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It had literally been only a few minutes until she felt a presence at her side. Grey had taken another brand of towels from the shelf and began the same process of running her thumbs along the tiny loops and feeling its softness. In truth, she wanted to see how well they absorbed water from the body. She had been in enough motels and a couple hotels to know that there were some towels that were just pretty, but not functional. That is, they didn't seem to ever absorb water. They just moved it along the body to really air dry instead of wiping off the skin from the wetness.

In a blink of an eye, he was there next to her. She had been fairly aware of her surroundings. That is, she knew that the worker in the red shirt kept going back and forth with their arms full of towels or sheets or bathmats to stock the surrounding area. And soon, a smile broke onto Grey's face at the lecherous snuggle comment from her lover. So much so, that he had even drawn a laugh out of her and a roll of her eyes as she turned to him. "You are so bad, my dear. And if you think you are getting sex in this store, you are mistaken. I'd like to pay for the sheets and not get thrown out for you flashing your *** around."

Now, she thrust the hand towels in his direction. With a deep breath, she snatched the last offered brand from the shelf. This time, it was a navy blue - the closest to her. She gave him a waggle of her brows in a teasing gesture. "If you help me take all this stuff up to the apartment, I am sure that I can snuggle with you then." Of course, this said as she was rising up onto her tip toes to steal a kiss from the man who came to shop with her.

In the fluorescent lights, their skin looked almost painfully pale. Grey seemed to have a little bit more of a pink hue to her flesh for recently feeding. Her cart was already nearly half full, thanks to the large comforter she had set in there before moving along to the towels. She would know that Jesse trusted her judgement. She wasn't, by any means, incapable of picking out towels for herself. No, for them. It was just that she'd like his opinion on the matter too. To just ... buy all brand new stuff seemed a little pompous to her and that wasn't the case at all. The man said he liked color. Grey liked some colors too. It might be nice to add some to the all white and black apartment of theirs that wasn't quite used as much as when she were human.

"What are your thoughts?" She perked up, arching a brow at the man since she had denied him sex while in the store. She refrained from telling him which brand she liked the best, knowing the difference between them was only a dollar more and some change than the very basic, easy care brand. Biting her lower lip, she stole her gaze back from Jesse to inspect the price tags and figure six would be a decent number to get between the two of them. That was, let alone unless they just got a variety of colors instead of a solid set.

So many choices. She looked back to Jesse and added the hand towel she was holding last to his array of choices. Yes, Grey was helpful like that!

He pouts. It’s a genuine pout, like that of a child who has asked for something and who has been denied. Of course the child thinks it’s reasonable that he should be allowed to have, say, a one thousand dollar game console or a chocolate egg twice the size of his own head. The child cannot understand why such things might be denied to him, because he has no inkling of cost and worth, or of how the consumption of so much chocolate leads to irritating sugar highs and perhaps illness. He just knows what he wants; he can foresee the future, where he has what he wants. Until that future is ripped right out of his head, the life stomped out of it on the cold ground.

The handtowels are thrust into his grip and he has to blink down at them. Of course he’s still thinking about sex. The towels might as well be foreign objects that he doesn’t recognise as useful in the slightest. His brain had already jumped forward, thinking about all the different places in a retail store that could be commandeered. Surely there are back aisles that no one ever goes down. Surely there are storage rooms they could sneak in to. Change rooms, even. What about those racks of clothes he’d passed? Big circular ones, plenty of space in the middle. Shielded by clothes.

An unprompted memory caresses his brain. He and Jordan, six years old. They’d sent their mother into a frenzy because they’d hidden in one of those racks, giggling to each other. They hadn’t come out when she’d called. Later, after Jordan was gone, he’d ended up sleeping overnight in the store, underneath one of those racks. His mother hadn’t been in a frenzy. She’d been in too much of a stupor to realise she’d left her son behind.

He rolls his head on his shoulders and tries to focus on the task at hand. Towels. Handtowels. Yes, that’s what he’s holding. He glances between them. He rolls them in his hands. For two seconds he compares them, and then his brain throws a tantrum.

