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"Ashley," she says, with a shake of her head, "tis but a mirror."
He glares back at her, right over his shoulder. “I know it’s just a mirror. Any idiot could see that.” But he was staring into it as if it were his worst enemy.
“Turn ‘round,” she demanded, pulling on the hem of his boxer shorts. It was harder to get them down than anticipated; they came off with a loud rip. He was as stunned by her strength as she was by his bemused expression.
“Now,” she declared, smirking, “are ye still afraid of a mere looking glass?”
Ash snickered and got an arm around her. “Nah. I’m more afraid of you,” he said, and kissed her.