five || leslie's little sister

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The darkness was long gone by the time Leslie woke up, the curtains still closed. Her neck was sore and at some point in the night, she had kicked off her flannel bottoms. She stood slowly, hovering over Greg in her t-shirt and knickers.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said, reaching up to open the curtains behind him and accidentally hitting him when she stepped back. He stirred, taking a moment to adjust to Leslie in all her morning glory. He blinked a few times, struggling not to stare. He had seen her in her underwear before, but that was years ago and it had never been the first sight the day greeted him with.

"Cat got your tongue?" She pulled her top down a little, only a temporary fix, and wandered through to the kitchenette area, unconsciously swinging her hips more than usual.

"Uh, yeah," he said, rubbing his forehead and getting to his feet to tear his eyes from her behind.

"Did you sleep there all night?" she asked, stretching up to the top cupboard for the coffee pot. Greg caught a glimpse of her bare stomach.

"Yeah," he said, the only word he could come up with.

"You must be so stiff." She put the kettle on and fetched him his glass of orange juice, leaning against her counter with her hands on the edge, ankles crossed on the linoleum floor.

"You have no idea."

Leslie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I do," she said, lowering her voice with a knowing smile. "It's ok. I don't mind."

"What do you mean?" Greg's hair stood on end, the back of his neck tingling.

"Well, you know, last night..." At his blank expression, she trailed off, wondering why she had brought it up and filled the air with awkward. "You weren't as quiet as you might have thought."

"Oh, God." His heart plummeted. Leslie, eyes twinkling, just laughed.

"It's quite alright. I know all about the need. As long as you didn't leave a mess. I only cleaned the bathroom on Friday."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm kidding, Greg. Don't be sorry," she scoffed. "Be, I don't know, self-assured? You knew what you wanted and you got it."

Greg allowed himself to laugh through his mortification, sipping his orange juice. It was half true, anyway. Leslie took the kettle off a moment before it boiled and poured her coffee, still in a state of undress.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"You might want this." She held out a glass of milk, taking a sip herself and licking her lips.

"Why?"

Her straight face cracked. "It's good for your boners," she said, unable to hold back her laughter at her own joke. "Ok, that was a bad one. I apologise."

"So you should," Greg said, but he drank it anyway.

"No, I should get dressed," she said. Greg was in yesterday's crumpled, untucked shirt and jeans.

"Mmm," he reluctantly murmured, eyes slipping down when he thought she wasn't looking.

"You little pervert." She slapped the back of his hand and sauntered to her room with her head held high, oddly flattered by what she had heard at two thirty that morning. No matter their status of perennial friends, she liked the idea that he got off to her. It gave her an odd feeling, the satisfaction of fulfilling a duty, but she banished the thought. It was an inconvenient time to be getting hot under the bonnet, the all too familiar tingle spreading through her. She dressed fast, returning to Greg for something to eat.

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