betweenthewaves: (one little princess sitting all alone)
[personal profile] betweenthewaves
prince charming's a myth (real life's annoying and far more amazing)
original fiction, ♥ jeremy/lydia, fluff.
reading in bed is a danger to all involved.


Reading in bed is a danger to all involved.

Lydia knows this because Jeremy's told her so, and often enough that she knows it's probably true. It's technically not her fault though, because it's not as if she can ignore her ever persistant curiosity- she's tried, it nearly drove her mad. But there's something magical about the quest for knowledge, the thrill of finding yourself in new, impossible worlds, and the fact that she can talk to anyone in history, simply by reading their thoughts on paper.

The fact remains that reading in bed is possibly not the best way to carry out this search for knowledge. For reasons unknown to either of them, Lydia always, always dozes off after a while, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But it inevitably ends with her rolling over and clocking either one of them with the book, or else it's the papercuts.

So when she comes home, exhausted after a day full of classes at the community college and falls into bed instead of grabbing the book she's been spending all her spare time on, Jeremy picks up his guitar and plays the soothing Spanish melody that always puts her to sleep. He's laying next to her when she wakes, watching some procedural on their crappy little television with the volume down low and the captions on so the noise doesn't disturb her.

"You know, I think you're somewhere between Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty," he says without preamble, grinning and letting his eyes move to her feet, then back.

"What?" Lydia mumbles, stifling a yawn and propping herself up against him.

He tucks her against his side and taps her nose playfully. "Somebody forgot to take her shoes off."

She peeks down at the end of the bed. Crap. Still wearing the worn out tennis sneakers she keeps promising to replace. Her face colors slightly.
"I was tired," she whines. "And you're not Prince Charming."

"Hey, as long as you're not going to keep bugging me about it when I- Ow!" She smacks his arm and he cuts the sentence short abruptly.

Jeremy rubs his arm, glaring despite the fact that they both know she came nowhere near hurting her, then switches to the pout she's never quite been able to ignore. He knows that now, but only because she told him so.

"I can bug you about taking off your shoes whenever I want."

Jeremy pouts some more.

She leans up then, at an awkward angle to nip at his lower lip and then smiles into the ensuing kiss, letting it go on slowly, until it's time to breathe again and they pull back.
"There, better?"

"You didn't hit my mouth in the first place, you know," he starts.

"And you're complaining about the fact that I didn't?" Lydia's somewhere between mockingly cross and simple laughter. It doesn't seem like their life should be this easy, not after everything they've been through to get here.

"Not at all, Mrs. Laswell."

They've been married for six months and he still takes particular delight in emphasizing the last name. Particularly since she'd once told him [when they were both young, and in the 'who can annoy the other more' stage] that she couldn't think of one girl who'd ever want to marry him or take his "stinky last name". Of course, they were eleven or twelve then and it was long before any of this. Before either of them had gained a more mature vocabulary, for that matter. She can't even remember what they'd been bickering about now. Though it was probably because of him pouring ants on one of her schoolbooks again.

"What's that smile for?" Jeremy's watching her again, that quiet seriousness in his brown eyes that at first seemed so different from the person she knew.

Lydia shakes her head, smiles. "Nothing. Something. Do you remember when I told you I couldn't think of any girl who would ever-"

"-Want my 'stinky last name'? Yes. I don't think I got the mud out of my hair for a week."

Wincing, she thinks of how that had ended- with her pushing him into a distinctly muddy ditch.
"I apologized for that, right?"

"Eventually."

She 'hmms' a little noncomittal noise, eyes wandering to the window. Outside the closed blinds, it looks like the sun was just starting to set- she's probably slept longer than planned.
"Guess I'll have to make it up to you," she adds, eventually.

"Guess you will," he agrees, and she doesn't have to look up to know that he's grinning the same way he did when they first met- a good fifteen years ago now- or that the exact same dimple was showing as it had then.

For the moment though, she relaxes back into him and heaves a contented sigh. They have all the time in the world.
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