If the world was ending you’d come over, right?

[Brayden Smith]

"What the fuck do you mean stir counterclockwise? What does the direction have to do with it?!" Marge looked like she wanted to throw the wooden spoon at him, or at least gouge out his eye.

Bray winced and huddled closer to Jack. He was on the couch recovering, and trying to tell Marge how to make his soup—the chicken soup to save their souls. It was a cold, rainy day—an indoors day. Bray finally felt good enough to be out of bed but he was still quite weak, so he was bundled up on the couch with a blanket over his shoulders and a throw over his legs. He'd been reading through the instruction booklet of their newest card game with Jack, resting against him with his head on his shoulder and occasionally sneaking in a kiss or two while Marge had her back turned.

Although he didn't quite know all the details about the encounter in the woods, Bray knew enough to know that it could have been much, much worse. That man—Keith—wanted to kill them. No... he wanted to kill Bray. He wanted to corrupt Jack, it seemed, or to drive him crazy because Keith himself was out of his mind. He hoped, truly, that it was a one-time thing and that Keith had been taken care of once and for all. It sent shivers down his spine to think of what might have happened had Marge not come along when she did.

A few nights ago she and Jack went out with shovels and stayed out all night. Bray saw them blearily through his bedroom window and when he asked the next morning about it, he received several suspicious answers about... planting a garden and... making fertilizer. Marge had exchanged a Look with Jack before declaring that she was going to shower, whereupon she disappeared for a while. When she came out, there was no longer dirt under her nails and she was humming to herself as she relieved Jack. While Marge showered, Bray tried to ask Jack what happened but. Um.

They didn't have a lot of time to be alone together so. Talking took a back seat to. Other things.

Marge seemed to have decided to move in with them. Bray offered her his apartment—since he was staying with Jack while he recovered—but she declined. Claimed she needed to protect them, brought over her own things and set up shop. Jack's bed was luckily large enough to accommodate all three at night, which was nice and... not so nice. Hands went places under the covers but Bray was too shy to do anything with Marge right there! She wouldn't mind, or so he was told, but it felt strange.

And now, here they were. Bray being threatened by Marge. "It... just trust me. That's how my mom used to make it and—it just works."

"Can't believe this shit," Marge grumbled as she turned her back to them, stirring counterclockwise. "Thought it would at least be something like Cloud 9 or... lard or something."

Bray snuck in another kiss, a soft one to the corner of Jack's mouth. Ah... he really wished they could be alone together for even a half hour. They were a couple but it felt more like they were some kind of strange threesome. He smiled at Jack and then turned his eyes back to the booklet, which was trying to explain how the dice rolls worked, absently tucking his hair behind one ear when it fell over his eyes.

[Jack Ripley]

"You did say you thought it was magic, though~" Jack sang, looking over at Marge with her long-suffering irritation. What was she even complaining about? She wanted to learn how to make the soup for herself, didn't she? Well! Now she was learning how! (And maybe if she learned how, she would cook... on her own... without the two of them...)

He smiled when Brayden kissed him, then peered down at the booklet to the card game. Honestly, reading the rules made his eyes cross. He'd rather just get to the game and start playing and just use the book as needed. But Brayden needed to read the thing front to back religiously.

"Mm..." Jack leaned into Brayden and kissed him where the hair once hung in his face, over the eyes, the cheek, his jaw, before he rested his chin against his shoulder. His face pressed briefly to the side of Brayden's throat. And then... Slowly, slowly, slowly, he leaned in such a manner that he was gently nudging Brayden into the couch... His hand slid over Brayden's and took the booklet out of it as he turned his head to kiss Brayden. Not a chaste kiss to the corner of the mouth or to the temple. A real kiss. The kind he'd been stealing for days and barely subsisting on.

He pulled the blankets up over them, as if that afforded them any privacy from Marge, who was just right there, in the kitchen. Who approved of these damned open floor plans, anyway? Why did Jack ever choose this place? (Never mind if he hadn't, he wouldn't be so close to Brayden now.)

"I love her," he said to Brayden after another kiss, "but let's run away together."

