7x7x7 writer's prompt, part 3.

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She'd been almost incoherent when he'd put her to bed. Now, in the bright morning, she was paying for it and he was amused.

"A little too much last night?" he smirked as she shuffled past on the way to the kitchen.

She grunted.

He chuckled and called after her quietly, "There's coffee ready to go for you! Just push the button!"

It wasn't long before he heard the coffeemaker gurgle and the scent of a fresh pot of coffee wafted his way. He heard the beep of the microwave, too. She'd be making her favorite morning-after meal of dry toast and bland oatmeal. Said it helped settle her stomach.

He thought it was rather foul.

The coffeemaker bubbled its familiar brew-cycle-death sounds and he couldn't resist the smell any more. He pushed himself out of his comfy chair and wandered to the kitchen. She was pouring two mugs, bless her, knowing that he'd come 'round.

She left his on the counter for him to fix while she gingerly carried hers, black with two ice cubes, to the table covered with copies of a brightly colored book, slurping noisily off the top as she did.

He, being the civilized person that he was, added sugar and a tad bit of real cream to his before joining her, pausing to kiss the top of her head as he went by.

"Enjoy the launch party last night?"

"Mmm," she said, spooning an oozing mound of gray mush into her mouth. "Best launch party ever," she said around the mouthful.

He laughed, "As if you've had oh-so-many launch parties!"

His laugh was infection and she smiled. She waved her spoon, accenting her words, "Yeah, but none of them will ever be as good as the first."

"You're not wrong," he agreed.

"Damn straight. And, I know what I'm talking about too. You wanna know why?"

"Why?" he asked, taking a sip as his eyes crinkled around the edges.

"'Cause I'm a real writer now, baby." She pointed her spoon as the stacks of yellow books. "I write and I know things."

They laughed and he picked up one of the books. "You know, it really is quite a good book."

She cocked her head to the side. "You actually read it?"

"Of course I did. I told you I did."

"I thought you were just being nice." She scraped the bottom of her oatmeal mug, then licked the spoon.

"No, love, I really did read it," he asserted.

"Oh? What was your favorite part then?"

He grinned, lopsided and mischievous, and put the book down. "The sexy part."

She outright laughed then grabbed her head. "Oh, don't do that. It only hurts when I laugh."

He got up from the table and gingerly pulled her out of her chair to him. "Well, what happens when you make other sounds, writer lady?" he asked her low and husky.

She melded her body to his. Even after all the years they'd been together, she still found him sexy as hell. Something about his crinkly eyes...

"I don't know. Might hurt, might not," she murmured back at him.

"I thought you knew things?" he teased, running his hand up under her night shirt.

She raised her face to his and kissed him gently, seductively. "Only after lots and lots of research."

"Well, I've heard that writer lady types such as yourself need to do an awful lot of investigation."

She smiled and pulled away from him, pulling on his hand so that he had no choice but to follow her. "I have writer's block. Let's do some experimenting."

"Yes, Ma'am, writer lady," he grinned, happy to be pulled along.