"—and then Nurse Chen gave me dumplings! And Nurse Park gave me cookies! And someone from radiology gave me a sandwich!"
Zayne drove with one hand on the wheel, the other being held hostage by Nana, who was recounting her hospital adventure with enthusiasm.
"Did I look like a hungry beggar?" she asked, genuinely confused. "Why did everyone keep feeding me?"
Zayne huffed a laugh—an actual, genuine laugh that felt foreign but good.
"You're small," he explained. "And you have those eyes. People want to take care of you."
"What eyes?"
"Big. Innocent. The kind that make people think you need protecting."
"But I don't need protecting! I'M the protector! I protected YOU today! From Pokemon thieves!"
*She protected me. From imaginary threats. By eating dumplings in my office.*
"You did very well," he said, squeezing her hand gently. "No climbing. No tackling. No chaos."
"I TOLD YOU I could be good!" She beamed with pride. "Did you see? I was VERY professional! Like a medical statue! A quiet medical statue!"
*She was good. Better than I expected. Just... waited. Watched. Accepted food from concerned staff.*
*My colleagues definitely think I married a stray cat.*
"The nurses were kind to you?" he asked.
"Yes! They said you never smile but you smiled at me THREE TIMES today! They said it was like seeing a glacier melt! Very dramatic!"
*My staff is monitoring my facial expressions. Wonderful.*
"They also said," Nana continued, "that you're usually very cold and scary but with me you're soft. Like a marshmallow doctor!"
MARSHMALLOW DOCTOR.
*I've gone from Greek god to marshmallow.*
"And one nurse—I forget her name—said she's glad you found someone because you seemed lonely and now you look happy!"
*Happy. Do I look happy?*
He glanced at Nana, who was swinging their joined hands, smiling contentedly, looking pleased with her day of hospital protection duty.
*Yeah. I'm happy.*
*Catastrophically happy.*
He reached over with his free hand and patted her head gently—something he'd started doing without conscious thought.
*She's tiny. Adorable. Chaotic. Mine.*
*And she destroys my sanity in the best possible way.*
They'd had dinner (takeout again—Nana was permanently banned from cooking after the Kitchen Arson Incident). They'd showered (separately, with Nana standing guard outside his door "just in case"). Now they were getting ready for bed.
Zayne was already lying down, reading a medical journal, trying to focus on cardiac valve replacement techniques and NOT think about this morning's hand incident.
*Don't think about it. Don't remember how she felt. How she sounded. How she—*
The bed dipped.
He looked up to find Nana climbing on top of him—straddling his waist, settling herself like she owned the position.
*When did this become normal? When did I stop protesting?*
She grinned down at him—a cat-like grin that meant trouble.
"Hamster," he said carefully, setting his journal aside. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting!"
"On me."
"Yes! You're comfortable! Like a husband-shaped chair!"
*Husband-shaped chair. I'm furniture again.*
"And," she continued, leaning down until her face was inches from his, "I want my french kiss routine. For good dreams. Remember?"
*The routine. Right. The routine that ends with her unconscious and me suffering.*
"You fell asleep mid-kiss yesterday," he pointed out.
"I was tired! Today I'm VERY awake! See?" She bounced slightly to demonstrate.
*The bouncing. The cursed bouncing.*
"I can see that," he managed.
"So can we do the routine? Please? I'll try not to fall asleep!"
Famous last words.
"Fine," he sighed, reaching up to cup her face. "But if you fall asleep again—"
"I won't! I promise! I ate candy earlier so I'm very energized! Very awake! Super—"
He kissed her, cutting off the rambling.
*Just a routine kiss. Quick. Simple. Then she'll sleep and—*
But Nana had other plans.
"Wait wait!" She pulled back. "I want to share the candy!"
"You want to... what?"
"The candy! I ate one earlier! It was strawberry! I want to share it with you!"
"Nana, if you already ate it, you can't—"
"I can!" She grinned. "I swallowed it but the taste is still there! So we can share through kissing! Like in the dramas! It's romantic!"
*She wants to share candy through kissing. Candy she already swallowed. This is—*
*Actually that's kind of clever. And sweet. And—*
"Show me this candy-sharing technique," he said, unable to hide his smile.
She leaned down and kissed him enthusiastically.
And yes—there was a lingering sweetness on her tongue. Strawberry. Sugar. Purely Nana.
*This is ridiculous. Sharing imaginary candy through kissing. And yet—*
The kiss deepened.
His hands moved to her waist, holding her steady as she leaned into him.
*Control. Maintain control. This is just—*
Her tongue met his more confidently now—she'd learned quickly over the past few days, figured out what he liked, what made him make sounds.
*She's a fast learner. Too fast. Dangerously fast.*
One of his hands slid up from her waist to her back, the other moved to cup the back of her head, angling her better.
*Better access. Better—*
She made a small sound—not quite a whimper, more like a needy hum—and shifted in his lap.
Oh no.
His control, already fragile, cracked.
His hand moved from her back around to her front—
To her chest.
Again.
*Not again. Why do my hands keep doing this. Why—*
But this time it wasn't accidental.
