AUTHOR: Missy

EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com

PART: 1 of 1

RATING:  NC-17 (Explicit M/F sex; Adult thematic material, language, supernatural themes)

PAIRING(s): L/L

DISTRIBUTION: To Myself  so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine.  Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

CATEGORY: Romance, Supernatural

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Years and years after the ceasing of California canon

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: "Happy hundred-twenty-ninth." (Lavenny, Afterlife, romance)

NOTES: I think this is the end of my plumbing of the netherworld for fic ideas...

***

She came like a nymphomaniac on LSD.

Her legs jerked spasmodically around his waist, barely touching the wall behind her.  The rest of her was a gasping, jerking mess pressed against a rippling belly.  The moment after orgasm always put her in suspended animation, lying on his chest like a soldier taking his dying breath.

His hand brushed the middle of her back, holding her still for a second.  His own orgasm was more closely comparable to a fountain pen going off accidentally, the liquid sensation of being filled stilling her and forcing her to savor the sound of his voice vibrating right through her being.  They clung together in the darkness of the room, just floating in mid-air and he hooted, a soft noise of relief that had been her companion for decades now and to the untrained, human ear sounded like an owl's lament.

In the bed, an anxious woman in her thirties tossed the covers back.  "What was that?"  The woman's voice made the twosome floating peacefully above the bed jump and instinctively try to cover their non-visible privates.

Her date bobbed up beside her, the covers still keeping his head out of view.  "It was the wind, baby."

She glared at him.  "I know what I heard," she said, crossing arms over her freshly-bared breasts.  "This is the worst idea you've ever had, Doug!" she searched under the covers, found her bra and then put on a low-cut red sweater.  Tears came to her eyes as she sniffled, "Taking me to Kosnowski's Haunted Hallows to lose it!  I don't think you want to really make it with me at all!"  She dashed off to the bathroom in tears.

"Denise, baby!" he cried, following her into the bathroom.

The couple floating unseen over the bed laughed together.  She punched him gently in the ribs.  "You did it again," she said.

"It was the wind, baby," her husband responded, making her laugh.  "Our great-great-great grandkids are selling a haunted house - so their guests are gonna get a haunted house!"

She was watching the bathroom door and listening to the couple inside quarrel.  "I don't think Doug's ever gonna be able to get it up again," Laverne suggested mournfully.

"He's twenty.  They're gonna have to tie a rock on it to keep it down." 

She knew boys that age very well, but still a concerned look marred her once-again-young features.

"Laverne, trust me; those kids're gonna be banging away before the night's up."  Reluctantly, they drew apart and looked at each other.  "Think about us.  We got a long, long time to go, Missus Kosnowski, before we gotta get back."

"We do, Mister Kosnowski.  Twenty-four hours 'til our anniversary's over."

"Happy hundred-twenty-ninth."

"Hundred thirtieth."

"Damn!"

"Give or take a year," she pointed out playfully.  "So, whattya wanna do for the next twenty hours of our afterlife?"

He grinned impishly.  "Remember how we never did it in the balcony at the New View?"

She felt a tingling at the very center of herself. "Yeah?"

"They're playing Godzilla on Monster Island."

She tangled her fingers in his chest-hair.  "You wouldn't lie to me, Len?"

"Never."

A kissing Doug and Denise appeared in the doorway of the bathroom; Laverne and Lenny watched them for a moment, then she put her hand in his.

"Come on.  Let's give 'em a little privacy."

Lenny pouted.  "We was here first."

"We was here for sixty years.  It's their turn."

They looked forlornly at what had been their bed throughout their years of marriage, which was now shrouded in ugly white sheets decorated with a ghost design, twisted beneath the impression of their uninvited young guests. 

"Let's go," he said softly.  "This ain't home no more."

She shook her head.  "Home's where we're together, Len - up there, down here - anyplace you're touching me."

He squeezed her hand, and his voice held a little more emotion than he'd intended.  "Was that supposed to sound dirty?"

 Laverne pulled her husband out of the room and away from the moaning couple before they became accidental, invisible voyeurs.