[Brayden Smith]

Hmm... that was nice. The small flurry of kisses. Bray smiled down at the booklet but lifted a hand to cradle the back of Jack's head as he rested his chin on Bray's shoulder, stroking gently. At first he thought it was nice that Jack leaned against him; it was cozy and they were close. Bray flipped a page. Jack leaned a little more heavily against him and Bray glanced over, concerned. Was Jack tired? Did he need a nap? He'd been stressed lately, and none of them had much sleep. Nights were... unpleasant, sleeping together but not actually sleeping together. At this point even Bray was getting impatient...

Oh—man down. Bray looked up with his usual surprised look. He relinquished the booklet but the sultry kiss drew a little noise of protest from him, despite his body responding readily to nothing more than a press of the lips and a flick of a clever tongue. "Jack," he whispered as the blankets cocooned them and shielded them. "No. Marge." She was right there! And if she turned around she could see them!

But. Mmm... Bray sort of agreed. He loved Marge too but he also loved Jack terribly and he was ready—oh, so ready—to take their relationship to the next level. Slipping his arms around Jack, he eased his head up for another long kiss. "I think she'd still find us, no matter how far we ran—ack!"

The blanket suddenly flipped up, exposing them. Marge stood above them with a Look of Disapproval on her face. "You fuckers."

[Jack Ripley]

Ugh, no.

Jack rolled his eyes upward and heaved a sigh as the blanket was pulled up. He didn't even have to look to know it was Marge because who else could it be?! Dropping his head against Brayden's chest, Jack let out a sound of pure frustration. Why was she doing this to them? She had to know! They needed some time alone--together! Without her! But she was always there, omnipresent, always looming. It was going to drive Jack back to the bottle. Was that what she wanted? None of them wanted that!

Lifting his head, he turned slightly and tried to take hold of the blanket she'd flipped on them.

"What did we say about cock-blocking, sweetie?" He knew she knew--they didn't. That was what they said about it. They didn't cock-block each other. So why was she doing it now and forever?

[Brayden Smith]

He... he had to say something. For the first time in a long while Bray felt the need to assert himself and that really spoke to how far he had been pushed to his limits. All of these tantalizing kisses and touches and longing stares and trips to the bathroom were becoming actual torture. He would've had a better time being waterboarded than having to go through this!

While Jack collapsed against him and Bray held him close, he looked up at Marge with her crossed arms and frown. "Marge? Do you think we could, um. You know. Maybe have a-a few minutes alone? Um. It's-it's not that we don't want you around but. Ah... Jack and I... we..."

"No." Marge shook her head vehemently and a few wisps of hair slipped out of her bun. "I'm not here for fun you fuckers. I'm here to make sure nothing happens to either of you. It's not like I'm exactly having a good time either, okay? You're not the only ones with blue balls!"

"Oh-oh yeah. Yeah I know, and I appreciate it b-but..." Bray struggled to not offend her, since he knew that she was doing what she thought was right. It was just... that... he needed to get laid already. He needed to have sex with Jack to dispel this terrible sexual tension that had been building and building and building. Bray cleared his throat softly, looking to Jack for a little help.

[Jack Ripley]

Why was she so quick to KNOW all the things but the second things were Very Obvious, she stubbornly inserted herself where she wasn't needed? Not that they weren't appreciative of her role in saving Brayden's life, but thus far, they were fine. They were safe. And she could stay at Brayden's place!

But how could she not see they needed some time together? Without her? They'd scarcely been on two dates together. The one time they did anything vaguely sexual, Brayden was blitzed on wine--her wine!--and then they were hunted like animals and Brayden died (or nearly died--Jack wasn't a hundred percent on what actually happened there) and there were all these high emotions in the air and no way to act on them properly.

Was she blind?

"It's not our fault you've got blue balls," Jack intoned with a distinct lack of Amusement in his voice and affectation. This wasn't funny. It was never going to be funny. It was torture. "We wouldn't mind if you stepped out and found somebody to fuck your brains out. Really. We would be fine with it."

And then they'd have time to themselves and nobody would have blue balls. Voila! So easy!

[Brayden Smith]

"If your face wasn't so beautiful," Marge hissed, looking about ready to cross the threshold from low-grade simmering rage to towering inferno. Ah, but that was Marge...

"Ju-just... twenty minutes? Marge?" Bray looked up at her pleadingly. He just needed something... more than a kiss here or a grope there. Nothing would happen to them in the span of twenty minutes, right? And then they could get rid of the awful, awful tension and Marge could live with them forever if she wanted. Bray would be satisfied, he thought, with doing it once. But at LEAST once!

