counter instead. “How did you know I was…”
She stands up and deposits the second cookie tray on the stove top, raising an eyebrow at him. The heat makes her flush prettily, and there’s a stray wisp of hair coming loose from the bun on top of her head. She looks absolutely adorable, and he thinks idly that he’s never known anyone who looked this incredible in ratty sweats, an oversized T-shirt, and no makeup. Donna’s just beautiful all the time, as it turns out.
“I know because I’m tuned to you,” she points out, which is simultaneously terrifying and oddly comforting. In self-defense, he gives her his best pleading puppy-dog eyes.
“But Donna, they smell so good,” he says plaintively, and she grins.
“In 15 minutes, you can have one. In the meantime, I have to put them on cooling trays.”
He sighs. “You want some help?”
“I’ve got it, but thank you. Tell me how your paper went. You all done?”
He loves a lot of things about her, but one of the things he loves most is that she remembers stuff about his life. Sometimes even things he forgot he told her. Dating Mandy and then Amy Gardner was sort of a crash course in learning that his life and experiences didn’t particularly matter, and while he doesn’t ever want to reduce Donna to just the supportive little woman stereotype, it means the world to him that she remembers and cares.
“It was fine…I felt like the last body point wasn’t that great, but I was scrambling at that point.”
She makes a little noise of sympathy. “It’s a tough class, baby. And you picked a hard topic.”
He shrugs. “I should’ve known better, but I think it’s interesting. I didn’t think about how much I was gonna have to research Supreme Court cases from the ’50s, though.”
“Can I read it later?”
He feels a surge of deep affection for her, for how caring she is. If someone were ask him who he looks up to in this life, he has a list that starts with his parents and his older sister, but way high up on that list (and climbing constantly) is Donnatella Moss. One of the best humans he’s ever been fortunate enough to know.
“You really wanna read my term paper on the ways the current Supreme Court is essentially invalidating the Warren Court?”
She smiles over her shoulder at him.
“I really do!” she says, then turns back to transferring cookies. “Plus I already turned my paper in for my international relations seminar. Not that it was hard.”
She makes a little face, which makes him smile. He knows how frustrated she is that she got Dr. Dwyer, who is notoriously unfocused and an easy grader. A lot of sophomores want Dwyer because it’s an easy A in one of their required polysci credits, but not Donna. Of course she wants a challenge.
“You should ask to take some senior-level courses next year, baby,” he says, wriggling his shoulders to try to work out some of the knots. “You can definitely handle it.”
He can see her pleased little smile; it sends a surge through him. He’s wondered a couple of times if she’d be as responsive to praise in bed as she is out of bed. It feels like it’s way too early to fully introduce that dynamic, only a couple of months into the relationship, but down the road he’d like to try it, maybe. If she’s into it. Sex with her is already incredible, and he absolutely has no complaints, but…if there’s more she might be into, he’d be very excited to try out something new.
“You really think so?”
She transfers the last of the cookies with a spatula and sticks one baking pan and then the other into the sink and starts rinsing them off.
“Of course I do. You’re fucking brilliant, Donna. I keep telling you that.”
The smile is bigger this time, and he can’t resist…he steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing the top of her head. He’s only got a few inches on her at 6’2”, but he likes that she’s tall. (Lord knows he loves how long her legs are.)
“I have to wash dishes,” she says primly, and he grins and plants another kiss on the top of her head.
“Okay, I’ll behave myself. I need to go get my stuff out of the hallway anyway.”
He retrieves his belongings and wanders into the living room, where he stops dead two steps in.
“Donna?”
The water running in the kitchen behind him shuts off.
“What?”
“Donna, I think Christmas exploded in your living room.”
It’s not an exaggeration. As he slowly scans the room, it seems like every available flat surface has been covered with something Christmas-related, not to mention the brightly-lit and decorated tree in the corner. There’s tinsel and garlands and tiny reindeer figurines and jolly little Santa Clauses and bells and snowmen and possibly things that he doesn’t even know the name for. There’s also a fairly strong scent of pine, despite the fact that on closer inspection the tree looks like it’s not real.
“I decorated yesterday after I turned my last paper in,” she says behind him, and he turns to find her looking a bit nervous but hopeful. “I…do you like it?”
He doesn’t honestly know what he thinks, given that he’s never seen this many Christmas decorations before in the whole of his life. Unfortunately, she reads into his silence.
