Work Text:
“Bobby…” Linda says, knee-walking her way across the mattress in her best nightie, “It’s the third Thursday of the month…”
“Oh, wow,” says Bob. “Is it already? I mean, it is. Finally.” He lets Linda settle across his lap and tickles her neck with his mustache.
“Oh, Bobby…”
“Mother!” the door bursts open. Gene stands silhouetted in the doorway, unhappy hands on his hips. “I cannot find my midnight cheese plate!”
“Genie-Gene, you can make your own cheese plate.”
“Sacrilege!” Gene exclaims. “You know I can’t make radish rosettes like you!”
“You make him radish rosettes? Every night?” Bob asks.