"You want me... to go out... and find a dick," Marge said slowly, with a kind of dawning realization on her face that unsettled Bray. "When there are two right here?" Her eyes on Jack seemed to be alluding to some idea that she was communicating solely to him. Through her thoughts.

"I'm s-sorry? What--" Bray didn't get another confused word in edgewise before Marge's lips were on his. "...?!"

[Jack Ripley]

"Mama needs to calm down..." Jack muttered to Brayden because he didn't want to say it directly to Marge, lest she actually do something to his face. It already took ages for that aching head pain to go away. One kick to the chin and it would all be for naught.

Jack turned his gaze to Marge, too, trying to match the pleading tone of Brayden's voice. Maybe if they double-teamed her, she would finally listen. Not... that they'd said much lately. They'd been kinda tiptoeing around the issue until now but it was coming to a boiling point. It felt like forever since anybody in that room had any kind of sex. Brayden most of all, now that he thought about it, since the being drunk thing meant it didn't actually count for him.

And Jack hadn't gotten off that night so...

"No, no you're not--" Jack tried to intervene because he saw exactly where Marge was going with her line of reasoning and no, no, he wanted his boyfriend all to himself, thank you very much and oh come on, please tell him she did not just moved right in and kiss Brayden right in front of him. Jack slid his hand over Marge's shoulder.

"I know you're as horny as the rest of the class, Margie," he said, putting as delicately as he could, "but we haven't even consummated this relationship yet, if you get my drift."

Not that it seemed to matter to her because when she was on a warpath, nothing could stand in her way. He used to like that about her...

[Brayden Smith]

"P-please no," Bray whispered as he pushed Marge off, shaking his head as if that would stop her. He didn't wipe his lips, though, because that seemed insulting and... and it wasn't like he disliked it. The kiss. Just. He wanted Jack's kisses more. "I--we--this--no." One-word sentences stumbled out as  Marge glared down at him first, then at Jack, then back at him.

"Fifteen minutes. And I get him next time," Marge said--to Jack. "Or both of you, it's negotiable at this point."

Bray felt a little like he was on auction, which he disliked but... fifteen minutes? Hope dared to spring in his chest. He clung to Jack and buried his face away so as to prevent further forcible kisses. Threesomes weren't a thing he wanted at the moment--or maybe ever. He didn't know. He disliked the idea when that young man seemed to pitch it at the cafe before. And Marge... she was something of a fixture in their lives but... he didn't know.

"But I'm not leaving so you two better get it done quick. And leave the door open."

[Jack Ripley]

Look.

Jack, he liked a good threesome. He liked good sex, period. And it was insane how good it felt to be fucked and sucked at the same damn time--he knew, he'd been there. Most of the time, he would be in for it. He'd be down for it. Jack wasn't possessive of the people he loved; free love, baby. But also. Also.

He really hadn't had a chance to be with Brayden alone. Properly. Just the two of them. And he also knew that Brayden was a shy guy. He was shy. It probably wasn't in his nature to be thrust straight into a threesome. There was something slightly encouraging about the fact that he didn't use his newfound tone of authority on Marge--Jack noticed that--the one he'd used in regards to cafe kid. But.

Again. No Jack and Brayden time. Alone time. Together time.

They all wanted sex; they were all kind of climbing the walls. They were all on the edge of desperation. But he didn't think they'd quite reached that level of desperation. Yet. Although Jack was almost fucking willing to take it. If Marge didn't back off and it led to more days like this, he was pretty sure even shy guy Brayden would be willing to have a go at it, shyness be damned.

Fifteen minutes, she said. It didn't sound like a lot. Jack didn't want time limits, damn it. They were always on invisible time limits. Why couldn't they just... have time to explore what they were, who they were to one another? It seemed a shame to him, that their first time should be when Brayden was too drunk to remember and then their official first time together was timed, with somebody watching over them the whole time.

"No." Now it was Jack's turn to use his own authority tone. "I love you, Marge. But also. No."

It was out there now. It had been hanging in the air for days. Ages. Nobody saying anything, everybody tiptoeing. But it was out there now and damn it. No.

Jack sprang up off the sofa, hand in Brayden's. His fingers threaded through his, tugging him to come along with him. To the bedroom. His bedroom. Their bed.

