"Why me?" he whispered from above her. In the dim light he could barely see her, but her face was forever engraved in his mind. Every line, every curve, every contour was as clear as day to him. "Why do you love me?"

"Because you're you," she answered, voice just as soft. Her hands lifted to lay on his shoulders, playing with the shaggy strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He needed to get a haircut; long hair made him look like a delinquent. He wasn't, anymore.

"And what's so special about me?" he asked, bringing his face down to nuzzle her slender neck with his nose. He would have bothered to shave if he knew this was going to happen. The stubs of hair tickled her skin.

"Are you fishing for compliments?" she giggled from underneath him. Hot lips latched onto his earlobe, sucking slowly. He groaned, careful to keep it quiet. It was just like her to make jokes when things were heating up; her lack of tact was sometimes annoying but it was part of who she was.

"You could do better," he stated, pulling away from her. The look in his eyes was serious. He really wanted to know why she had chosen him.

"No," she replied with a small smile, "I couldn't." The best she could do was a man she was in love with and he fit the criteria perfectly. Her hand disappeared under his shirt but he was quick to retrieve it. She pouted but he ignored it, giving it a quick peck. A sigh escaped her lips and she averted her gaze.

"You could have any guy you want," he muttered. A large hand gently brushed hair out of her face and fingered the silky strands.

"But I'm here with you," she retorted, emphasizing the last word. Her fingers lightly traced his jaw and his lips.

"Why?" he asked once again.

"Because your cousin was busy," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him. He couldn't hold back the growl that rumbled in his chest. "Did you seriously just growl at me?"

"No," he answered quickly. He turned his head to avoid looking at her eyes; they always seemed to look right through him.

"I don't understand why you're asking these questions," she shrugged.

"I don't understand why you're not answering them," he snapped back.

"Are you really so insecure that I need to validate my love for you?" she inquire skeptically. She flicked his ear, hard.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, bringing a hand to the stinging lobe. "Look, if this is all just a joke to you, then…. then I don't know, okay? I just…"

"Love is something," she started, twirling a piece of his hair with her finger, "something unexplainable. It means something different to everyone, a reality that comes with never-ending illusions that are only limited by our imaginations."

"How philosophical," he replied dryly.

"I know, right?" she chuckled. He started to get off the bed but she caught him by the wrist and pulled him back.

"Let go," he demanded. She huffed loudly, but complied. She sat up and her eyes followed his every move as he paced across his room. "I love you."

"I love you too," she responded, nodding her head.

"But why?" he repeated, desperate for an answer. Those three words meant little to him, words that are thrown around with no weight behind them. He needed more, and she knew that, but the answer was difficult to articulate into words. "Why me?"

"Why not?" she countered with a shrug. Even though she understood why he was asking those questions, didn't mean that she had to like it and it was starting to get on her nerves. She might as well make it difficult for him; it'd be more consequential that way.

"So you love me because I love you?" he exclaimed with wide eyes.

"If I remember correctly," she stated with a sardonic look, "I was the first one to say it, and you took your sweet time with those words."

"I had to make sure," he argued.

"That you loved me? Or that I loved you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That I… you… I don't know!" he shouted in frustration, shooting her a glare. "Why are you making this so difficult?"

"Because I'm a woman and that's what we do," she answered simply. "Why are you being such a girl about this?"

"Because I love you!" he roared. An accusatory finger pointed her way. "And I can't stand the fact that you're too fucking good for me. You deserve better because I'm only going to fuck this up and break your heart and I won't be able to live with myself."

"That's too bad," she sighed. "I wouldn't be able to live without you."

"Let's see if you're saying the same later," he muttered, sitting back down on the bed. She crawled over to him, draping her arms around his shoulders and pecking his cheek.

"We'll just have to see now, won't we?" she asked, kisses trailing down to his neck. She was rewarded with a noise of satisfaction.

"Are you going to give me any answers?" he asked huskily. Soft fingers traced his abdomen.

"You're asking the wrong questions," she replied breathily. They shifted simultaneously so that she was straddling his lap, never breaking skin-to-skin contact. His hands slipped under her shirt and he was glad that her bra had been discarded previously. She brought her forehead to his, eyes closed, and hummed in pleasure.

"What are the right ones?" he croaked as she tugged off his shirt.

"Men never listen," she sighed. Her nails raked sensuously against his tanned skin causing shivers to race down his body. She was the only woman to ever reduce him to an incoherent mess, but then again, she was also the only woman to ever reduce him to an insecure wuss.

"But we learn," he smirked. And he knew exactly what she liked.

A bit later, their spent, and utterly satisfied, bodies cuddled next to each other, post-coital. She traced arbitrary shapes on his chest as he rubbed circles on her hip.

"I love you," she said, looking straight into his eyes. He saw the hope in her eyes like a teacher expecting the right answer. All he had was a question.

"And what does love mean to you?" he asked carefully. She grinned back at him before flipping onto her bed to stare at the ceiling for a bit. Her eyes glanced at him and she turned her head towards him.

"It means that I accept you for who you are," she started, "imperfections included, like the way you push me away sometimes and the fact that you never wash the dishes, and it doesn't matter to me as long as it's you because I love you. I don't want you to change because I fell in love with you just the way you are, flawed and sometimes stupid."

"I wash the dishes!" he argues with a furrowed brow.

"No, you don't," she giggled. "But I love you anyways."