Love on Gaia: Sleepover

This is modified from an old scene. Though the work is my own overall, parts of the other character’s dialogue were written by his player (Position-One in TSW & SWL) in the original scene. He is no longer active in the community, but I do have his permission to post this and to claim the work. My ingame handle is “Drina.” Category for this is Eros.


“I kept the bee pajamas in my closet, just in case…” Miles offers. Rye smirks, recalling a previous ‘sleepover’ not too long ago. Or was it longer? Time seems to blur more and more, and she has a habit of making herself a little too busy and a little too unavailable to him, just in case another night like ‘that’ night happens.

“Maybe this year I’ll buy you some silly Christmas-themed pajamas,” she says, “Then you’ll own exactly two patterned pieces of clothing.”

Miles looks amused, but says nothing.

“Now for some reason I’m imagining you in a cheesy Hawaiian shirt,” Rye says, her grin growing.

He actually cracks a smile at that one.

“I’m not sure the Hawaiian print will translate well into pajamas, but you are the fashionista, so I will defer to your expertise.”

Rye shrugs, smirking. “I think the only times you can claim ‘fashion sense’ and involve Hawaiian print are if you’re an indie artist, a trust fund baby, or a rapper, if I’m being honest–although I totally own something Hawaiian print just for the kitsch of it…”

Miles makes a show of bowing to her knowledge and she laughs again. She’s happy to have this comfortable ‘normalcy’ with him, even after months apart. Whenever she finally makes time for them again, things always feel exactly like they always did the time before. It’s always ‘home.’ He’s ‘home.’ No matter what happens between them, no matter how much time passes, he will always be 'home.’

“We’ve done vegetarian sushi before, right?” she asks, setting take-out bags on the counter. They’re standing in his kitchen, Rye in a silky pajama set, Miles in a t-shirt and sweats. He helps her as she busies herself emptying the bags. Another ‘sleepover.’

“We have done sushi before,” he says, “Though I don’t recall it being all vegetarian. I don’t recognize some of these, but what do I know? It’s all just rolled up plants to me.”

His tone is teasing and the playfulness in his eyes keeps her at ease. She smirks at him.

“What kind of food do you eat normally?” she asks, “I’m pretty sure you only indulge like this when I’m around.”

Miles shrugs. “I eat the basics. It’s fuel, mostly. I’m sure my Bee makes up for any lack of daily vitamins. I haven’t gained a pound or aged a day since.”

Rye looks him over as he talks, a warm feeling slipping over her. She fights a laugh.

“Yeah, you, uh, you look just as good as those early days…” Her grin stays. “Very healthy. You’re definitely getting your vitamins.”

Miles smirks.

Rye shrugs. “I think I’m still aging. Just very, very slowly. I don’t think I’m passing for my early 20s anymore, that’s for sure.”

The food spread is forgotten as Miles watches her, his smile growing. He turns to slip his arms around her, eyes lingering on hers. Her own expression steadies somewhere between amused and curious.

“As someone that is familiar with, quite literally, every inch of your body, you have not aged a day since I met you,” he reassures, a wolfishness to his expression, “However, I’m willing to keep you around for a long time to fully test this experiment.”

Rye rolls her eyes, grinning once again. “Lucky for you, your charm and your devilish good looks keep drawing me back. Hopefully I bring something to the table besides my old weaknesses and insecurities anymore–although I guess those kind of worked to your advantage back then, huh?”

She smirks at him, clearly referencing some private past only they two know.

He returns her smirk with a playful smile, then shrugs, still holding onto her. “We met when we were younger and we were still figuring things out. Even 90-year-old married couples that were high school sweethearts met when they were at their most insecure, before they grew together and found their way in the world.”

There’s something endearing about him comparing their relationship and experiences with that of high school sweethearts. Granted, their story is just a little darker than ‘Jack & Diane’ or any such couple.

“That was very poetic,” she says, her smirk staying. “I’m remembering a Scarface-sized mountain of blow is all I’m saying… That 90-year-old couple probably led a very different life.”

“I remember that too,” He says, watching her with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “And who knows what that old couple did? Blow, whips, dirty movies. They were young once, too.”

She laughs, squirming out of his grasp. “Dammit, Miles! You know I’m picturing the old people now!”

He actually laughs.

“I’m sure it was back in their prime and definitely not now while they’re old and shriveling. Maybe.” A grin stays on his face. “But maybe it’s still their thing.”