“I don’t… I mean I don’t care? I’m here to help with the hauling. I’m the grunt. I mean if you really need me to make a contribution I might say no to the pink,” he says, screwing up his nose. He’d never pick pink for himself, and has never had it picked out for him. It would add that feminine touch to the place, but he’s always been so accustomed to his own places that the blues and greens and charcoals have been more predominant. And the reds. He likes a few of those, too.

“And I figured it was easier to meet you here than have to wait for you to come home,” he says, a glint to his eye. He reaches for the trolley handles, fingers curling around them. There’s just something about boys and trolleys – he just can’t resist. A wheeled vehicle and all these lovely, clean, shiny white aisles. He has commandeered the vehicle. He is keen to start moving. He leans in for another kiss, and after stealing it – maybe lingering a little too long, his tongue swiping past her lips, suggestively – he grins.

“I mean it. Whatever you want.”

In that moment, she can see the disappointment upon his face. She notes the pout and cannot help but give him a shy smile. If she had enough extra blood within her system, her cheeks would have been graced with a blush. However, at the thought of being dirty in a secluded corner of the store, she rolled her eyes at Jesse. She had been quite surprised that he came to meet her. It certainly was a pleasure to see him wrapping his hands around the front of the cart and intent upon running up and down the aisles of the just buffed flooring. Oh, yes. Grey wasn't dolt to the ways of boys and their toys.

"Well, in that case I am getting some pink. And you can have the other colors. We'll share." Grey was intent upon that. She plucked up the brand that was the softest, but promised to be absorbent at the same time. While he revved the front handlebar of the cart, she eyed him from the side. "If you don't behave, Jesse, I shall have to think of a very meaningful punishment for you."

Yes, none of this no candy bars at the check out lane or no favorite route home. After all, the man couldn't be plied with ice cream or chocolate and she would be damned if they got kicked out for racing in the aisles. She pulled a couple wash clothes, hand towels, and body towels from the stacks. Two of each and there were six different colors. And, just to antagonize the man quietly, Grey picked three each of the coral color before plopping those into the cart's bin. With a kiss stolen, she gave the man a wink.

"So what else is in your description as the grunt?" She walked along side the cart now. Letting him choose a speed as they passed by the laundry room accessories and the vacuums. She wondered how long it would be before Jesse came to entertain her at the store again. Although, she couldn't help it if she instigated slightly. When there seemed to be no one down the next aisle, she let herself fall back and a hand rove against his back. That idle touch to most would mean nothing more than a couple shopping together in a store. But, to Jesse, she knew he would take that as the fair game of antagonizing.

Jesse rolls his eyes. So intent had he been on at least creating some kind of joy ride down the aisles on that shopping trolley, and Grey denies him even that. No sex. No joyriding. He squares his shoulders. So she thinks. For the moment, he acts like a good little boy, as if that promise of punishment keeps him in line. Of course it doesn’t.

What else does it mean to be a grunt? Well. That’s a question that bears some thinking about. What else is in his job description? He’s not sure there is much else. The job is one that’s entirely made up. He could of course be the good little boy she wants him to be. He could be the puppy-dog other half that carries all the bags and follows her around like he’s sick without her. Of course he will, at some point, carry all the bags. And yes, he has followed her all the way here, to this bright and sickening shopping centre, because he is sick without her. But she doesn’t have to know that.

Maybe she does know, too – maybe she doesn’t – but the light touch of her fingers upon his back only encourages him. The aisle ahead of them is empty, free of anyone. It’s like a glittering freeway, and the trolley in his hands is a brand new hot rod, fitted with all the grunt that he needs. He grins. Yes, this is what his job entails. Being a grunt. He turns to face Grey. One hand around behind her, he echoes that touch upon her back. He brushes a kiss over her lips.

“It’s my job… in here… to be a pain in your ***,” he says with a wink. And then, quick as a flash, he lets go of her. He reaches for the trolley and darts away with it, down the aisle. Two steps, three long strides, before he pushes all his weight on the wheeled vehicle. His feet leave the shiny ground and hook onto the wire just over the hard, black tires. He lets loose the tiniest woop! as he flies free down the runway. And keeps going. And going. Until he reaches the end of the aisle. There’s that same woman again, coming around the corner. The one he’s startled beforehand. He laughs in her face as he glances back at Grey – another wink, and he blows her a kiss, before disappearing.