"We're taking our time," he said and when he reached the bedroom and pulled Brayden to him, he said over Brayden's pretty little head, "And we're closing the door." And he closed the door. And he even locked it. And then he considered dragging the bureau over just to keep Marge from breaking in but he knew it wouldn't stop her if she really wanted to break in. Sinking against the closed door with his arm still around Brayden, he sighed and closed his eyes.

"Oh my god, can we just take a second." One fucking second. And then his hand was on Brayden's cheek and his lips were on his, a kiss that followed the path of the last one but this time with more... promise laced in between each kiss that came after it. He had no idea if Marge would actually count the minutes or if she'd leave them to it for as long as they needed but he wasn't actually willing to take the chance.

Clothes were coming off. Hands were being... handsy. And once he'd stepped out of his pants, he was maneuvering them to the edge of the bed, tipping Brayden over onto it and climbing over him. And the kisses? The kisses didn't stop. They grew, really, in intensity and in number. His hand slipped between Brayden's legs. He nuzzled Brayden, his cheek, his throat, the side of his beautiful head.

"Remember everything this time," he whispered. Because god fucking knew when they'd have another shot at it.

[Brayden Smith]

"Ahh..." They were going to be murdered in their sleep tonight. Marge had that look about her that said maybe she could 'make fertilizer' again if she had to--which Bray eventually realized probably meant she'd gone and buried a body somewhere deep in the woods. This time, two bodies.

Bray went with it because he had already resigned himself to the fact that if he had to die, he'd go along with it peacefully. At least this way he'd have one beautiful moment of intimacy with Jack before shit hit the fan. He smiled apologetically, actually apologized to Marge, apologized again at the door just before Jack closed and locked it, and... And he still felt Marge's glare through the locked door.

But that was okay. She wouldn't burst in on them. He thought that what she said was desperate talk--the real Marge, she was usually the one encouraging them before things went weird in the woods. And she gave him the wine, didn't she? Didn't that mean she wanted him and Jack to... consummate their relationship? Nearly losing him sent her protective instincts into overdrive but he was sure she'd calm down. Eventually.

Ah, well. That was a thought for later.

Right now...

"Jack?" This was all very... new to Bray. He wasn't actually used to someone wanting him so badly in any way, much less in a sexual way. And--not only Jack. Marge? Her too? But there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted Jack, first and foremost. Always. His heart didn't tell tales; he knew that his first time in three years would be a giant disappointment if it wasn't Jack. And only Jack.

"I'm s--" he began, but thankfully Jack stopped the apology with a kiss. Then another kiss, then more kisses on top of that. Bray's hands were at his sides too, at first content to just hold him and bask in the moment... and then growing a little bolder. A little less content to be idle. He helped take clothes off too, shyly avoiding staring down--he stared up instead into Jack's handsome face and beautiful hazel eyes.

"I love you," he whispered between the hungry kisses as his own hands took their cue from Jack's. He dared to let them slip low, over the curve of a buttock. Ah... he was doing it. He touched. He maybe groped a little; he couldn't help it, his fingers had minds of their own. "I--yes. Everything." Bray's face was molten lava but the heat in his stomach was worse with Jack's hand on him. He swallowed hard and tentatively touched Jack too, as some flash of memory brought him back to that drunken night when he touched Jack like this...

"Please, can we...?" Bray kissed him again in desperation. His legs parted of their own accord as restlessness took hold. He was so ready. Had been ready for days. Weeks maybe.

[Jack Ripley]

"We can."

Who could say no to that face? Or that tone? Or... anything that Brayden did, really. It was kind of a wonder that Brayden stayed single for so long. Nobody else was looking at him? Noticing that light in him? Well, other than Marge but she and Brayden probably never would have crossed paths if Jack didn't act as the bridge. Maybe if there was magic, there was also fate.

"We will."

But even if fate existed, Jack was forging his own fate. Like this one... right... here. Right in that tender place behind Brayden's ear. Right on his temple and his cheek. Right on his pleading mouth. ...right between the legs. They were in Jack's domain now; there was plenty of everything they could ever need for a good time. Lack of lube wouldn't stop him now.

As much as he wanted it and as much as he knew Brayden wanted it--god, how he must have wanted it--Jack wasn't taking chances. It couldn't hurt. He couldn't hurt him. (Unless he wanted it to hurt but that was a subject for another time and place.) Three years saw Brayden into this state of need and dissatisfaction. Jack couldn't even really imagine it; he never let it go that long without at least some kind of physical comfort. And he had to admit, it had only been worse since he'd fallen in love with Brayden. He really wanted him. For too long, it was nothing but creative thoughts and his imagination.