“Oh God, you think it’s way too much. And you’re Jewish, and you probably didn’t want to come over here and get assaulted by all these Christmas decorations. I didn’t even think, I - ”
He stops the flood of self-recrimination by the simple expedient of walking over and kissing her. He knows better than to ever tell her, but when she gets into a guilt spiral it’s one of his absolute favorite ways of stopping her before she ties herself up in knots.
“Donna,” he says when he steps back. “It’s really nice. It’s pretty! I just…we don’t do Christmas, at home, and I just didn’t realize you had all these ornaments. But it looks good! And I’m not offended, at all. I know you do Christmas.”
She still looks upset, so he wraps her up in his arms, relieved when she relaxes against him.
“Baby, I’m not gonna insist that you don’t celebrate Christmas because of me. That would be a real jerk move. As long as you don’t force me to dress up like Santa Clause, I’m good.”
She eases back, and he can see she’s grinning, which is good. He hates it when she doubts herself immediately. He suspects it has something to do with her high school ex, whom he has privately dubbed The Freeloader because of the number of times Donna told him the guy tried to cheat off her homework.
“Damn,” she says, fiddling with a thread coming unraveled on his sweater. “There goes my idea for what to do in bed tonight.”
He gives her a scandalized look.
“You wanted to seduce me after I dressed up as Santa Clause?! ”
She giggles. “Not really. Although I guess I could find a naughty elf costume somewhere.”
Josh tries valiantly to ignore the flood of dirty images that just overtook his brain.
“I, uhhh…”
She takes pity on him and pats his cheek.
“I’m not gonna make you dress up as Santa, baby. Don’t worry.”
Josh feels deeply relieved at that, but still has some questions.
“Okay, good, but…this naughty elf costume you mention?”
She grins and stands on tiptoe so she can kiss his nose.
“I don’t have a naughty elf costume. I do, however, have Christmas-themed underwear.”
He groans and drops his head to her shoulder, breathing in the scents of chocolate and peppermint and a hint of roses, which is definitely her perfume.
“Are you trying to kill me, Donna? Are you?”
She giggles and nudges him upright.
“You’re young and healthy, you’ll be fine.”
He gestures towards the front of his pants, where it is abundantly clear that her little underwear comment is having an effect in the form of a growing hard-on.
“I may be young and healthy, but if you keep saying stuff like that, I’m not at all sure I’m gonna be fine.”
She glances over her shoulder. “I have one more batch of cookies to make, but I guess they could go in the fridge for a bit.”
“Yeah?”
“And…” she pauses for dramatic effect, “I do need a shower. What with all the flour, and the chocolate, and everything.”
His whole body tightens.
“Would you…want some help, in the shower? With washing off all the chocolate, and stuff?”
She unwinds her arms from his waist and heads off down the hallway, pulling her sweatshirt over her head as she goes. He has no earthly clue how she manages to do that and not walk into a wall, but she somehow pulls it off.
“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” she calls, and he’s barreling down the hall after her as fast as he can with a raging erection going on.
By the time he gets into the bathroom, she’s already got the water running (he knows from bitter experience that her water heater takes a couple of minutes to actually kick in) and she wasn’t lying—she is in fact wearing panties and a bralette that are covered with jaunty little reindeer sporting sprigs of holly on their antlers. It’s honestly the most Donna-esque holiday underwear he can imagine, somehow oddly whimsical and flat-out hot all at the same time.
“You,” he says, grinning. He knows it’s the big goofy grin he mostly gets around her. Sometimes he wishes he could be a little more suave, but he can’t seem to stop himself from just being happy around her, and showing it.
“Like them?” she says, doing a little pirouette.
“Fuck yes I like them.” He reaches for her, skimming his hands over her bare shoulders, down her arms, then lacing his fingers through hers. “Have I mentioned lately how damn cute you are?”
She giggles and wiggles her fingers loose so she can drape her arms around his neck. “You can mention it any time you want to.”
He skims his fingers over her ribcage, with enough pressure that he knows it won’t register as ticklish, and cups her ass in his hands.
“So fucking hot,” he murmurs, nibbling his way down her neck. “I have the hottest girlfriend in the state. Probably the whole country.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be silly.”
He brings his hands back up and focuses on undoing the clasp of her bra.
