Chapter three: Dressing

He worked his finger around his teeth, spreading toothpaste in squeaky circles. They hadn't yet worked out how best to simulate a tiny toothbrush. He eyed her in the mirror as she brushed, the mirror still foggy, save for the small patch she had cleared away while she held him. His towel was doing its best to keep out the nipping chill of the bedroom behind him. The sweet, muggy haze of their shower made the air hang heavily around him.

She abruptly turned around and walked out of the room. He continued brushing, watching the spot she had vanished from in the mirror. She was back a moment later, lazily swiping through her phone. Her free hand idly tugged at a strand of hair by her temple as she focused on the screen, waiting for him.

He finished brushing as she reappeared in the mirror and spit. The minty tributary of his saliva ran down the bowl of the sink, meeting the great, ponderous puddle she had produced by the drain. He approached the tissuebox on the back corner of the pedestal. He tore a corner from the tissue protruding from the box with both hands, coming away with a strip that he used to wipe the stray paste from his hand. He crumpled it in his hand as he walked back towards the edge of the pedestal nearest the door. Towards her.

"Any fun tweets?" He asked as he reached the edge. He looked up at her face, her brow furrowing as her pupils darted to and fro, scanning at the screen.

"There are never any fun tweets," she offered dryly, her lowered voice betraying interest in whatever she was reading. She glanced quickly at him, then back to the screen, and her free hand parted from her hair to center at the small of his back. She turned slightly, her left side pointed towards him, and she gathered him to her. She held him at her hip, her left palm taking the weight of his bottom and holding him to the natural groove above her waist. He steadied himself with handfuls of the towel's yellow fabric. It was an old towel, worn and thinning, and he thought about the smooth plane of her skin underneath it. She was warm against him, bouncing absentmindedly as she walked back into the bedroom, eyes down on her screen. He could see her phone now, and watched as her thumb flew over its surfaces, tearing through her timeline, pausing occasionally for a moment's attention, and moving along. He rested his head against the steadiness of her. The towel had a slight must to it already as the wet fabric cooled in the chilly room.

They crossed the room together, he astride her hip. She stopped towards the far corner from the bathroom door and faced her desk, a simple flat surface of painted wood, three drawers built into the bottom of its right side. She tapped at her phone, queuing up her morning playlist, and adjusted the volume to a low setting. The sound of acoustic strumming filled the room, the husky drawl of a woman retracing melancholic steps through her past. She placed her phone, screen up, on the desk.

She rocked gently to the rolling rhythm of the song. He could hear her humming above him and beneath him, the column of her body rumbling along in her voice. Her diaphragm expanded against him, his head riding the gentle rise of her ribs outward. She centered a heavy chrome mirror in front of the seat before the desk, flicking the switch at its base. A rim of bright white light awakened around its perimeter. Her free hand reached for the simple wicker-seated chair beside her, drawing it out and moving between it and the desk.

The weight of her hand began to ease behind him. She gently drew her hand from his back, hovering behind him where before it had firmly planted him against her. She steadied the back of the chair with her free hand and began to sit. He relaxed his hold on her towel, sliding gently back into the seat of her palm. He glided down the towel this way, traveling back to the floor in the safety of her guiding hand as she sat down in the chair.

The wicker quietly squeaked as her weight settled into it. Her hand left him at the right angle of her sitting knee and he slid the rest of the way down her leg unaided. He passed down her quickly, the washcloth at his waist loosening as he fell, and landed with a none-too-graceful thud on the top of her foot. She had driven her heel to the ground and raised her toes towards into air as he made his final descent, slowing the momentum of his fall. Her practiced motion made a "V" of shin and foot and he landed in its nadir, his back tossed flat against the base of her toes.