This time it was intentional.
He cupped her breast through her pajama top, thumb brushing over the peak, and—
She gasped into his mouth.
*That sound. That gasping, surprised, needy sound.*
His other hand joined the first, both hands now cupping, touching, exploring through the thin fabric.
*Stop. You should stop. This is—*
But she was arching into his touch, making more sounds, her hands gripping his shoulders.
*She likes it. She's not pulling away. She's—*
His mouth left hers, trailing down her jaw to her neck.
*Mark her. Need to mark her. Need everyone to know she's—*
He kissed her neck, then sucked gently, then harder, leaving a mark.
A visible mark.
"Zayne—" she whimpered his name, tilting her head to give him better access.
*My name. She's saying my name like that. Like—*
His hands moved lower, sliding from her chest down her ribs, to her waist, to her hips—
*Stop. Stop here. Don't go further. She's never—we haven't—*
One hand stayed on her hip, holding her. The other moved back up, sliding under her pajama top now, touching bare skin.
*Soft. So soft. Warm. Perfect.*
"Zayne," she whimpered again, louder this time.
*I want her. I want her so badly. Want to touch everything. Taste everything. Hear her say my name like that over and over.*
His hand slid higher under her shirt, reaching—
STOP.
He froze.
Completely froze.
*What am I doing. She's never done this. Never been touched like this. And I'm just—*
He pulled his hands back like he'd been burned, breathing hard.
Nana sat on top of him, flushed, breathing unsteady, pajama top disheveled, a visible mark blooming on her neck.
*I did that. I marked her. I touched her. I—*
"Why did you stop?" she asked, voice small, confused.
*Because I want to do more. Because I'm afraid I won't stop if I continue. Because you're innocent and I'm—*
"Because," he managed, voice rough, "we should—we can't—I shouldn't—"
*Eloquent. Very eloquent.*
Nana tilted her head, studying him. "Zayne? What do husbands and wives actually do? At night?"
Oh no.
OH NO.
*Not this question. Any question but this question.*
"They—" he started, brain completely blank. "They sleep. Together. In bed. Like we do."
"But that's not what you were doing," she pointed out. "You were touching me. Here." She gestured at her chest. "And here." Her hips. "And you were kissing my neck and making marks and your breathing got all weird and—"
*She's listing everything. She's cataloging my loss of control.*
"Is that what married people do?" she continued. "Is there more? Because it felt really good but you stopped and now you look scared and—"
"I'm not scared," he lied.
"You look scared."
*I'm terrified. Terrified of wanting you too much. Terrified of losing control completely. Terrified of—*
"Mina said," Nana continued innocently, "that we should go on a honeymoon!"
*MINA. OF COURSE IT'S MINA.*
"She said married couples go on honeymoons and do special things and since you're rich we should go somewhere nice and—what's a honeymoon exactly? What are the special things?"
*I'm going to freeze Mina. Today. Right now. Drive to her house. Freeze her solid. Put her in the hospital freezer. Next to the ice cream.*
"A honeymoon," he said carefully, "is a trip couples take after getting married."
"For what purpose?"
*To have sex. Lots of sex. In a romantic location. Away from responsibilities. Just intimacy and—*
"For... bonding," he said instead. "Quality time together."
"But we bond now! We kiss! And you touch me! And make sounds! Isn't that bonding?"
*Yes. But honeymoon bonding is... significantly more advanced.*
"It's different," he managed.
"How?"
*HOW DO I EXPLAIN SEX TO MY INNOCENT WIFE AT 9 PM ON A THURSDAY.*
"It involves," he started, choosing words carefully, "increased physical intimacy. Beyond kissing. More... comprehensive touching. And other activities. That result in—" *don't say orgasms don't say orgasms* "—mutual pleasure."
"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Like what you were doing? The touching? Is there more touching?"
*SO MUCH MORE TOUCHING.*
"Yes," he admitted.
"Where?"
*EVERYWHERE.*
"Various places," he said vaguely.
"Can we try? The honeymoon things? Here? Now?"
*NO. YES. NO. I WANT TO. CAN'T. SHOULDN'T. MUST RESIST.*
"Not—" he swallowed hard, "—not yet."
"Why not?" She pouted. "We're married! Mina said married people do honeymoon things all the time! Not just on actual honeymoons!"
*MINA. MINA IS GETTING FROZEN. DEFINITELY GETTING FROZEN.*
"Because," he tried to explain, pulling her down to lie beside him instead of on top of him (safer position, less temptation), "honeymoon activities require... preparation. Discussion. Understanding. You've never—we haven't—it's a significant step."
"But I want to!" She propped herself on her elbow, looking at him earnestly. "I like when you touch me! And I want to know what else there is! And Mina said—"
"If Mina's name comes out of your mouth one more time tonight, I'm implementing a Mina-mention ban."
She giggled. "But she's helpful!"
"She's a menace."
"She's my friend!"
"She's corrupting you."
"She's educating me!"
*That's what I'm afraid of.*
"Hamster," he said seriously, cupping her face, "when we do honeymoon things—and we will, eventually—I want you to be ready. To understand what's happening. To want it because YOU want it, not because Mina suggested it."