“I’m not being silly, you’re gorgeous. Look at you.” He carefully peels the bra straps down her arms and drinks in the sight of her. She’s tall, slender, with all that alabaster skin on display, and her tits are absolutely perfect. In the humid, warm air of the bathroom, her nipples are flushed rose-pink, and he looks up to find her eyes already dark with want.
“Aren’t you hot in that sweater?” she says, trying to sound practical, but he can hear the throaty note in her voice.
“Yeah,” he says, stripping it off and then tugging his undershirt over his head. She reaches for him and he goes eagerly, loving the feel of her soft skin against his chest.
“If you have a really hot girlfriend, I feel very confident in saying that I have the sexiest boyfriend this side of the Atlantic,” she says, and he can feel himself preening at the words. He doesn’t think she even realizes how much even the slightest compliment means to him when it comes from her, how he stores them up in his memory and turns them over and over. It feeds something in him that needs praise and affection, that needs to be told he’s good enough.
“I think you’re still hotter, but okay,” he mumbles, cupping her ass again. She pushes up on tiptoe, and, impossibly, he gets even harder when he realizes she’s trying to use his hard-on to get friction on her clit. His hands tighten on her ass, and she whines a little.
“Let me,” he says hoarsely, and eases her back, ignoring her frustrated pout. He sinks to his knees, grateful for the soft memory foam bath mat, and reaches up to peel off her underwear. She gasps, leaning back against the sink as he gently pushes her thighs apart.
“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, looking at her pussy, already so wet for him. It still boggles his mind most days that she even lets him do this, that she wants him so badly. He’s the luckiest guy on the whole planet.
He nips his way up her left thigh until she’s trembling and then leans in and licks steadily up her center. She lets out a little choked cry, and then he smirks and starts nipping and kissing his way down the other thigh.
“Josh!” she says, tangling her fingers in his hair, and he shakes his head.
“Uh-uh, you have to be patient,” he says, and he can hear her frustrated little growl above his head. It’s incredibly sexy.
He takes his time going back up, and by the time he gets back to her pussy, she’s pushing her hips into his face she’s so eager. He mouths at her folds, and then without warning dips down and thrusts his tongue into her entrance. She cries out, jolting, and he reaches for her hips to steady her. He fucks her with his tongue for a bit, enjoying her broken gasps, the little moans, and then he moves up, searching for her clit with his tongue. He thinks sometimes that even after just two and a half months he could draw a map of her pussy from sense memory alone (not that anyone would ever ask him to). He licks at her clit gently, teases it with the tip of his tongue, and she squeaks.
“Josh, please,” she moans, and that’s what he was waiting for her. He keeps a steady hold on one hip and brings the other hand between her legs, stroking through her slick until his fingers are wet. He slides one finger into her, then two, stroking rhythmically as she whimpers, grinding down onto his hand.
“Josh, oh God, baby, please, please,” she babbles, and it probably doesn’t say much about him as a person, but he loves it when she begs. He loves playing with her a little, too.
“What do you want?” he says, tilting his head back. He doesn’t let up the rhythm he’s set with his fingers, fucking her steadily. “Use your words.”
She sucks in a deep breath, eyes tight closed. “What?”
“Use your words. Tell me what you want.”
She squints her eyes open and glares at him. “Just do it.”
“Do what?”
He speeds up the motion of his fingers a little, curving them so he’s hitting that spot inside her that seems to drive her nuts.
“Oh my God,” she moans. “I hate you, I hate you so much, please eat me out, I want your mouth on my cunt, please, Josh.”
He loves hearing absolute filth coming out of that pretty mouth. She’s such a sweet, quintessentially Midwestern girl with reindeer panties and cookies cooling in the kitchen and here he’s got her begging him to eat her out. He would be a liar if he said he didn’t love the power rush it gives him, even though he’s the one on his knees.
“Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear,” he praises her, and then leans in and gives her the reward she’s earned, fastening his mouth around her clit and sucking hard. She gasps sharply, and then he can feel her walls fluttering around his fingers as she pants her way through her orgasm. He knows he’s pushed her to the limit when she starts making little wordless cries, and when he thinks she’s too sensitive to take any more he eases back, letting her slump against the counter. He gets up, a little stiff after two days spent hunched over books and his laptop, and grins at her.
