By ChicagoTunnelKid


They hadn’t been able to see each other for about three weeks. Vincent was not going to be the one to cancel. So he climbed up to the balcony, and the welcoming hug he got helped his tired and weary bones.


Vincent would say the evening was hardly a rousing success. Catherine might say differently, for here was Vincent, clad only in his jeans, lying on her bed with a thin sheet over him.


As exhausted as he was, he fell asleep despite his best intentions. He didn’t argue about her invitation. He shed his layers and his boots and climbed into her bed. Even in a state of exhaustion, he was beautiful to her.


Later, when she thought about it, and think about it she would, she couldn’t believe the audacity of her behavior. But curiosity overcame her, and so slowly, ever so gently as to not awaken the sleeping Vincent, she drew down the thin sheet. The well-muscled arms, even in repose; the upper chest, the pectorals – all covered in feather soft hair growing in whirls. The hair met in the middle of his ribcage, becoming darker and a bit heavier, flaring downward.


She was almost there. She pulled the sheet down just a bit more, then let out a shriek as his hand clamped upon hers.


“See anything interesting?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.


“Why, yes, Vincent, I did.” She replied demurely.


“You’re an innie!”