Scripted love (excerpt from Columbian Scheme by Zara J Day)

Navon was on the bed, taking off his shoes and socks. He placed the shoes neatly at the foot of the bed and stuffed the socks in a small laundry bag with dryer sheets, a ritual Michèle has insisted on for trips like these so the whole room wouldn't smell like feet. Navon was preparing to take a shower, slipping the Union Flag shirt over his head and tossing it on the ground beside his sock bag. At this, Michèle, who too had undressed from her blouse and slacks, came up behind Navon and wrapped her now naked arms around his torso, her arms naturally falling into the mild scars that were the only evidence of the top surgery he'd had years before she met him.

Navon smiled sheepishly at this and turned his head to kiss her, but Michèle continued to pull him back onto the bed, and he complied with little hesitation.

"My love, I need a shower," he said, though he knew what her next words would be. This was a play they performed quite often, though the lines had been written with experience and time rather than the traditional pen and paper. He was nearly mouthing her lines.

"You'll need another one after I'm done with you anyway. You might as well do it after." She reached down to his pants zip as easily from behind him as if it were on her body. Navon and Michèle locked lips, and though the next actions were slightly different every time, it always ended with the two of their clothes left on the floor and one person's head between the other's thighs. Through whatever silent agreement the two of them had had in the course of removing pants, it was Navon's turn to give that night.

Michele loved Navon. There was a rhythm to the way they moved during intimacy, a call and response thing that neither of them particularly minded. It was this exact melody that had convinced Navon to propose to Michèle. The way she anticipated his needs, the way he knew her body like a song. It was familiar and safe in a world that often made them feel like they were under attack. Michele had once read that routine was the eulogy of happy marriages. She couldn't disagree with that more.

When Michèle was finished, Navon licked his lips and, for some time, just watched Michèle experiencing the afterglow of her climax, still giving soft moans into her raised arm and the bedsheet. It was a nice sight for Navon. Michèle was still wearing a blue substitute for the real gold engagement ring. Navon had the wedding band in his suitcase, a matching rose gold ring that would click right in place.

When Michèle was finished and falling out of the high, she sat up on her elbows and looked at Navon and smirked. "Take a shower, darling." This, too, was scripted.