“Hi there,” he says, reaching around her to rinse off his fingers. He dries them off and undoes the zip of his jeans, carefully easing it over his still-raging erection. He’s honestly a little concerned at this point that if he doesn’t get some relief he’s going to damage something.
Once he’s kicked them off he pulls her into his arms, chuckling when she falls limply against him like she’s made of jelly.
“How’re you doing?” he asks, smug, and she snuggles into him.
“Mmm good,” she says, sounding very blissed out, and he shifts her hair back so he can kiss right below her ear.
“That’s nice,” he says, glad he kept his boxers on because most of his brain is telling him to stop taking things slow and just fuck her beside the sink. “Because you said some mean things a minute ago so I thought I’d check and see.”
She digs her head into his chest. “Didn’t say mean things.” She still sounds like her brain hasn’t fully come back online, and it’s so damn cute.
“You said you hated me. Twice.”
She stirs in his arms, then picks her head up, her eyes narrowed.
“You were mean. You made me beg. You were very mean.”
“And then I made up for it!”
She pouts, which is his undoing 100% of the time.
“You made me say filthy things. You blackmailed me. With your mouth.”
He snickers. “You were the one who said them, Donna.”
She huffs and pushes away from him, going over to the tub where the water is still running.
“You’re a mean person and you didn’t deserve to see my reindeer panties,” she says, testing the water with her hand. She must be pleased with it because she twists the little knob under the faucet that turns on the shower and steps in, pointedly closing the curtain behind her. This is fortunate, because it keeps her from seeing his continued shit-eating grin.
“I love your reindeer panties,” he says, pitching his voice a little louder so she can hear him over the spray. Thankfully her roommate went home to New York City for the holidays, so he can yell as much as he wants.
“Don’t. Deserve. Them.”
He kicks off his boxers and steps over to the tub, easing back the shower curtain until he can peek in. She’s a vision, already soapy, wisps of hair curling around her face in the damp heat, and she’s incredibly beautiful even though she’s still glaring at him.
“What if I said I was very, very sorry for being mean and made it up to you,” he wheedles. She gives him a little look and keeps rubbing her arm with a washcloth. He can smell the sweet, slightly cherry scent of her body wash.
“How do you plan on making it up to me?” she says, very suspicious. He gives her his best puppy-dog eyes.
“Well, I was going to start with washing your back, and then maybe see if you wanted me to do some other nice things.”
She purses up her mouth, considering.
“Okay, fine. But you have to be on your best behavior.”
He pushes the shower curtain aside and climbs in, smirking a little as she eyes his erection.
“I’ll be very, very good,” he promises, and takes the washcloth from her. “Turn around, pretty please.”
She lets him wash her back, and her ass, and her legs, although when he tries to bring the washcloth between her thighs she shakes her head.
“That soap isn’t good down there,” she explains, which makes zero sense to him, but it’s her soap and her washcloth and her body, so he does as he’s told. When he’s finished she rinses off, and then turns to him with a predatory gleam in her eye.
“Are you still going to be good?” she asks, and he gulps.
“Yes,” he says, wondering with a little trepidation what she’s up to.
“Okay, then come here.”
She pulls him to her, tugging his head down with her slim wet fingers woven into his hair, and kisses him until he moans and desperately nudges his erection against her stomach. He’s aching, has been for a while now, and he wants her so badly he could scream.
“You want to fuck me right here in the shower?” she murmurs into his ear, and he shivers, pushing against her belly again.
“Please,” he says, realizing what her game is. “Please let me.”
She hums, tugging at his hands where they’re clasped around her waist. “Not just yet,” she says, and cups his hands around her breasts until he gets the message. He obeys with alacrity, smoothing his his fingers over her wet, smooth skin, rolling her nipples between finger and thumb until her back arches. He bends and sucks one nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his teeth and tongue until she cries out, and then he switches sides. He doesn’t stop until she pushes lightly at his head.
“You’re being nicer,” she says, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and then she reaches down and curves her hand around his dick. He sees stars.
“Donna, Donna, don’t, please don’t, I’ll come,” he babbles, not even caring how far gone he sounds. She smiles, very pleased with herself.
“You’re desperate, aren’t you?”
“Extremely, yes.”
She lets him go, then very lightly skims one finger over the excruciatingly sensitive head, trailing little patterns all the way down to the base.
“Donna, oh my God, please. Please!”
