"JC! It's snowing! Must be a few inches of snow on the ground!"
"I know, bambina," he groaned, coming up behind his wife as she stood at their bedroom window. Covered only in a towel and fresh from the shower they had just shared, Spencer turned to her similarly clad husband and practically glowed.
"Snow angels," she grinned. "Last day of the year," she added as if he didn't know. "We *have* to make a snow angel!"
"No," he frowned as he looked down at her upturned face. "We *don't* have to make a snow angel."
"You don't have to make one if you think it's a sissy thing to do. I can make one all by myself."
"You're *not* making snow angels, Spence," he said in a tone that should have convinced her he was serious.
She wasn't convinced.
"Not planning on making a bunch," Spencer remarked with a casual shrug of her bare shoulder. "Just one."
"I am so!" she asserted as hands went to hips and she assumed her "just because you're bigger than me... the hell with you" stance.
"Just 'cause you're not man enough to lie down in the snow and get a little chilly..." she mumbled, her feet steadily moving back and away from his scowl... his long Popeye arms reaching for her... accompanied by the "look" on his face that threatened dire consequences.
"What did you say?" he asked in that quiet ominous tone that frightened those under his command and who prayed they weren't in his line of fire.
"I said you're a wimp!" Spencer - half his size - both brave and foolish, shouted as she leaped onto the bed to get across it and to the other side of the bedroom before he could grab her. "And a wuss, too!" she yelled, compounding the situation, and made a feeble attempt to grab the towel covering her that had slipped off when she jumped.
"Is that so?" he asked, pure rhetoric... and pounced on his naked wife as she tried to dart around him.
Where is Amnesty International when you need them?
She looked up into the eyes of the man who held her, the same man who had pinked her bottom until she begged him to make love to her; the same man who had happily complied, loving her senseless when they woke this morning.
"Is that so?" he asked again.
"I think so," Spencer muttered.
His grin was downright wicked.
"Not man enough? A wimp? A wuss?" he repeated her insults as his arms pulled her naked form closer to his chest. "You are the most insubordinate woman on the face of the planet," he murmured, kissing her brow, "and I think I'm going to make your bottom the pinkest on the planet..."
"Che cosa, bambina? What, baby?" he smiled at the imp as he hugged her tightly.
"You *do* love me."
"You love me a lot, right?"
"Then you want me to be happy, don't you?"
"Yes, but that happiness doesn't include making snow angels."
"Just one," she smiled up at him.
"You just got over pneumonia, Spencer. Lying in the snow is not high on my list of things for you to do."
"Oh...?" she sighed, rubbing her naked breasts against his bare chest and pulling his towel away from his body. "What *is* high on your list of things for me to do?"
"Spencer," he groaned as his body responded to hers and out of long habit, he pulled her up onto his chest. "If you keep doing that... I'm going to..."
"Promise?" she asked with an impish grin.
"Promise," he replied with a smile, cupping her bottom with the hand that would soon warm her all over again.
"And later while we're still hot and sweaty..." she murmured before his mouth covered hers again, "we can make snow angels and cool off."
"You do that and you'll kiss this old year goodbye with an exceptionally warm bottom," he told her as his hand squeezed the firm cheeks he adored.
"And if I make another snow angel tomorrow... will I greet the New Year the same way?"
"Count on it, bambina," he murmured, moving toward their bed, his hands beginning the dance they both loved, the promise of a spanking good year on the horizon. Happy New Year!