She laughs again, rolling her eyes as dramatically as possible and hurriedly prepares a couple plates of food for the two of them, nodding toward his living room. Miles obliges and collects his plate before he follows. Rye makes herself at home at one end of the sofa, smirking down at her plate. “I don’t think I was ever the right age for whips and spankings…”

He takes a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, but from the way he’s looking at her, he won’t be so distant for long. “Oh, I don’t know, Rye. I think you’re exactly the right age for some of those things.”

He pauses a beat, then adds with a charming smile, “I also didn’t specify spankings.”

Her eyes are back on him as she deftly takes up one of her rolls with her chopsticks, nomming carefully, playing innocent. And after the bite is swallowed, she fights another smirk, watching him. “Oops. I wonder where that came from.”

“I think I know,” he assures her with an easy tone as he works on his own roll, continuing the game, “There is not much you and I have not done together.”

His words resonate. There’s a strong sense of comfort in the simple statement. Theirs is a messy and complex history mixed with work and pleasure and heartache and pain, and back around again. Many times. “That’s… pretty true. Bathroom trysts, hot tub rendezvous, poisonings in Seoul, quickies in elevators, dead bodies at satanic ritual sites, bodyguarding New York fae rappers, weird sex hotels, fine dining, beautiful vacations… Occasional sleepovers.”

She pauses, then adds, with the brightest of smiles, “And of course Christmas tree trimming. I’m missing a few things, aren’t I?”

“You are,” he says, playing along, “Like that ‘one’ time here on this sofa, or that thing with the kidnapping, and then Mexican food after, or you coming to the hospital with me, or me going to another demon summoning gone wrong with you, or the weird time in the van in Oakland, or letting me wake up beside you.” His tone might be a little more wistful for a couple of those, and the hospital bit is a slight stab in the heart Rye hadn’t expected to hear in the same breath as the sofa tryst or demonic summoning.

“Or me wanting us to have a life together,” she adds quietly. “More than the very weird one we’ve built already. And… and that one night.”

She looks down at her plate for several seconds, nibbling her lip as she contemplates her own words. He probably knows exactly which night she’s talking about, whether he says anything or not.

“I’m not knocking the life we have built, though,” he says, almost too quickly, “I absolutely will take what I can get. We do the thing at Christmas, and I send you flowers from time to time. We spend time together. We even had a proper Valentine’s Day this year. We could have more, I think. You know I’d gladly take more.”

“It’s always the ‘more’ that scares me anymore, though,” Rye says, pausing for a careful bite of her food, probably just to keep from saying anything else.

“I think it’s the part that’s always scared you,” he offers gently.

“I’ve always been bad about commitment, haven’t I?” she glances for only a moment.

“It’s not like I’m husband material,” he says with a quiet laugh, a light tone mixed in his self-deprecating humor, “I understand your apprehension.”

“Funny. Back when I was snorting lines like five days a week and struggling to stay afloat there were rumors going around that I was perfect wife material…" She looks at him, smirking, "Can you imagine? Standards are weird.”

“Standards are weird,” he agrees, quickly adding, “They weren’t wrong, though.”

“You’ve hurt me a few times now, Miles.” Her eyes are on him again. “I… I never wanted to be anybody’s consolation prize.”

“I know what I’ve done,” He says, without soaking the conversation in remorse. He takes another bite of his food, tone even rather than soft, “I know why you ‘visit,’ instead of ‘stay.’ But you aren’t a consolation prize, Rye. You never were.”

She edges toward him on the sofa, setting her plate on the coffee table. “I keep inching toward staying. More and more.”

“Do you?” He sets his own plate aside as she moves closer and draws her in, arm slipping around her. He stays silent for now, turning his head so he can press a kiss to the side of her head as she leans closer to him.

Her hand moves to rest on his thigh and she gives it a light squeeze, letting her fingers linger. “I think we’d both miss the ‘sleepovers’ if I was around all the time, though. At least a little.”

He squeezes her a little tighter, a small smile pulling his lips.

“If you were around all the time, we could ‘sleep over’ every night, you know?” he murmurs into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of milk and honey.

“You might get bored of them,” she offers.

“I think we could find ways to keep them interesting,” he offers. His tone softens again. “As far as your inching goes, Rye, keep inching. As slowly as you need to. I won’t pressure you. I’ll be right here no matter what. I have all the time in the world.”

‘I love you.’

She doesn’t say that part out loud. And neither does he.