AN: You can thank the NFL for the double update 😉 And I think I have to hit the "mature" switch today...

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"Pop?"

"Yes?"

Silence.

Phil, who had the rare Saturday morning off, was relaxing reading an actual book while sitting in his favorite chair by the back yard window. Todd was outside, putting in a few bulbs and spreading mulch.

Phil finally looked up, leaving Gus hiding under a riverbank while under full attack from Blue Duck and his men.  He sighed as he looked at his daughter, who was sitting on the ottoman in a blue-gray sweater that brought out her gorgeous eyes and showed off her new curves.

"You're growing up while I look at you, Rosebud, and I want it to stop," Phil said, shaking his head. "I don't know what we're going to do when you leave us and go off to law school."

"Pop, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Ruthie interrupted.

"Well, I acknowledged you and got only silence in return, so I assumed the topic of conversation was up for grabs," he teased as he gathered her into his lap.

"Pop! I'm too big for this!" Ruthie shrieked as she nearly fell. Her sound brought Amal Clooney on the run, barking as she tried to jump on top of both of them and join in the fun.

"No! Looney-Clue, ouch! Off, Off!" Ruthie cried in vain. They finally ended up in a pile of doggy and human love, in a big tangle in the chair.

"So, you were saying?" Pop asked after they were all settled. Ruthie was more or less in Pop's lap, and Amal was sort of sprawled across both of them, tail waving from time to time.

"You know how we go to Tahoe every year?" she began.

"Mm hmm," Pop said, nodding as he patted the dog on the head. They always went to Lake Tahoe for a week right before Christmas, to enjoy the snow and to ski.

"Well, you know how we've taken friends of mine in the past?" Ruthie continued.

"As I recall, it was Amelia once, because her mother had to work, and Linda once, because her parents had to go to a funeral," Pop corrected, smiling at what he knew was coming.

Ruthie heard his words and rolled her eyes. "Why do you put me through this, and grab me and tickle me and all that, if you know what I'm going to ask?" she complained.

"Because I'm your father and I live to see you suffer," he answered, as if it should be obvious.

"So okay, then, I was wondering if Elliott could come with us?" Ruthie asked, tucking her head into her father's neck.

"What about his grandparents?" Pop asked. "They're not super-fond of people like me and Dad. I can't imagine they'd say yes."

"Well, we haven't asked yet, because we wanted to see if you'd say yes first," Ruthie explained. "But they have this thing where they really really want Elliott to go to church with them, and he can tell them he'll go to all the Christmas stuff they do if they'll let him come, get it? And he'll tell them that he'll have his own room, and everything will be all proper and everything--and I could tell you and Dad the same thing," she concluded, her voice getting soft. "I mean, you know that, right? Elliott and I, we--aren't at that place in our relationship yet."

Pop nodded. "Yes, your dad and I do know that, and we're happy that you guys figured out that was the best thing without us having to get all protective and bossy and get our whips out and all that." He kissed Ruthie on the cheek.

"But you know that we consider that our family time, right?" he asked her. "A time for us to be together and reconnect?"

"I know that, Pop, but Elliott's been through so much, and he doesn't get much emotional support from his grandparents, and he has to live with constantly wondering if today is the day Brett's going to try to kick his ass at school--" Ruthie paused for breath. "And I'll miss him so much if I don't see him for a week," she admitted.

"You'll miss him so much," Pop repeated, carding his fingers through her hair. "That's what it comes down to, isn't it?"

Ruthie nodded. "I love him," she confessed. "I've never been in love before, you know?"

"Oh Rosebud, I know, I do," her pop responded, putting both arms around her and hugging her. "It's so wonderful, and so painful, isn't it?"

Ruthie nodded. "Sometimes I feel like I'll die when he goes back to England," she said. "And it's all he talks about, you know? Like he won't even miss me." She sniffed, and her father rubbed her back.

"He's going to miss you so much," he reassured his daughter.

"I'll talk to your dad, see what he says, okay?" he told her. "I'll let you know tonight, I won't leave you hanging, I promise."

"I love you, Pop," Ruthie said, kissing him as she rose. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. "And take Amal with you, or she's just going to sleep on me all day, and she's too heavy."

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Ruthie was practically glowing by the time they got in the SUV for the drive up. The back was loaded with their suitcases, and the large crate they'd bought for Amal Clooney and Clarence Darrow. There was simply something very romantic about driving off into the snowy mountains with the boy she loved next to her, even if her parents were sitting in the front seat, and were going to be with them the whole time.

