“I want to know something.” She glanced up from the book she was reading, and he

“I want to know something.” She glanced up from the book she was reading, and he glanced up from his, his eyebrow ever so slightly furrowed. Normally she wouldn’t preface it. She’d just ask.

“Oh?” Curiosity hung in the air, held between them like a telephone wire, only nothing was transmitting, just yet. She did a mini-frown of her own, one finger pressing against her lips.

“Why do you have these dirty…” She paused, a amused smile cracking her lips. She cleared her throat. “Sorry, erotic novels? You’ve got an internet connection, what do you need these for?” Again, his eyebrows dipped down, his forehead a mess of wrinkles.

“Huh.” His thumb turned down his page, and he closed the novel he’d been reading, before setting it to the side on the coffee table. He leaned forward, his fingers steepling as his elbows rested on his knees.

“Because porn is…” He let out a half laugh, air expelled from his lungs in a chuckle without the voice behind it. “Porn is too much, most of the time. It’s all pumping and thrusting and jiggling, and even if that’s how people fuck, well… it’s not how people fuck.” She frowned this time, obviously a little confused by the oxymoron.

“What I mean is, porn is just that moment. It’s sex without context.” He held up a finger to silence the interjection that had just jumped to her lips. “And no, ‘I’ve come to fix the pipes’ isn’t context, you brat.” She smirked. He smirked. 

“And even if they did have all that context, there’s still no room for you in that. These, on the other hand.” Emphasising this, he waved his hand at his top shelf, where the dirty.. ahem.. erotic, novels were kept. The top shelf. Of course. 

“These become a sort of collaboration between you and the author. They give you the bare details, the little pieces that you need to put together the story, but they leave most of it in a sort of vague mess that’s only given any body because your brain starts up your imagination and fills in the blanks. You end up framing the scenes how you want them to be. You end up injecting a bit of you into the story. I like that.”

Again she frowned, but this was her thinking frown. He supposed that if he put his ear to her forehead he could hear the mechanisms whirring, hear the rusty parts turning, and the smoothly oiled parts clanking around without a single obstacle. 

“But it’s not real." 

He paused. A finger came to his lips.

"Well no.” Another pause. “But then, neither is porn. Not really, anyway. We just like to think it is.” He mulled that over for a few moments, before he sat back in his chair.

“You’re forgetting that I never said I didn’t enjoy porn. I just like the books, too. Wide spectrum smut.” He laughed.

It took her a second, but she laughed too.