He rolled sloppily, transferring the vertical momentum of his fall into a clumsy motion off of her. He stuck his landing and steadied himself on his feet. Her right foot stepped in as she scooted her chair under the desk. It moved directly for him, toes scrunching slightly as they gently gripped at his head. He wrapped his right arm around the top of her foot to steady himself against it. A playful "mwah" sound came from above the desk as her foot "kissed" him. He responded with a loud, wet "mwah" of his own, driving an obnoxiously grand kiss against the pad of her big toe. He looked up from her wriggling toes as they retreated back to the floor, just in time to see her moving back into an upright sitting position. The familiar clicks and shuffles came from above as she began to assemble the day's makeup on the cluttered surface of the desk before her.

The cubby he occupied darkened as she scooted her legs in under the desk, eclipsing the light from the room. Her ankles found one another, right foot behind left heel, toes pressing towards one another, as she drew her legs in and under her chair. They still rolled vaguely to the slow beat of the music that chimed from her phone. He placed his palm on her shin as he squeezed by, pressing through the space between her leg and the desk's, reemerging into the bedroom proper.

She was rubbing her fingertips against her cheekbones, radiating outwards, moisturizing her face. She stared intently into the mirror, its ring of light brilliant in the depths of her pupils. She half-sang, half-hummed vague approximations of lyrics as she opened the bottle of foundation, eyes returning to the mirror. He reached up and ran his hand along the notched wood frame of her chair as he walked past. He moved in the direction of the bathroom door again. He passed the foot of their bed, walking along the rim of the lake of dirty laundry as he did. His feet passed from the hard press of the apartment's cheap carpet to the cold scratch of denim, the sinking plush of sweatshirt interiors, the sleek slips of silk underwear. He stepped out of his way to squish at the thick gel of a pushup bra with his toes. He walked on. The doorway out of their bedroom, shut tight, rose along the wall to his left. The bathroom was straight ahead of him, its door ajar. The artificial light flowing from the fixture she had forgotten to throw off as they exited crept out, mingling with the natural lighting of the bedroom.

He turned to his right and set off along her side of the bed. The top of the mattress was exposed above him; she had pulled the sheets over towards his side as she rose this morning. It stood over twice his height above his head. He had no way of accessing the bed from her side, save her aid. They had tried leaving steps or other climbing aids on both sides of the bed, but she found them to be nuisances after stumbling over them routinely on late night trips to the bathroom. He didn't mind.

He continued to walk alongside the raised vastness of the bed to his right. About three quarters down its length, almost centered before her nightstand, he found the underwear she had discarded in the morning's excitement. They were one of her favorite pair for sleeping: soft cotton bikini with alternating horizontal bars of mint and seafoam. He squatted down in front of the heap, found the waistband, and rose with two handfulls. He brought his arms out to either side as he rose, his wingspan sufficient to bring the panties out to their worn shape. He folded them in half as he had a blanket at his former scale, and threw them over his left shoulder. The crotch of the panties were a cool dampness on his shoulder, not having yet allowed her arousal to dissipate fully. His mind returned to the warm, pulsing weight of exploring her. He could still smell her on them, gently wafting from his shoulder. He turned around and walked back down the bed's length, turning towards her again and facing the laundry pile.

He listened to the clacks and tinks of her routine as he approached the pile. It rose a couple of inches above his head. He sank his feet into the soft wool base afforded by one of her favorite sweaters. He fell forward as he stepped up, reaching upwards and taking a handful of a denim leg. The jeans were heavy, and the leg emerged from within the pile, so he knew it would easily take his meager weight. He stepped up again, his foot finding purchase in the dark puddle of a cami. Another fistful of leggings, another step above the denim, and he had crested the pile. He shrugged her underwear from his shoulders and fell to his seat. The smells of her were everywhere here: her clean, floral deodorant in the arms of her tops; the sweet, warm musk of her sweat in the thick collars of sweaters; the sharp brine and buttery lows of worn socks and tights; lotions and perfume mingling in sweaters, weekend dresses, and coats; the heady medley of arousal and cum in the underwear he had deposited next to him.

The cool, snaring softness of this mountain of her was almost dizzying. Each morning he was charged with retrieving whatever clothing she had left between the bathroom and bed and adding it to the pile. Each morning he took on the unnecessary extra labor of scaling the laundry to experience her in this way. He slid down the pile in a seated position, holding onto the rim of his towel as he traveled. He rose back to his feet and approached her chair, admiring her absentminded hums.