“It’s so nice to hear you beg,” she says smugly, and he groans and tilts forward until his head thuds against the tile.
“I’m very, very sorry for earlier. I was mean and hateful and I’m sorry. Please, please stop tormenting me.”
For answer, she lifts one leg and hooks it around his, then pushes up on tiptoe.
“I want you inside me,” she informs him, and the sense of relief at the words is so great he nearly loses it and comes right then and there. After a couple of deep breaths, he manages to get himself under control enough to line himself up at her entrance. She’s so hot and slick, and he’s genuinely worried he’s going to come after about a minute.
“I’m gonna try to keep it together,” he warns her, and she tilts her chin back and laughs.
“It’s okay, I’m all done tormenting you,” she says, and as much as he loves playing games with her, he loves this even more, when it’s just Donna being her sweet, quirky, wonderful self.
“Okay,” he says, and slowly pushes into her. She’s so tight, so hot, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s moaning at a ridiculously loud volume until she grabs his ass to make him speed up and he makes a noise loud enough to bounce off the tile.
“Oh my fucking God, you feel so good, oh God,” he mumbles as he bottoms out, thrusting up into her as she grinds down. She whimpers, and his head snaps up; he’s scared he’s hurting her, but she grinds down harder, clearly looking for friction.
“Move, Josh, I wanna feel you, c’mon, baby,” she says, her nails digging into his ass, and he doesn’t waste any time doing what she says. They find a rhythm quickly, and he opens his eyes after a minute to realize that not only is she trying to match him thrust for thrust as best she can, but her tits are also bouncing nearly at eye level.
“Holy shit,” he mumbles, and he feels the beginnings of an orgasm tightening at the base of his spine. “Baby, I want you to come, I don’t want…”
He trails off, the words leaving him as he reaches down between them and finds her clit, still swollen from earlier when he ate her out. He touches her with the knowledge born of hours and hours getting to know what she likes and what she doesn’t, rolling her clit between his fingers with just enough pressure to send her over the edge but not to hurt. She moans, but she doesn’t come apart as he’d hoped until he rubs tight circles over her clit, trying to match his fingers to the rhythm of his dick inside her, and suddenly she wails and clutches at him. He can feel the rippling of her orgasm all around his dick, and he lets himself go, pumping into her once, twice more and then coming with a shout of relief.
It takes him a good few minutes to catch his breath, come back to himself, and when he does, he lifts his head, searching her face to make sure she’s okay, that he didn’t get too rough. He’s never been the kind of guy that gets off on being rough with a woman, even when she wanted it, and he’s terrified that one day he’s going to not pay attention to some key sign and hurt her without even realizing it.
She has her head tilted back against the shower wall, eyes closed, and he cups her cheek gently to get her attention.
“Baby? You good?” he checks in. She lets her eyes flutter open and gives him a little half-smile, turning her head so she can kiss his palm.
“Very very good,” she says, sounding blissed out again. He sighs, letting himself relax again, and leans in, kissing her softly.
“All right, just making sure,” he murmurs, trailing his mouth over her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, nipping lightly at her bottom lip.
“Can’t feel my legs,” she says plaintively, and he laughs.
“I told you I’d be very nice to you.”
“Mmmm. We gotta get cleaned up, I have cookies still to make.”
He hums, nuzzling at her collarbone.
“Wanna cuddle on the couch and watch sappy Christmas movies first? We gotta test out the cookies you already made, make sure they’re good.”
She pokes him in the ribs. “You think my cookies aren’t good?”
“Baby, I have absolute faith that they’re good. I just want to make sure.”
She gives him a dubious look. “What, for science?”
“Exactly.”
She snorts and nudges him off of her so she can rinse off. He reaches for the bottle of body wash he keeps at her place (he doesn’t let himself think too hard yet about what that means, that they’ve only been together a couple of months and already he’s keeping stuff at her place). He’d use her wash, he doesn’t care, but the last time he came back to his apartment smelling like cherry almond Sam gave him shit about it for two days straight.
He lathers up while she steps out and grabs a towel. The stress of the past two days is gone now, replaced by loads of endorphins and a delicious feeling that he is in fact that luckiest bastard not only at the university, but probably the entire Eastern Seaboard as well. He has no idea how he got lucky enough that Donna Moss wanted to date him, let alone fuck him in the shower, but he’s very, very grateful that she does (and will).
