Eyes Bright, Uptight {EDITING}

// you're my consolation//

"Mmm, I love it when you talk dirty to me," I whispered in her ear.

She giggled. "Matthy, there's a child present."

I ruffled Oliver's curly mop. "Ollie, you go and have a bath and Matty is going to tidy up."

Claire's lips met mine in a sweet peck, and she walked with Oliver into the bathrooom, drawing him a bath with an ungodly amount of bright-blue bubbles she'd purchased especially for him. Both of them were having an absolute blast.

As I scraped and scrubbed the dishes, wiped down the crumbs and spills, and swept the kitchen, I thought of how delighted I was at all of this. The sounds of Claire pretending to be a Sea Captain with Oliver as he spalshed in the bathtub were a melody. The clanking of the dishes, the evening coming to an end. The yawns coming from Oliver's mouth as he tried to fight sleep after she had dressed him and he was nestled between the two of us on the couch.

This was enough. It was more than enough.

The three of us wiggled around until we were comfortable. I sat on the far side of the couch, with Claire's head in my lap as she spooned Oliver. I stroked her hair, while she did the same to Oliver's as the credits of Thomas the Train rolled.

I peeked down to see if Oliver was sleeping, and his big blue eyes were heavy, but still awake. Claire was close to falling asleep as well.

"Matty," Oliver yawned. "Sing a song."

"Okay, mate. Let's get you tucked in first," I said, as the three of us shifted our bodies once more.

Claire propped Oliver's head up on a pillow, then tucked his little chunky body into the blanket like a burrito, and nestled his stuffed monkey next to him.

"All set, handsome," she said to him.

I knelt down to the couch and began stroking Oliver's hair once more.

"Twinke Twinkle Little Star?" I asked him, my voice soft.

Oliver shook his curls and rubbed his eyes. "No. I wanna heaw 'whoa whoa gotta woman now'," he requested.

He wasn't the best with song titles, but he did the best he could recalling a favorite of his I'd written about an encounter with a prostitute I'd had when I was still a teenager. Not that he knew what the song was about.

"She mistakes my name," I began. "I see the light come around. And strange as it seems, I'm bursting at the seams. And oh-whoa, I've got a woman now."

I continued singing to Oliver, trailing off at the end to where my voice was barely a whisper as his eyelids begame heavy and he succommed to sleep. Claire was resting at the end of the couch, curled into a ball with a blanket thrown over her.

"He's out," I said to her.

Her pretty, sleepy eyes smiled at me.

"I think I'm going to sleep, too. I've been so tired lately," she yawned.

My lips met hers before she could protest, and I embraced the fleshy pillows in my own before scooping her up bridal-style and carrying her into the bedroom.

Claire smiled as I lied in bed next to her, our noses nearly touching.

"Golly, you're cute," she said in a whisper.

"Mmph," I pouted. "Not cute enough to fuck tonight, though."

Claire put her pretty, rose-gold painted nail against my lips and she kissed my neck tenderly before finding her proper spot, her face lodged in the crook of my neck.