BRIAN'S POV

It's late Wednesday night around nine p.m. when you finally leave work. You're not happy about it, but you had two presentations happening today and still have another large one tomorrow.  Justin is understanding about it, seems to appreciate all the attention you've paid to him lately--except for this morning, when you didn't fuck him--again.  You have your reasons, and then one got added to it; turns out the bed really was coming apart (again) last night.  When you kissed Justin goodbye that morning, you could tell that the mattress was leaning to one side. You'd warned Justin about buying a bed at Ikea, but he wouldn't listen to you.  He thought he was getting a good deal; you, on the other hand, don't believe in any bed that can be assembled with chewed gum and an allen wrench.  Besides, you'd much rather spend ten grand on a bed that never comes apart mid-fuck.

So, when you walk in the house, you're not completely surprised to find him zonked out downstairs in your home theater.  A movie is playing; the remote is sticking halfway out of his hand.  You lean down and scoop him up, moving him to another sofa.  He wakes up confused; his hair spiking everywhere.  "I didn't hear you come in," he says, rubbing his face.

"Good movie, huh?" you kid.

"Oh my god, I went through like four before I settled on this one and then I fell asleep.  How were your presentations?"

"Over," you say with a satisfied sigh as you toss the cushions off the sofa and extend the sleeper mattress.  You keep clean sheets on it for emergencies or the rare exile over heated argument.  You walk to the closet and grab some pillows.  You hurl them over your shoulder and Justin catches them, arranging everything the way the two of you like it.  "But I have another big one tomorrow. That's what I was doing tonight.  Prepping."

"Our bed is coming apart again. Is that why you didn't fuck me this morning?" (Justin can change a subject quicker than his mind.)

"Well, yeah.  You were sound asleep and tilted toward the east.  I'll fix it tomorrow night.  I'm exhausted."

He thinks he's a human compass, this partner of yours who has probably spent a total of one hour in the woods his entire life,"That is not the east, Brian!"

"Okay, fine. You were tilted north northeast.  Is that better?"

He sits like a pretzel on the bed, "It's my fault.  It's a piece of shit bed."

"That's a true statement, Sunshine, but I warned you about buying a bed in any store that also houses a cafeteria."

"Yes, you did. And one that serves horse meatballs, no less.  I'll go get our toothbrushes and stuff for tonight."

When he's halfway up the staircase, you call to him, "Justin?"

"What?"

"You're a good wife."

He laughs, "I know."

*****************
JUSTIN'S POV

When you come back downstairs, the television is off, the lights in the theater are as dim as they'll go, and Brian is standing by the other sofa getting undressed. You smile at him and head for the bathroom.  You lay everything out for him and when he darkens the doorway, you expect him to come in and start washing his face, but he doesn't; he just tugs on your shirt and pulls you out of the tiny room.  He spins you around and gives you a long, lasting look before he kisses you, but you interrupt it unintentionally, "Did you have dinner?"

"I had peanut butter crackers and Jim Beam, and if you'd shut up and kiss me, you'd already know that."

"You're in a mood tonight."

"I'm tired and I want you.  Okay?"

"Yeah...okay."

Brian doesn't want any frivolity tonight.  He just wants your clothes off, and you lying face down on the sofa bed, spread eagle.  You grab the edge of the mattress and the foam rubber curls right up.  You prepare yourself for a quick, hard fuck.

But that's not what you get.

*****************
BRIAN'S POV

Justin probably thinks that you aren't thinking that tomorrow is Thursday, the day you resume his spanking regimen. He probably thinks you're too busy with more important things.

He's wrong.

You start at his ankle and run your lips up the inside of his leg.  You lick the crease where his bottom starts, let your tongue trail from one side to the other, use the weight of your body to hold him down.  And then you flatten your tongue and lick him from the base of his ass all the way to the top of his crack, through the valley of his lower back, over his shoulders, stopping right behind his ear.  He's panting.  Hard.  You let your leg press between his to keep him spread the way he is and kiss the back of his neck.

"I thought you were tired," he says.

"I am."

"This isn't you being tired; trust me."

"Did you masturbate today?" you ask.

"Twice."

"Where?"

"Well, not in our bed, obviously.  In the studio...and your office," he explains.

"My office?"

"Well, the end of the sofa by your desk...it smells like you."

You want to tease him about it, but there's something so sweet about the way he says it, that you can't.  All you can do is go back to kissing him behind his ear and make love to him for over an hour.  You hate sleeping on that sofa bed, but he's with you that night, so it's not so bad.  When you wake up the next morning at six twenty-five a.m., he's standing there wearing only your dress shirt and holding a plate.  "Here," he says.  I made you breakfast.  Scrambled egg whites, fruit, and turkey sausage.  You need to eat before this presentation."  You sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes, "Thanks."

"I'll go get your coffee.  Be right back."

You turn on your wide screen to watch the morning financial reports and smile.  It's definitely Thursday.