Brayden was warm--hardly a surprise. Warm and tight but inviting. Not... scared. Maybe a little nervous but Jack's fingers finessed their way to coaxing Brayden open for him. Tickled that little knot inside of him, a promise, not a tease. Don't be too impatient. (He still felt like maybe he was--his heart wouldn't stop beating a little too fast but he did his best.)

It felt as if every trick he learned was meant to be played out in this moment. The kind of flick of the wrist, turn of the finger that could drive a man wild, the sort of playful nibbles at the base of his throat that made a man restless as those gentle nibbles and kisses led to a nipple. Timing was everything. As his tongue slid over a nipple, he replaced skillful fingers with the tip of his cock. Now those fingers were back on Brayden's, taut and ready. More than ready.

As he slid inside, his teeth and his tongue did this marvelous trick he learned from--it didn't even matter who anymore--against Brayden's nipple. Then it was all tongue and his head rose up to capture a waiting mouth. He whispered his love against those lips as his body slowly met Brayden's for the first time and he felt... such joy and elation, like fireworks in his soul, lighting him up from the inside out. They fit like they were perfectly crafted to join in this way, just like their fingers and their palms, the way Brayden's height aligned with his just so, in a way that he could cradle his head to the hollow of his shoulder and kiss him on the side of the head.

He said it again, that he loved him, when his lungs screamed for air and his lips brushed the tip of Brayden's nose and the bridge of it and the place between his eyes and his forehead. The rhythm they danced to was also just so--not too fast as to spoil the moment, not too slow as to drive them out of their minds. It was warm and comfortable and loving, just as their kisses were, and their embraces.

Another series of kisses and he was spinning out, love drunk, the rhythm a little more erratic, harder to control. And his hand still stroked Brayden, explored the way he felt, again like it was all meant to be. They were... art. They were... music. Beauty.

Jack dropped his head against Brayden's shoulder, burying his face in his throat, his scent, his skin. The rhythm was at its height, the heat overwhelming, cresting, crashing over him like a force of nature. Brayden's name was on his lips, his taste was on his tongue, but most importantly... he was a part of him now. Inside. His entire body and even his soul seemed to shake for a moment. And then with a final shudder, he felt more at peace than he ever felt in his entire life. It felt exactly like the french said; la petite mort--a little death. Sweet exaltation. Like his whole life just passed before his eyes in a blink.

Whatever he'd given away, whatever he lost, was now a part of Brayden. That's how it felt. "I love you," he whispered again, again, again. 

[Brayden Smith]

"Please... please..."

If there was pain, if it ever hurt at any point, Bray didn't remember it. He didn't remember anything that Jack did in a negative light—and truthfully there was so very little that Jack did even normally that Bray found unpleasant. In all their time together, the one time he truly got upset was over the lockpicks. That was it. And even then, he had been exasperated more than he had been angry.

Jack could do no wrong. Not tonight, not ever.

The tenderness with which he coaxed Bray's body open was an art form. His fingers and lips painted fire all across Bray's body, leaving him trembling, writhing, his body weeping for Jack and so, so ready to accept him in his entirety. It hardly seemed possible that this was finally happening and yet he lived so very much in the moment. He didn't over-think. He didn't think. He felt. His body responded eagerly in its newfound sexual freedom, no longer taking directive from Bray's insecurities and doubts.

There was almost too much stimulus but Bray found a way to take all of it in. All the textures and tastes, the way Jack's body felt so warm and so alive above him. The slick, wet warmth of a tongue at his nipple made him groan; a fingertip brushing that sensitive, intimate spot deep inside made him cry out Jack's name. He clung tight, bucking into Jack and then confusedly writhing away when the pleasure grew to be too much. Then back again, kissing him, pulling at him so that he could bury himself deeper, deeper inside where their cores touched and connected.

Something wrapped around his heart, too. Love had always been there but it was unfocused and without direction. Now, as their bodies merged, that love narrowed down to one: Jack. He couldn't even begin to imagine loving another person this way, with his entire being, with every fibre of his soul and spirit. It felt as if he had been made for this very moment in time, for this one single achingly beautiful act of love. They didn't have sex; they made love. And that was why there was no pain, because the love that wrapped around him protected him.