He stopped parallel to her chair and looked up at her. She was focused on her reflection, both hands at her face as she applied eyeliner. "What does your day look like?"

"Ugh," she grunted, anticipatory frustration already racking her voice. "I'm everywhere today. I am already covering a few committee meetings while my boss is on sabbatical, and Mandy decided to wait until an hour before we went home last night to tell me that she can't cover the info session this afternoon." He could see anxiety working into her form as she considered the day ahead. Her voice quickened as she spoke, the linework of her shoulders becoming taut. Her hand hand found the desk a little too quickly as she brought the pencil from her face, the loud thwack of pencil on wood rang sharply in contrast with the soft music in the room.

"Damn, that sucks. You guys are way understaffed. If only you had someone you could bring with you to help. Some kind of assistant, maybe? It would probably help if he was handsome as hell and easy to carry around, too, huh?" He flourished his arms in a dramatic "ta-da" pose. His towel fell away from him, but he decided that he was too committed to the schtick to catch it.

She turned away from her lipstick drawer to face him and smiled. He saw a shred of the anxious frustration in her eyes fade as the warmth of her smile found them. "Oh I'm sure!" She teased. She leaned back in the seat as she reached for him, raising him from under his arms, palms firm around his torso. He felt weightless as he rose in her hands, soft and strongly cloaked in the scent of the lavender lotion she had recently applied. "We're always so productive when I bring you in with me." She raised him to eye level and held him there, a foot from her face. His naked legs dangled in the cool air of the room as she considered him.

"I mean I think I'm an excellent assistant, but if you have found my performance lacking-" She silenced him with a kiss, his face pressed deep into the fullness of her lips. He leaned into it, the pressure of his face against hers a more tactile assent than simply reciprocating with his mouth. She still tasted slightly of toothpaste, and the gentle coolness of spearmint stayed with him as she brought him away from her mouth and to the desk. His feet found the chipped white surface of the desk as her hands left him. "I'm just sayin'," he continued.

She smiled at him again, then offered an exaggerated pout. "I wish. I'd love the company today. But I'm barely going to be in my office, and you know I hate leaving you there. I'm going to be nervous enough about presenting that session, I can't add worrying about you getting hurt or someone finding you or even you just being super bored while I'm doing it. Sorry, bug." She returned to her lipstick drawer, rummaging with her index and middle fingers to find the right color.

He deflated slightly – he loved when he could spend the whole day with her – but he understood that there was no ground to gain here. "Aw, okay. Unless. Hear me out here. Unless you," he paused for effect, "wear me! I'll be super sneaky. I can offer you tips or encouragement or whatever, and most importantly make fun of all the dumb questions you get." He stepped in front of the mirror and sat, crossing his legs. The wood was cold on his bare skin, but the metal mirror was colder. He had to test his back against it a couple times before he could lean against it.

She smirked at him and a slight snort escaped her. "Sure, sure, no one will have any questions about the wriggling lump in my shirt all day. And you bitch about my body heat when you spend too long under a t-shirt, do you have any idea how stuffy it'd be spending hours at a time under my work clothes?"

"One way to find out?" He offered back.

She popped the tube of lipstick open. "You're cute. It's not happening." She pursed her lips and began applying a smoky purple to her lips. Bold corporate goth aesthetic was her go-to silent protest whenever she had to dress formally for an event. Her eyes bounced from the reflection of her lips to him. "I can maybe bring you in on Monday. My schedule looks way lighter, and I need to work on accreditation reports at some point next week, so I can keep my office door closed all day." She went back to her lipstick.

"Oh awesome, okay. I guess I can survive another workday without you if I have to." He leaned his head against the mirror and felt more than heard the barely audible hum from its light above him. His eyes traveled up the sharp lines of her throat as she checked her reflection in the mirror from varying angles. They settled when they found hers.

