RISK & REWARD ✔️

66 | 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯

"ANYTHING else?" Behind me, Slade sounds exhausted; gleefully, I turn, eyes landing on the rather-defeated silhouette waiting by the table. Or, what was the table. It's now the resting place for an absolutely massive statue of a reindeer seated in a bed of snow, antlers hung with red ribbons and silver bells. She's got her hands wrapped around the head of a chair, stooped partway over because I've managed to arrange a tinsel ribbon from lamp to bedpost that happens to be right over her head. She hasn't even showered yet; her hair sits messily around her face, still frizzed-up from her scrubbing it dry. The entire room currently smells like chlorine, rather than evergreen trees or peppermint or whatever other festive scents I've collected.

Speaking of which; besides our room being decked head to toe (wrapped bed banisters, wreath on the lamp, a herd of tiny reindeer statuettes on the TV stand and a few old classics playing off of my phone), I've also invested in scented candles. I debated on whether or not it was wise to put fire in the same room as Slade and then ultimately decided any sort of arson she tries will be worth it considering our room will smell nice.

"Hm." I look around, look at the stack of empty bags Slade has haphazardly been trying to fold as I decorate. "I think we're okay, actually."

Tired green eyes flick over to the stack of things on the fridge. "Do we know what to do with that?"

That. Right.

My forty dollars' worth of cookie dough.

"I forgot to ask if you liked peppermint or not, so," and I wave one box, "I only got one, and then we got a gingerbread batch, and a cake batter batch, and a sugar batch, and..."

I catch Slade's reflection in the mirror. While I'm trying to arrange all of our dough boxes in the fridge, Slade is seated on the bed, legs dangling, hands folded up in her lap. She watches with quiet interest; her response to my ramble is quiet.

"I like peppermint," she says, softly.

"Good. We can always go get more, but we have one for now; do you like the other ones too?"

"Yeah."

"Perfect." I look over at the clock; noon, exactly. "Do you want some now? We can make them for dinner."

"For dinner."

"Mhm." I look over my shoulder at her and roll my eyes. "It's fun. Come pick what you want."

"What I want," Slade replies, tone dry, "is for you to put the thing down."

I feel my brow wrinkle as I start to turn slowly over my shoulder. "What?"

Slade sighs. There's a soft rustle as she shifts — and then her breath is against my neck, nosing up behind my ear.

"Said I'd go swim, an' you'd go shop, come back in an hour an' then we'd fuck." Her tone is slightly irritated. "That woulda been at noon. It is now five fifteen, sweetheart, and we haven't done shit."

Oh.

Right.

That had been the deal.

"...oh." My breathing stutters as Slade lips at the shell of my ear, hands smoothing over my shoulders. "Yeah, we...we can, just..."

"Just what?" Her fingers spider around my sides, latch around my stomach. "What now?"

I sag. "We could...let me put these in, and while they're cooking we...we can..."

Slade practically groans against my ear. "So you're gonna make me wait? More?"

"I'll...I'll be fast, give meoooohh," and I shiver when she mouths softly at my neck, "give me two minutes, I just have to put them on a tray and..."