Words didn't seem to be able to do his feelings justice so he said nothing. He absorbed Jack's love and he loved him in return, no less fiercely but in his own way. His lips brushed the tip of an ear, a jaw, the corner of an eye—whatever came within range. His hands swept up the length of Jack's back and then down again, skirting past the small of his back, over the swell of his ass. Bray led with his nails for a brief moment when Jack struck that secret spot inside that made his toes curl and he threw back his head with an agonized, ecstatic moan. Please... please... please... He wanted this sweet torment to never end.

But three years was a long time and his body was primed to fall into that little pleasant death that awaited him. Bray didn't try to hold back; he understood that this moment was his moment. Their moment. That no matter what he did, he could do no wrong. Not with Jack. So he let go and he let his body's natural instincts take over, heels digging hard into the mattress, one hand clutching the sheets and the other in Jack's hair clenching reflexively.

Ahhh... Bliss.

Completion.

Bray laid there panting; his lungs were on fire. It felt like he hadn't taken a single breath in the entire time that they were making love and now he was only just catching up. He held on to Jack with shaking arms and let out a delirious little laugh.

[Jack Ripley]

Jack let out a delirious laugh, too. He couldn't help himself.

Never in his life had he felt such... love. Such deep affection. And Jack loved. He thought he did, anyway. He loved people before Brayden but those loves felt so shallow in comparison to this. To this moment. To this man. Oh, to this man. Even in the sweet afterglow, he couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop touching. This time, brushing his thumb across Brayden's cheek, cupping his face. Kissing him. Not an overly deep kiss, not overly involved. Just a connection, lips to lips. Love to love. A form of communication he never knew existed.

How did he go so far in life without this? This was what wars were fought for. This was what changed the world. This was what love really was. Real love. Genuine, actual love. His delirious little laugh trailed off as he rolled over and dropped down beside Brayden, curling his body around him. Legs around legs, an arm around his waist, a hand at his chest.

"Brayden," he said, just to taste his name. The hand on Brayden's chest, slid over the place where his heart beat and he could feel it. Didn't they beat at just the same time? Like they were two parts of a whole... Jack could have cried--all of his life he just wanted this. A love that transcended everything else. Every ugly thing in the world, every ugly thing he thought he did. All he wanted was to love somebody with every part of himself, somebody that loved him with their whole heart. And here he was. Finally. Finally.

"I think," he said quietly, as his breathing grew steadier and the moment between them became calm and it was just the two of them intertwined around one another. "You've broken me," he said, but he said it almost triumphantly as he laid a kiss against Brayden's cheek. "I'll never love anybody the way I love you, Brayden." What's more... "I never want to."

[Brayden Smith]

"Hm." He loved that little noise Jack made when he was thinking. Hm. Bray cracked open an eye, cracked a smile at his lover. They were lovers now, truly and... officially. Making love meant that they had consummated their relationship and now they were A Couple. No doubting, no questioning. The kind of safety and security that came with being loved was overwhelming and Bray had to just lay there and soak it all in—soak all the love in.

He was loved.

"Oh." He broke Jack? Alarm—but it died away as quickly as it surfaced, seeing that Jack wasn't in pain. In fact he was glowing. Ah, that after-sex glow. Bray heard about it in passing but he never knew it was... literal. A literal glow? Was that really what they meant? He blinked and it was gone but... but he swore he saw it. A real glow, a golden halo outlining Jack, its light covering him and covering Bray, too, everywhere they touched.

Magic.

"You're the definition of love," he whispered back, still in half a daze over the glow he saw. Bray turned into Jack and kissed him again, long, slow, deep. "I love you so much." So much that he was willing to die for Jack, and if that wasn't true love then nothing was. Nothing could ever be true love if that meant nothing to both of them. Bray pressed his lips to the hollow at Jack's throat, emulating something Jack did to him earlier—but in a far less erotic way. His was a simple, affectionate kiss.

"I hope you didn't swallow all of it this time!" Marge's slightly muffled voice carried into the bedroom.

Bray stiffened. Marge. Swallow all of it... His face heated up but he laughed again, still deliriously—for a vastly different reason. "Do we have to go out? Ever?" He whispered to Jack even though Marge couldn't hear them. Bray clung tightly to him as something buzzed on the ground—it sounded like a phone. Hm. The world at large started coming back to them now, which was a real shame.