She pressed her lips into a hard line as she finished her work and rolled her eyes at him. "You're so brave," she offered in a teasing deadpan. She took another look at her reflection as she covered the top of the lipstick and replaced it in the small plastic drawer. It jostled as she pushed it shut. Apparently satisfied, she reached for a spray bottle of leave-in conditioner. She threw her head towards her right side, her drying curls all pooling over her shoulder. She began to work the conditioner into her hair, spraying the bottom and scrunching her way up.

"I'm an inspiration, I know." He said, rising to his feet. He turned to the mirror and stooped to turn the light off. It faded from the perimeter of the glass as he rose to face his own reflection. His hair had begun to form ringlets as it air dried and he tossed it around in the mirror, working his part. He ran his hands through the mop of it a few times, catching on a couple of snarls to work them out. He tossed the body of it out behind him and let it settle behind his shoulders. They made eye contact through the mirror. "What time do you think you'll be home?"

She was working the conditioner into her roots now. "The session starts at 3:30. It will hopefully only be an hour, so I should only be a few minutes later than usual tonight. If that changes I'll let you know though."

He nodded at her through the mirror. She was – on paper – an administrative assistant for a university English department. She worked more like a department head though, and had somehow become responsible for an enormous amount of the event planning and student development projects that the department took on. Her hours became inconsistent at the beginnings and ends of semesters, and whenever large projects such as these info sessions cropped up. She didn't love the hours, but the commute was great and the pay kept them afloat on a single income. She took an enormous amount of pride from her work.

He turned from the mirror and walked towards her as she finished up at her scalp. She scuffed the chair back a few inches and rose to her feet. He stood there, centered on the edge of the desk, rising to just about navel height before her, and looked up at her. She tugged at the towel, parting the folded knot that held it to her. She balled it slightly and tossed it into the pile behind her, where the damp cotton landed with a soft thud.

He stared, taking her in. Every glimpse of her came as if it was his first. Their eyes had met as she took off the towel, and she took a step closer to the table to intensify the angle of their contact. His eyes traveled over her bodyscape, settling straight ahead, and he watched the subtle motion of her breathing on the sloping paleness of her stomach. Gooseflesh bloomed across her as her skin bid farewell to its barrier from the room's cold.

She pivoted slightly, bringing her left thigh to the desk. He stepped closer to her, leaning his chest into the slope of her hip. Her body was much cooler than it had been on their trip out of the bathroom. He slid his fingertips out and over her as he leaned into her, and she inhaled sharply as his light touches crossed over the soft plush of her stomach. Goosebumps awoke in greater number to greet his touch. Her left hand found his backside as she crooked her hip slightly, and she brought him up and onto it. He straddled her there, pressed against her. He continued his slight touches, planting kisses against the side of her ribs as she turned to walk towards the closet. She jerked in tiny twitches as he did, the muscles in her stomach and arms contracting in response to his touch. He could feel himself getting hard against her and the gentle pecks of his kisses gained weight as they shifted towards eager mouthfuls and weighted licks.

The weight of her hand grew, and she pressed him deeper into her side in a quick squeeze. "Don't get yourself too worked up over there. It's time to get dressed." She took the last few steps past the bathroom door and flicked the closet's lightswitch on. She pulled the door with her free hand and stepped in. It was a small walk-in, its interior perimeter lined with a thick wall of her clothing. She turned to her left and faced a cluster of work clothes: a combination of dresses, sweaters, and textured blouses. She leafed through them, sliding the hangers around. Her absent hum returned as she began to bounce slightly on her feed. They danced together in a slow, off-beat rhythm as she considered her options for the day. He rested his head against her, letting his eyes close with the calming sway of her hips.

"Whatcha feeling today?" He asked, and listened as the sliding clack of hangers added percussion to her hums.

"I dunno," she almost sighed. "I feel like I need to dress up for this thing, but everyone who shows up is going to be in jeans and t-shirts. I don't want to overdo it."

"You never overdo it. You're peak fashion and you're always gorgeous." He recited. He meant it, but his compliments bounced off her whenever she thought she detected hyperbole, which was often.

"That's not helpful," she said, a teasing squeeze bringing him into her again as she bounced. "You're never helpful."