By the time he steps out of the shower, she’s gone, presumably getting dressed and checking on her cookies. He wanders into her room and opens the bottom drawer of the bureau where he keeps a couple of spare pairs of boxers, some sweatpants, and a few T-shirts. When he wanders out again, comfy from head to toe, he finds her curled up on the couch in clean, un-floured sweats and a T-shirt, fluffy red-and-white striped socks on her feet and a plate of cookies beside her.
“Hi,” he says, moving the cookies onto the coffee table and plopping down next to her. She smiles and snuggles up to him.
“Hi yourself.”
“What are we watching?” he asks, reaching for a cookie. He notices two glasses of milk sitting on the coffee table too and smiles. She really does think of everything.
“I think we’ll start with Miracle on 34th Street. It’s sweet but kind of old-fashioned. I love it.”
He leans back, cookie in hand, and wraps an arm around her. “Okay, indoctrinate me with your Christmas movies. My body is ready.”
She snickers. “I think your body is gonna need at least 20 minutes, baby.”
“Rude. And dirty-minded,” he says severely, and then takes a bite of his cookie. “Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, Donna, these are incredible.”
She laughs, reaching for one of her own.
“You sound almost almost as excited for the cookies as you did for shower sex.”
“Well, they’re amazing,” he points out with his mouth full. After a swallow of milk, he stares at the half-eaten cookie reverently. “We can’t tell anyone about these. Anyone at all. None of our friends will ever leave you alone, and they won’t do anything with their lives, they’ll just eat these cookies all the time.”
She turns pink, clearly pleased at the praise, and nibbles at the edge of her cookie.
“It’s too late, I already told Sam and CJ and Toby that I’d give them some.”
“Noooooo, Donna, no, these are too amazing, I have to have all of them. Sam and CJ and Toby can have store-bought.”
She laughs and nudges him with her elbow. “I will make more of them, Josh, it’s not a zero-sum game. There can always be more cookies.”
He sighs and takes another bite, marveling at how it’s somehow perfectly chewy, decadent with rich chocolate that pairs beautifully with the bite of the peppermint.
“Okay,” he says, stroking her arm and snuggling her a little closer. “I just want to make it clear to you in this moment that I will do anything for more of these cookies. My body is at your disposal. Day and night.”
“Joshua, are you seriously offering me sexual bribes for cookies? ”
“You bet your absolutely perfect ass I am.”
She leans her head against his shoulder and huffs out a breath.
“You’re impossible. But really, really cute.”
“Mmmm.” He finishes his last bite and rests his cheek against her hair. “You really are amazing. You know that, right? Like, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you’re incredible in bed and in the shower and on countertops, and you make cookies like this. Plus you’re absolutely brilliant.”
She ducks her head, suddenly shy under this onslaught of praise, but he nudges her head up gently, easing back so he can look her in the eye.
“I mean it,” he says softly, and he knows she’s not ready to hear it yet, isn’t sure what she’d do if he said it, but he hopes she can somehow see the awestruck love for her that is welling up inside him. “You’re amazing.”
She smiles, a little tremulous, her lips quivering a little.
“You are too,” she whispers, and kisses him. It’s a soft kiss this time, not meant to lead to anything. He’s content just to hold her, kiss her back, let himself be swamped with love for this woman who makes every single one of his days better.
When they break apart her eyes are a little damp, but he doesn’t say anything, just hopes that it’s a good swell of emotion for her like it is for him. He reaches for another cookie and flashes his dimples at her.
“You really could conquer worlds with these,” he teases, and she wrinkles her nose as they let the intensity of the moment go.
“Okay, sure, we’ll tell my IR professor that,” she snarks, and they settle back as she turns on the TV and finds Miracle on 34th Street. She presses play, and the familiar trumpet blasts of the 20th Century Fox logo ring out into the living room.
“Merry Christmastime, baby,” he murmurs, breathing in the soft smell of her hair, and he can feel her smile against his shoulder.
“And to you,” she says softly.
Christmas isn’t his holiday, he muses as he takes another sinful bite of her cookies, but he could get used to this. To spending every December just like this, with her. Maybe soon he’ll get the nerve to tell her that. In the meantime…this is good. This is enough, for now, just being happy here, together.
Filled with an odd buoyancy, a sense of hope, he kisses her hair and settles in to watch the movie.