A pain in the ***, yes. He would play a bit of hide-and-seek in this awful place. And he’d taken all Grey’s loot for ransom.

She could see that deliciously wicked look that he shared with her before he leaned in to steal her kiss and whisk himself away. Grey could see the intent within his eyes. She could see the way his shoes found traction on the recently waxed floor. She could see the lift off of the soles of his shoes and the image of him was almost a transfixing need to watch the freedom he soon possessed. Like a man with a brand new toy, she had no chance to even open her mouth before he had already wheeled himself down the aisle. And though a part of her felt so utterly embarrassed, she felt her heart lighten.

No, it wasn't because her lover just laughed in the face of the sales woman that just dropped her stack of vacuum cleaner bags to the floor as she grabbed her chest in a shocked expression. Grey felt a surge of blood towards her face and if she could even have mustered an apology, a blush wouldn't do such a spoken action justice. It was because Grey would never even think to take a joyride down the aisle upon a cart filled with sheets and towels instead of groceries or prophylactics.

She saw the woman's startled expression just watch Jesse as he took off down another aisle. She simply gave her own shoulders a shrug and walked past the woman that continues to clutch her chest. Oh dear, that was all she needed was a heart attack victim upon her hands. With a murmured apology and a brisk walk past the sales clerk, Grey's boots thunk upon the floor. She peeked down the aisles to see which one Jesse May have traveled down.

There was a call for him.

"Jesse!" Rang out with a quiet, harsh call for him. Much, in fact like a mother after a wayward son. But, she whirled around the next end cap to find him. Oh, the chase was on now. "Jesse, where are you?" There was a little laughter in her voice now as she peeked around the next corner and delved into the game he started with a grin on her face. She had made her way through the housewares section and was on to the books now. Some distracted her. Some of the covers and the titles had her legs slowing as she took in and looked for the favored authors. But, she had a man to find!

She was going to catch her lover and her towels!

There’s something so normal about shops like this, Jesse thinks. He’d made his getaway, and only when he is far enough away does he slow his pace. At first, he browses the things on the shelves. He’s aware that people are watching him, without wanting to seem as if they are watching him. They see his tattoos and, despite the fact that he might be wearing clean, freshly laundered clothes that actually cost him quite a lot, they think that he’s going to run off with that cart. Right through the doors, out into the night. Or, they think that the cart is just a guise – that he’s going to push the more valuable items into his pockets. Or, they think that once he gets to the counter, he’s going to pull out a gun and shoot them all, point blank.

Or at least, as Jesse catches one woman’s eye—she hastily looks away and scurries on—that’s what he assumes they’re thinking. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on his behalf, the whole gun scenario. But it’s only a fleeting imagined scene, full of violence of darkness. He’s not feeling particularly violent, nor is he feeling particularly dark. The thought arises and disperses much like ordinary thoughts do. The kind that end with I must do that later… but then are promptly forgotten.

There is a man in a suit. He’s braver than some of the others. He watches Jesse more openly – even attempts a friendly smile when Jesse looks up. The guy’s wearing a white collar. A priest of some kind. Jesse plucks a packet of chewing gum from one of the hanging stands as he passes. He tears it open and unwraps one of the little sticks inside. He shoves the gun into his mouth – the priest’s smile falters. He almost scowls. Jesse salutes, tosses the torn packet into the trolley, and wanders around the corner, into the next aisle.

He feels like he’s hit a gold mind.

Toys. Toys as far as the eye can see. With a grin, he again uses the cart as a vehicle, swiftly hooning down the aisle but all the while, hungrily searching the shelves for something fun. Two things happen at the same time:

One – he spies a box full of bouncy balls.

Two – he hears Grey’s voice, calling his name – she’s in the aisle he’d just vacated. The one with the priest.

Jesse finds it very hard to keep himself contained. Not to snort or chuckle or snicker. Children do that. They give themselves away, when they’re plotting. Jesse has grown. He knows not to give himself away – especially with noise. Stealthily, with haste, he gathers up the bouncy balls. All of them, from the box. There has to be at least thirty. At least. He starts with one. He takes a step back and lobs it over the shelving, so that it might come whistling down near Grey. After the first, he sends a second. And then a third. And he keeps going, speeding up, until sooner or later, it’ll be raining bouncy balls, right over Grey’s head.