"I am the single most helpful person alive, thank you." He said brazenly.

"Mhmm."

"What about the cat dress? Black dress makes it formal, cats make it fun?" He attempted to insert a helpful suggestion into his usual teasing.

"Hm, maybe," she considered. He opened his eyes to see her swiping garments aside until she found the dress. It was a light blend of black fabrics with orange tabbies and small silver stars. "I haven't worn this in a while, and I can wear a scarf with this." She pulled it from the dresser and looked it over. "Plus I can wear tights. Yeah okay. Thanks bug. Maybe you're not useless all the time after all." The bouncing squeeze returned.

"High praise! I love that dress though!" He had bought it for her a couple of years ago. It was not her only article of clothing featuring cats in space.

"Can you grab me some black tights?" She asked. He clapped his hand to her back twice in assent, and her hold on him eased. Her hand led him over her hip and down her leg. It left him around her knee as she straightened back to her full height, and he slid the rest of the way unaided. He landed on his feet and planted a kiss at her calf that turned into a loud raspberry.

"You're gross," she mocked as he walked deeper into the closet. He stopped about midway down the length of the room and gripped the bottom drawer that faced him. She had rearranged their closet after his Diminishing. She kept a few of his old t-shirts that she liked to sleep in, and some of his sweaters that she could lounge in, but they had donated most of his clothes. She moved anything that he could fetch for her – underwear, socks, leggings, tights, camis, t-shirts – towards the floor, opting to put heavier garments such as jeans and sweaters in drawers beyond his reach.

He threw his weight into opening the drawer and it slid a few inches towards him. He tugged again, leveraging the weight so that he could slide it open enough for him to see most of its contents. He was aware of her eyes on him, watching him struggle with the weight of the drawer, but she withheld her jokes this time. After the drawer was open she turned to walk back towards to the desk and grab her phone, and then sat on her side of the bed, facing him and waiting for his delivery.

He stepped around to the side of the drawer to get a better look at its contents. At its floor sat a couple pairs of yoga pants, on top of which went leggings and then tights. He sifted through the knotted lines of tights, searching for the new black pair she had bought last time she was at Target. He found them towards the front of the bin and withdrew them, dropping them on the floor. He walked back around to the front of the drawer, lifted it, and walked it back into its base. He had to throw his weight into heaving it shut firmly before turning to pick up the fabric ball. He held the knot to his chest with both arms as he walked back towards her.

She beamed at him as he approached. "Thanks lil guy, sorry the big scary bin gave you so much trouble," she offered in a teasing sing-song. She brought her feet down into the carpet on either side of him, scrunching her toes to grip at the carpet. She leaned over him. "Hold on tight so I can make sure my bug is okay," she continued, mocking deep concern.

He stopped between her legs, inches from the bed's foundation. He smiled up at her as she loomed over him, raising the knot towards her. "You're ridiculous," he offered back, though they both knew that the other loved these chiding jokes.

She reached down and a claw of index, middle finger, and thumb locked around the knot of the fabric. He tightened his grips between her fingers and she lifted, slowly, raising him up along with the tights. Her free hand found him as he passed her knees, her palm forming a seat for him as she continued to bring him up. She wound the fingers of her right hand around his midsection and brought his torso to her lips. Her left hand tugged the tights from his hand and discarded them to her side.

She looked him up and down, pretending to appraise him for injuries, before opening her hold on him slightly and kissing him gently on his chest. Before he could take in the warm press of her mouth, though, he was overtaken by her tongue. She pressed the full, hot weight of it against him, letting its tip tease his cock for the briefest of seconds before traveling up his midsection. She flicked it up over his chest and brought it down again over his face, leaving him damp with her saliva. She pressed her lips back to his stomach and blew a raspberry, loud and long, sending tremors down the whole of his body and causing him to yell out in surprised laughter.

She held it for as long as she could and he writhed against her, wheezing in tortured hysterics at the intense tickling of her lips. She eventually pulled back from his soaked form, grinning at him as he gathered his breath. She wiped some spittle from her mouth with the back of her palm and they laughed together. "That's what you get," she said proudly.

