Labor of Love

Thirteen

With the cabin cleared out aside from the newly, if forcibly wedded couple, Bobby heaved a sigh as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. It’d been an insanely long Day, both mentally and physically, and he was just ready to zonk for the Night. Only being covered in sweat and blood from beating that sum-bitch’s ass kept him from falling asleep on the front porch.

        The first thing he removed from his person once he went back into the cabin he’d been calling home was that damned wedding band. Marissa’d cocked a brow at him curiously, considering that pretty much every married person displayed such a fact by wearing their wedding band. Chuckling as he tucked it into his wallet for safekeeping, he made it clear that he wasn’t trying to deny they were wed by taking it off. He just didn’t want the constant physical reminder of how they’d been forced into the union.

        It didn’t take her two seconds after he said that to pull the Gold band off her own finger and hand it to him. She said she’d still keep it for the occasional foray into Town, but she’d no Wish to wear it. And by putting them together, if one got lost, they’d both disappear into a Void.

        Once the bassist’s wallet was hidden back with her other valuables like it’d been all Summer, they both grabbed clean clothes. Despite the fact that it was no doubt to be more than a lil chilly, they felt the need for a trip down to the River. They could always build up the Fire in the Wood stove and cuddle to warm up again.

        “I just wanna apologize for today,” Bobby sighed as he unbuttoned his shirt, then unbuttoned the back of the dress she was still wearing for her.

        “Bobby, you’re just as much a victim in this as I am,” the young Witch told him, turning to face him once the dress was unbuttoned.

        “Ya got the one thing ya wanted most taken away from ya, and it all started with me being desperate to get my dick wet,” he protested.

        “And you’d your Wish of actually giving me a choice stolen from you,” Marissa reminded him. “I could see in your eyes thatcha wanted to beat him senseless when ya first opened the door.”

        “Yeah, being told I was expected to fuck ya with an audience was the last straw for me,” the bassist grumbled, shucking his shirt. “Not that making such a demand woulda done him any good, and not ’cuz you agreed to it or not.”

        “Oh, so you’re saying you’d have taken yet another choice from me?” she asked, her grin saying she was trying to get him to laugh.

        “I woulda, but not for the reason ya think,” Bobby answered, managing a chuckle.

        The young Witch cocked a brow again as she shoved off the top of Dana’s dress.

        “I can’t even get it up with just Bret and Rikki around,” he told her. “No way am I gonna be able to with some bastard I’d rather torture and slaughter watching everything.”

        “Get it up?” Marissa asked, confusion marring her features.

        “Show physical arousal, sweetheart,” the bassist explained. “That’s what we say in 1989–that a man either can or can’t get it up.”

        Glancing down at his crotch as he unbuckled his belt, she cocked her head thoughtfully. “I don’t imagine it’d be very easy to consummate a marriage, if ya can’t get it up.”

        Laughing as he stripped off his jeans, Bobby corrected her on that assumption by saying such a thing was pretty much impossible. Even half-hard, he’d so much trouble trying to enter a woman that he may as well not even bother. He usually wound up accidentally hurting whatever woman he was with, not to mention himself. If neither party wound up hurt, they’d wind up frustrated, which’d only worsen matters.