"But I DO want it!" She insisted. "I wanted you to keep touching me! It felt so good! And when you kissed my neck I felt all tingly and warm and—"
*She's describing arousal. My wife is innocently describing arousal and I'm dying.*
"And," she continued, touching the mark on her neck gently, "you marked me. Like... like claiming. Right? That's what it means?"
*Yes. Exactly what it means. Territorial marking. Mine. You're mine.*
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
She smiled—soft and sweet. "I like it. I want more marks. More touching. More... everything."
*I'm going to die. Right here. Death by innocent wife requesting more intimacy.*
"Eventually," he promised, pulling her close. "Eventually we'll do everything. But not tonight."
"Why not tonight?"
*Because I don't trust myself. Because I want you too much. Because once I start I won't stop. Because—*
"Because," he said instead, "you need to understand what you're asking for first."
"So... education?" Her eyes lit up. "Like the french kissing education?"
*Oh no. Not educational again.*
"In a way."
"Can you explain it? With your clinical terms? So I understand?"
*She wants me to explain sex using medical terminology.*
*This is my life now.*
*My innocent wife wants clinical sex education.*
*From me.*
*Her husband.*
*Who desperately wants to show her instead of tell her.*
"Tomorrow," he said, already dreading it. "Tomorrow I'll... explain. Properly. Clinically. So you understand."
"Promise?"
*This is a terrible idea. Worst idea. Catastrophic idea.*
"Promise."
She beamed, snuggled into his chest, and yawned. "Okay. Tomorrow. Education time. I'll take notes!"
*NOTES. SHE'S GOING TO TAKE NOTES ON SEX EDUCATION FROM HER HUSBAND.*
This is fine. Everything is fine.
*I'm definitely going to die tomorrow.*
ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 10:23 PM
Medical log - Day Thirteen - Emergency Entry:
CRITICAL SITUATION. DEFCON 1.
What happened tonight:
- Wife sat on me (normal now)
- Wife wanted to share candy through kissing (adorable)
- I lost control (again)
- Hands on her chest (again)
- Hands under her shirt (NEW)
- Marked her neck (territorial)
- Almost went further (terrifying)
- Had to stop (painful)
- Wife asked about honeymoon activities (MINA)
- Wife wants to try honeymoon things (YES PLEASE NO WAIT)
- Promised clinical sex education tomorrow (WORST PROMISE EVER)
Current status: Wife asleep on my chest. Mark visible on her neck. My mark. Mine.
Feelings about marking her: Satisfied. Possessive. Want to do it more. Everywhere.
Feelings about stopping: Painful. Necessary. Responsible. Dying inside.
Feelings about tomorrow's education: PANIC. DREAD. TERROR. ALSO ANTICIPATION?
She wants more.
She ASKED for more.
"I want more marks. More touching. More everything."
EVERYTHING.
She said EVERYTHING.
And I promised to explain it.
Clinically.
With medical terminology.
How do I clinically explain:
- Sexual intercourse
- Arousal
- Orgasms
- All the touching
- All the positions
- ALL OF IT
To my WIFE.
Who will take NOTES.
While looking at me with those innocent eyes.
While sitting in my lap probably.
While asking questions like:
- "Can you demonstrate?"
- "How does that work exactly?"
- "Show me?"
I'm going to die.
Definitely going to die.
Tomorrow.
During sex education.
With my wife.
This is my fate.
But also...
Also she wants it.
Wants ME.
Wants "everything."
That's... that's significant.
Very significant.
She's ready. Or thinks she's ready. Or will be ready after education.
Am I ready?
Ha.
I've been ready since the wedding.
Since before the wedding.
Since the first time she smiled at me and my heart rate increased 23 BPM.
But being ready and being RESPONSIBLE are different.
She deserves to understand. To know what she's asking for.
Even if explaining it might kill me.
Even if she takes notes.
Even if she asks for demonstrations.
Especially if she asks for demonstrations.
Prescription for tomorrow:
- Clinical explanation of sexual intimacy
- Use proper medical terminology
- Remain professional (IMPOSSIBLE)
- Don't die (UNLIKELY)
- Answer all questions (TERRIFYING)
- Possibly demonstrate (NO. YES. NO. MAYBE. HELP.)
She's asleep now. Peaceful. Content. My mark visible on her neck.
Everyone will see tomorrow.
Good.
Let them see.
She's mine.
And tomorrow...
Tomorrow I explain exactly what that means.
In clinical terms.
While dying inside.
God help me.
Actually, no. God can't help me now.
I'm beyond help.
I'm teaching my wife about sex.
There's no coming back from this.
But also...
Maybe, eventually...
Maybe we'll progress from education to practical application.
Eventually.
Soon.
Very soon if she keeps asking.
I'm doomed.
Acceptably doomed.
Happily doomed.
Doomed but excited.
Is that wrong?
Probably.
But also—
She said she wants everything.
And I want to give her everything.
Tomorrow.
We start with education.
Then...
Then we'll see.
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.