Room Service

by Angelina

A soft twilight was settling over Wisteria Lane as Bree Van De Kamp crossed the road. The evening air was cool and refreshing on her face as she made her way to Lynette’s door, noting with satisfaction that Tom’s car was not yet in the driveway. She rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. Stepping closer to the door, she looked through the glass panes towards the living room. She smiled when she saw a head of blonde hair resting on the arm of the couch. Lynette had fallen asleep.

Bree tried the door handle, expecting it to be open. It was. Quietly she let herself in and eased the door closed behind her. She moved towards the couch, careful not to make any noise. As she drew nearer, the slumbering woman slowly came into view. And Bree stopped dead. She closed her eyes and opened them again in an almost comical attempt to see if they were deceiving her.

Lynette was wearing a PVC French maid’s outfit.

Candles burned on the coffee table, their flames reflecting off an empty wine bottle. A jolt of desire shot through Bree, making her shudder with its force. Immediately afterwards, an altogether different emotion took hold. Jealousy. Lynette had dressed like this for Tom. A sudden, visceral need overtook Bree.

She walked around to the front of the couch and knelt down, her eyes running over Lynette’s body before coming to rest on her face. In sleep Lynette looked younger, happier, more carefree. Bree couldn’t help the soft smile that crept over her lips as she ran her fingers gently through blonde hair. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips against Lynette’s. That simple touch set Bree’s heart rate racing and the urgency of her actions increased. The heavy sweetness of wine invaded Bree’s mouth. She tangled her fingers in Lynette’s hair, pulling slightly as she felt the first signs of awakening. And then she felt the kiss being returned. A hand came up to the back of her neck, stroking the downy hair there as Lynette slowed down the pace of the kiss, bringing it to a gradual and natural end.

Bree didn’t pull back, choosing instead to rest her forehead against Lynette’s, their noses touching, breath hot against their cheeks. Lynette continued to stroke the back of Bree’s neck.

“I didn’t expect you.” The words were spoken in a voice still soft with sleep.

“Well, you were certainly expecting someone.” Bree’s tone was harsher than she intended.

Lynette’s hand stilled.

“Yes. My husband. Remember him?”

“So you get all gussied up for him do you? He likes you to dress like a French Tart does he?”

Lynette pushed Bree away and stood up, moving to put some distance between them. She turned to face Bree, eyes blazing.

“How dare you come over here and condemn me for trying to make my marriage work. You have made it abundantly clear to me that whatever the hell this thing is between us, it will never be anything more than it is now. So how you can stand there and presume to tell me what I can and can’t do with my husband is beyond me. If I have to dress like this from time to time to keep my marriage alive then I will do just that.”

Bree was still sitting on the floor, her back against the couch, looking up at her.

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but you didn’t seem to mind the fact that I was ‘gussied up like a French tart’ a coupla minutes ago when you woke me up.”

Lynette took a step closer. She watched Bree’s eyes follow her, trailing down her legs to the black stilettos she wore.

“In fact, I think you still don’t mind the way I’m dressed…”

Lynette brought her hand up to her neck and let her fingers slowly trail down her chest and between her breasts, lightly brushing bare skin before fully cupping her own breast in her hand, squeezing softly. Bree watched in rapt fascination, eyes following the journey of Lynette’s hand.

“…I think you like it.”

Lynette strode forward and knelt so she was on a level with Bree. She reached down and took Bree’s hand, bringing it to her breast and holding it there.

“Do you like this, Bree? Do you like watching me touch myself? Do you like touching me? Do you like my outfit?”

Bree watched their joined hands for a moment before raising her eyes to meet Lynette’s. The earlier jealousy was gone. She looked tired.

“Lynette, you don’t have to be dressed up like this to get me excited. Yes, I like watching you touch yourself and I love touching you. But I would love touching you just as much with your normal clothes on and your hair all mussed up and no make-up on…I…I’m sorry that I acted how I did. I just don’t like to think of him being with you and being confronted with a visual representation of it…”

Lynette pulled Bree’s hand up so that it rested over her heart. She leaned in and kissed Bree slowly and thoroughly. The kiss ended and neither of them spoke, both seated on the floor, leaning back against the couch.

“You know, Edie thinks I’m having an affair.” Bree said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Lynette smiled, grateful for the lighter mood. She rested her head on Bree’s shoulder.

“I hate to break this to you, honey, but you are having an affair.”

Bree leaned her head to rest on top of Lynette’s.

“Yes. But she thinks I’m having an affair with George. She saw us having dinner together.”

“Well, you can understand her confusion. I bet Edie’s never eaten a meal in a restaurant that wasn’t paid for by a man she later took home for ‘dessert’.”

Bree chuckled.

“That’s mean.”

“That’s true. But anyway…I wish you wouldn’t hang around with that guy. He gives me the creeps.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No. You shot the poor bastard when he tried to kiss you, I think I’m pretty certain you’re not attracted to him. I just don’t know why you’d want to spend time with him when he’s so obviously still in his warped version of love with you.”

“So, my clandestine lover is warning me off the man that I used to make my husband jealous during our separation…and you say that George is warped.”

“We’re not warped! Our relationship is…a little strange sometimes, but we’re definitely not warped.”

Bree turned her head to inhale the scent of Lynette’s hair. She closed her eyes.

“And to think, this ‘strange relationship’ of ours is the only thing in my life that keeps me sane.”

Lynette rubbed Bree’s knee affectionately.


Bree toyed with the white lace that trimmed the neckline of Lynette’s outfit.

“When will Tom be home?”

Lynette shrugged.

“I expected him home over an hour ago…so any time I guess.”

Bree’s fingers danced over the exposed skin of Lynette’s chest.

“So…do you think…do we have time to take your outfit for a trial run?”

Lynette’s familiar lopsided grin slowly appeared. She didn’t answer Bree’s question. Instead she half-stood, dragging Bree with her, both of them falling in a tangle of limbs and laughter onto the couch.


When Bree left Lynette’s house, some time later, she left the hostess asleep once more on the couch. With a smile on her face.


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