She’s not the one who pouted until they got their first record player together, but Alex certainly uses it a lot.
Like now, as she and Maggie are cooking dinner together, casually touching each other’s hips as they maneuver past each other to get this dish, that pan, that spatula, that kiss from smiling lips, that thrill from slightly swaying hips.
Ella Fitzgerald’s voice surrounds her body, slips into her blood stream, and Alex finds that – even though this was a record that Maggie brought home for them – she knows every single word, every single lilt in her voice, every single cue for the horns.
“Only you beneath the moon and under the sun,” she murmurs softly under her breath, but – as though she’s perfectly tuned to Alex’s every movement, every word – Maggie hears her over the sizzling of onions, anyway.
“Whether near to me or far, it’s no matter darling where you are,” Maggie joins in softly, shy and blushing.
She’s never sang in front of anyone except Alex. And, while this isn’t the first time, Alex knows how intimate, how special, this moment is. She doesn’t react in a big way – she doesn’t want to scare her wife away from this precious intimacy – but she does smile and blink tears away from her eyes.
Maggie smiles deeper and clears her throat, offering a hand out to Alex.
Alex flushes and beams, wiping her hands on a dish towel and turning off the burners before taking Maggie’s hand, spinning into her arms as they both giggle softly with soft exhilaration.
“…this longing for you follows wherever I go…”
They press their foreheads together gently, and Maggie’s eyelashes brush Alex’s eyelid, making her shiver even as they sway slowly together, like they’re at their eighth grade dance and like they’re the only two that exist in the multiverse.
Because, right now, they – and Ella Fitzgerald’s voice – are, indeed, the only things that exist.
And, now, it’s all either of them need.