Discworld, Vimes/Sybil, fancy that
“Hm. Fancy that.” Sybil muttered, abandoning her search of Vimes’ dresser to sit next to him on their bed. “Sam, I know I ordered you a new pair of tights to wear to the opera this evening.”
“Hm.” Said Vimes, putting on his best blank look.
“Do you think they delivered them to the wrong address?”
Vimes stared hard at the wall and gritted his teeth. Loving Sybil had brought great joy and serenity into his life, so much so that he had overcome his fear of seeing the world without half a bottle of Bearhugger’s in his system.
Unfortunately, loving someone that much made it difficult to lie to them. So if she kept asking, he was all too likely to confess that the tights had been delivered to exactly the right address; the right address being the Watch house where he had promptly given them to Nobby as a Hogswatch present.
“And they were such a lovely shade…”
Sybil looked so upset that Vimes, against all better judgment, was about to offer wear his green tights instead when Sybil’s gaze suddenly focused in a way Vimes had come to fear.
‘Sam, you didn’t do something with them, did you?”
“Sybil,” He began, rubbing her back. “I-“
“Samuel Vimes, you are impossible!” She stood, frowning down at him. “I am simply trying to help you fit into the society you are supposed to be part of!”
“I…” I only need to fit in with you. He didn’t say. Instead he stood too, took both of Sybil’s hands and said, as honestly as he could, “I’m sorry.”
Sybil’s anger fell away. “Sam, I-“
He couldn’t stand to see her upset. And despite her love and affection, Sam hadn’t quite mastered the art of hugging. But he could kiss. He could work his hands up her back and undo the ties of her dress. He could slide the fabric down and kiss her lovely neck, her strong shoulders, the secret bits that he knew were just for him.
And they never made it to the opera but Vimes didn’t mind.