Movie Night

Tristan looked up at me, poised mid-bite over one of the low-fat gluten-free microwavable tofu wraps I swore he bought just to spite my cooking. "What's in there?"

"Homework!" I said, upturning the Blockbuster bag over the table and dumping out a half-dozen DVDs. One of them dared to bump his plate, and he scowled the scowl of the mortally offended. "I'm doing my midterm paper for Modern Film Theory on Sam Raimi."

Putting down the wrap, he lifted Army of Darkness and made a face as he read the blurb on the back. "Okay, I'll bite: why?"

I shrugged, sitting down at the chair across the table from him. "Modern director analysis. I'm looking for tropes in his work and how they contribute to the overall effect of his movies, both positively and negatively." While I talked, I ignored his scowl and ripped a little corner off the edge of his wrap; it tasted like cardboard, so I swallowed it quickly. "Besides, I was hoping that you might get scared when the zombies come onscreen and need your big, strong boyfriend--"

"Pass." Tristan stood and snatched his plate out of my reach, rolling his eyes as he huffed off in the direction of the bedroom. "Those movies are the intellectual equivalent of Twinkies." This was a serious insult; the man hated Twinkies. "Just keep the TV down low enough so I can ignore you while I contemplate Justice Clark's majority opinion in Heart of Atlanta Motel v. United States, in the hopes that someday at least one of us will someday make a positive contribution to society--"

"Actually, I was thinking of concentrating on Raimi's attitudes toward gender and sexuality," I said, and I saw him stop just in front of the door. "Since a lot of modern commentary accuses the horror genre as being exploitative of women in particular, especially with regards to sexualising violence, I wanted to watch and see whether Raimi's films are worthy of the same criticism, or whether he is subversively being pro-female."

After a long pause, Tristan turned just enough that I could see the edge of his profile, especially where his forehead wrinkled in that handsome little chagrined way it did. "You are making that up."

"I am not!" I laughed, tapping the plastic cases. "Come on. I'll make popcorn. You can even bring your homework. I promise not even to pretend to be offended." There was another pause as his shoulders lifted and fell with the deep breath he was taking to keep from being overly disappointed with his lack of resolve, which was my cue for some serious boyfriend intervention. I walked over, sidling up behind him until my lips brushed the back of his earlobe, then wrapped one arm around his tiny waist and took the plate from his hand with the other. "I'll order pizza," I purred seductively in his ear.

"No sausage on my half, and get an order of the cheese bread," he sighed, pushing me away from him and walking into the bedroom to get his books, leaving me with the cardboard dinner in hand and a victorious grin on my face.

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