Elliott could hardly take his eyes off her, she was so excited, happy, and beautiful.

"So do I understand correctly? You don't even ski?" he asked as they got on highway 99 and headed north. The worst of the storm had passed them, and it was just gray and drizzly, but they knew that the recent storm was dumping snow up in the Sierras as they spoke. It was barely noon, and the drive should be about three hours, but that was with good weather and no traffic, and of course everyone was heading up for the snow this Friday.

Ruthie shook her head. "I tried when I was younger, I really did," she defended herself. "They're both, like Olympic caliber skiers," she said with a laugh, and Elliott knew she was speaking hyperbolically, "so it was important to them. But it never worked."

"It never worked?" Todd repeated. "You never gave it a chance," he called back.

"I did too," Ruthie replied hotly. "It wasn't my fault that I tripped and fell and sprained my ankle on the way to the rope lift, is it?"

"You sprained your ankle on your way to the lift?" Elliott repeated skeptically.

"Yes, I did," Ruthie defended herself. "And it hurt like a motherfucker, too. Then, then," she continued, raising her voice over her fathers' laughter, "the next year, I swerved to avoid a squirrel and skied right into a tree. It was awful, and I got pine needles in places where one should never get pine needles."

Elliott put an arm round her and kissed her hair. "I'll help you, I promise," he said.

"What? No," Ruthie replied, shaking her head. "I'm never getting on skis again, ever."

Elliott made eye contact with Phil, who was driving. "We'll see," he said in a noncommittal voice.

Four hours later they arrived, just as the snow was getting very heavy, tucking the car into the freezing cold garage.

"Just in time," Todd said with satisfaction, looking out at the snow. He and Phil went out back to make sure the electricity and, more importantly, the heat were on before unloading the car, though they did open the door to the animal crate first.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Ruthie asked, turning around in the dusk, hands outspread, head turned skyward. "Like something from Dickens." She turned to Elliott. "I keep forgetting, though, that you live in a place where it snows every year. So this is nothing to you, is it?"

Elliott was watching the girl he loved twirl prettily with joy as the snowflakes hit her beautiful face and open mouth. Amal Clooney was out there with her, prancing and snarfing the snow, while Clarence Darrow just watched from the relative warmth and safety of the crate.

"I think it's beautiful as well," Elliott finally said, stepping out into the snow and grabbing Ruthie's hands so he could spin her round. "Absolutely stunning."

He pulled her close so he could kiss her, and then they began unloading the car. They'd bought groceries at home because it was so much less expensive, so all the food needed to be put away. By the time they were finished with the kitchen, Phil and Todd had brought in their luggage and gotten Clarence's litter box set up.

"Okay, so, this is my room," Ruthie said, opening a door, "and this is your room." She opened the door across the hall from her own. "It's kind of plain, but it's a spare room, so I hope that's okay."

"And you and Ruthie will be sharing that bathroom," Phil informed Elliott.

"So no undies on the floor, no toothpaste in the sink," he admonished his daughter.

"Okay, I need a shower and a little nap, so let's meet downstairs in about two hours for pizza and games," Phil said as he entered the master bedroom.

Ruthie went into her room to unpack, but was startled when Elliott followed her.

"Hey, you," she said, holding the pants she was putting away. "What?"

"Maybe you can leave one or two set of knickers on the floor, okay?" Elliott said with a laugh as he pushed her against the closed door.

"Really?" Ruthie asked, suddenly feeling like she couldn't breathe deeply enough.

"Yeah," Elliott breathed, putting his mouth on her neck. "Preferably worn?"

"What?" Ruthie pushed him off her with a laugh. "Are you kidding?" She tried to look at his face to see if he meant what he'd said.

Elliott just looked at her for a moment. "God, Ruthie, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what I was even thinking, please forget I said anything."

He reached for the doorknob, but she stopped him. "No, please, Elliott, tell me, is that a thing you like? Worn underwear? For real?" Her voice held nothing but curiosity.

Elliott sat down on her bed with a thump. "I just keep forgetting, you know?" he asked, raking his hair out of his face. "How young you are." He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, what a disgusting thing to say to you." He ran a finger down her cheek. "Please accept my apology."