She placed him on her pillow, and he immediately threw himself at her. He crashed into her side and her hand flew out to catch him into her roll as she collapsed down the length in the bed, pretending to fall under his weight. "Ew no wait you're so wet!" She exclaimed as she felt the dampness of his stomach against her side. She rolled onto her back and lifted him, blotting at him with a handful of blanket. She brought him to her stomach and dropped him there, where he sat cross legged, rising and falling above her navel as she continued to giggle.

"Love you, Ness," he said, falling to his back and laying down the length of her stomach. He threw his hands out behind his head, reaching into empty air as her mons rolled down towards the bed. "Love you a whole lot."

She brought her right arm under her head for support and her and her left hand to him, where the nails of her index and middle fingers traced delicate circles around his torso. "Love you a whole lot too, bug."

They spent a few moments laying together that way. His eyes closed at the delicate touch of her nails to his stomach and the gentle swaying motion of her breathing body beneath him. His hands had crooked backwards and traced lazy circles around the inside of her thigh. Her meandering hand eventually became a blanket, and she closed her eyes as her palm fell flat across his torso. He brought one arm out to support his head and began tracing his circles along the tops of her fingers.

Her voice came low and sleepy again. "We should get back up. I need coffee. You must be hungry." She squeezed her fingers gently, prodding at him.

He patted her hand with his palm playfully. "Coffee sounds nice. Staying here sounds nicer. Oh no! Maybe you're sick today and have to call out?"

She groaned. "Nooo don't tempt me. That sounds so nice. I need to go in today." She brought her hand past his waist and closed her fingers around his left leg. She pulled him slowly up the length of her. He passed over her and between her breasts as she pulled him into a straddling position at the base of her throat. She smiled at him and started to rise to a sitting position. Her hand found his back before he began to fall, guiding him down to the mattress. She scooted to the edge of the mattress and reached for the ball of tights. She undid their knot and spread them over her right foot, scrunching them up past her knee before repeating the motion for her left. When both knees were covered she rose. He watched intently as she danced the tight fabric up her thighs and over the roundness of her glutes. The fabric stretched thin over her backside, white rounds of cheek peeking through the black fabric.

She turned to face the bed again and found him there, lying upside down and eyeing her, visibly aroused. She rolled her eyes at him, but she smiled. "You're ridiculous this morning," she said, lifting the dress from the bed and orienting it towards her.

"Why don't you have a seat real quick," he suggested, patting on his chest, "We can have a quick muffled chat about how ridiculous I am."

She shook her head and disappeared into the dress for a moment. She reemerged from its collar, pulling it down and over her, where it stopped just above her knees. "I bet we would. You going to put some clothes on today or are you going to spend the whole day as a pitiful naked mess of hormones?"

"Kinda leaning towards the latter if I'm honest," he muttered as he rose to his feet.

"Of course you are. Here," she stepped into the closet, knelt down, and returned with a small pair of thick black cotton pants and a grey t-shirt. Ness had commissioned a woman who makes clothing for dolls to make a few to-scale outfits out of cotton and blended fabrics after his Diminishing. They hadn't realized how poorly and uncomfortably actual doll clothing would fit him, and despite her insistence he still won't let her put him in children's clothes. "Put these on at least so you don't freeze." She tossed him the clothes.

He caught the pants, but the shirt went wide. He stepped into each leg, wobbling slightly at the uneven footing on the mattress, and then retrieved the shirt. By the time he poked his head out of its collar she had opened the bedroom door and set off down the hallway. He returned to the floor by way of the comforter and laundry pile, stumbled out onto the carpet, and set off after her.

"I'm going to be late if we keep this pace up," she called from down the hallway. He could hear the refrigerator door pop open before he reached the bedroom doorway. "You're making coffee."

It was a straight shot from the bedroom door, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. She stooped in front of the refrigerator, its open door blocking his view of everything but her feet, crossed in consideration. He broke into a jog towards her. "Can do!" he called back.