Subject: Playing dodgeball.
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Posted on: 2011-07-19 19:43:00 UTC

Was she questioning his manhood? Eh, probably not, but she had definitely twigged to some part of what was going on with him. Living as long as Suicide technically had (barring a death or two) came with mixed blessings: women impressed by scars usually weren't quite as impressed with posttraumatic arthritis. (Ah, the words he'd learned when Medical was putting in his new limbs.)

Two possibilities occurred to him. One, he could execute a quick roll onto her (no hard task for anyone who'd spent time as a wrestling partner for pissy warrior types) and make good on demonstrating just how much activity he was ready for. Two, he could own up to the usual morning aches and see how she reacted. The former would be more fun in the short term, but it ran the risk of Jenni seeing it for the avoidance tactic it partially was. The latter, on the other hand, might get him something more than a hand massage--but possibly damaging his (so he believed) reputation as an unstoppable killing machine in the process. Decisions, decisions: waking up in bed with a woman like Jenni should not have given rise to that many questions.

There was always the middle path. Turning onto his side, he hooked one leg around hers and pulled her a little closer, echoing her earlier brief kiss with more intent and meaning. "I already told you," he said with a lazy smile, running a hand through her loose hair. "You wore the crazy right out of me. I feel perfectly gods-damned justified in taking my time waking up.

"And I'll be keeping that point, thanks. Nume expended some real effort in telling me how duplicitous and . . . clutches-y you were. A prize manipulator should know better than to sleep with someone they actually like." A gender-neutral pronoun with a double edge, he thought. Though he counted himself less a manipulator and more a maimer, really . . .

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