"No, no I won't," she responded, sitting next to him. "You keep talking about how naive I am or whatever, so here I am, asking to be educated, please. Teach me to ski, and teach me about dirty knickers or whatever."

Her words made Elliott laugh. "Erm, okay, so sometimes a bloke will--" he began. "No. So okay. sometimes a woman will get--oh fuck, I can't," he said, flopping backward on the bed and looking up at the ceiling.

"I mean, I think I get most of it anyway," Ruthie told him. "When women get excited, they get lubricated, and it can get on their underwear, right?"
Elliott nodded, though he continued to look at the ceiling.

"So you're saying that some men like that? The lubricant that comes from the woman's body?"

She turned sideways and rested her head on her hand, the arm bent at the elbow. "Is that right?" she sounded fascinated.

"Not some men, most men," Elliott corrected.

"Really? To me it's just a bother, because I have to wash those undies by hand in case Pop does the laundry," Ruthie informed him.

"So," she continued, "what do men do with them? Sniff them? While they masturbate? Is that it?"

"Ruthie, I can't do this," Elliott said, sitting up, nearly whacking her nose because he did it so fast. "I can't just sit next to you and discuss what I do or don't do when I have a wank, okay?"

"Why? I mean, why not?" Ruthie, too, sat up. "I mean, I thought we were close."

"We are, but these things are off limits for us, so it's easier if we just don't talk about it."

"Okay. Fine." Ruthie's voice was small, and had that tell-tale quaver it got when he was trying not to cry. "We have wifi up here, I can google all this, no big deal. I just thought it would be more interesting, more fun, to talk with you, not to mention more realistic. I'm sorry, Elliott."

"Fine." Elliott turned to her and grabbed her by her arms so she faced him. "When we're together, and we're close, I get hard, yeah? I get wood, and for me, it's been so long that it really doesn't take much at all, especially being with you, because you're so fucking beautiful." He smoothed her hair away.

"And, if I'm doing things right, you'll start to get wet, right?" His voice got soft, and she nodded slightly, leaning into his body a little bit.

"So, some guys, me included, like the stuff your body produces," he went on. He let go of her arms and put his hands on her denim-clad thighs. "I like the way it smells, and I like the texture of it, and I like the way it tastes, as well," he continued, looking into her eyes.

"I also like women's knickers. Not in general, but I mean, if I like the woman in question, I usually like her knickers, especially if she's wearing them or if she's been wearing them, yeah?"

Again, Ruthie nodded, eyes glued to his.

He squeezed her thighs with his hands as he continued to speak. "So the thought of finding a pair of your worn knickers someplace was sexy has hell to me," he concluded. "I didn't even think about the fact that you'd have no clue what I was on about, so I'm sorry."

He let out a gentle breath, which Ruthie felt on her face, though he didn't look away.

"Really?" she asked, her voice as soft as his. "You like that stuff? The way it smells? Tastes?"

Elliott nodded.

"I heard Brett make jokes about it with his friends sometimes, and they thought it was disgusting," she explained.

"Well, Brett's an idiot, that's already been established," Elliott told Ruthie. "That first whiff, when the girl takes her trousers off, and you can really get in there and breathe it in, it's amazing."

"Amazing?"

"Yeah." And if she's really into it, and your relationship is at that place, she'll let you go down on her, and the taste is  marvelous." By now Elliott's lips were hardly moving as he spoke.

Ruthie listened raptly.

"Women's bodies change, too, when they get excited, did you know that? Yeah, everything gets softer, and warmer, and when you can get in there with your tongue and taste it--it's kind of salty, and tangy a bit, but it's the warmth, the heat, that makes it incredible. Every woman tastes different, and you can really get in there with your tongue, and when you first find her, um, you know, and you flick it, or suck on it, the noises you make, my god--"

Elliott broke off and stared at Ruthie, who was looking at him as if hypnotized. What had he been saying?

"Oh my god, Elliott, we have to unpack and stuff now, but I want you to do that to me later, okay?" Ruthie asked breathlessly. "Tonight, please."

And as if his voice were coming from someone else, he heard himself answer "Okay, yeah," before he rose and left her room.

It was only ten minutes later, as he stood under the cold needles of the bracing shower he so desperately needed that he could question his traitorous libido, and his idiocy at agreeing to such a thing.

And Ruthie wasn't the kind of girl who was likely to change her mind.