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Bluebooks and Other Bedroom Stories

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“I think they’re starting to take over,” Rachel says, and puts a pile of bluebooks on the floor, so that she can join Sloan in bed.

“They may be secretly reproducing. Genetic recombination is the only way to explain some of these answers,” Sloan says, and then leans over a pile of bluebooks still on the bed to kiss Rachel.

Rachel hums into the kiss before breaking away. “This is giving me finals week flashbacks.”

“Making out on a pile of bluebooks? Rachel Maddow, were you hooking up with your TA?” Sloan teases.

“Ha, no. I have never made out on a pile of bluebooks, and I am betting your students would appreciate it if I didn’t start now,” Rachel says. “What are these for, anyway?”

“The bluebooks are my microeconomics final and the papers are my senior seminar take-home. It was my turn in the intro slot,” Sloan says with a shrug. Everybody gets a turn with the freshman, or the department would be even more of a warzone than it sometimes is. “Oh, and that stack is Maggie’s research on Paul Ryan’s fiscal plan. It’s scarier than some of the freshman’s exams.”

“I’d say tell me about it, but I spent the day doing that research,” Rachel says, clearing more bluebooks from the bed. “You know it's Saturday, now, right?” Rachel asks, pointing to the clock that has just flipped over to midnight.

“Forty-eight hour turnaround on final grades,” Sloan says, leaving a trail of red down the bluebook in her hand.

“And how many more do you have to grade?”

“Sixty microeconomics exams, and all fifteen senior seminar take-homes,” Sloan replies.

“That’s almost halfway done,” Rachel says, and pulls her shirt over her head.

“Not fair!” Sloan pouts.

“I’m just going to get ready for bed, put on some pajamas,” Rachel says, shirt dangling from her finger.

“Sure, I believe that.”

“Well, you did say something about making out earlier, and I am competent when it comes to the multiple choice portions of grading,” Rachel offers with a grin.

“Stay away from my tests,” Sloan says. “I’m still not over the commentary from the last time I let you help.” She should have recorded the whole thing and posted it on the internet. But she had been busy trying to get grades in on time, and at the time she’d thought Rachel would be helpful.

“Okay,” Rachel says, and pulls open a dresser drawer without ever looking away from Sloan. There are boxers in there, and t-shirts, Rachel’s choice of pajamas when clothing was called for.

“Stop it,” Sloan says, and begins moving piles of exams on to the floor.

“Stop what?” Rachel teases, holding up a battered old Red Sox shirt in front of herself.

“Putting clothes back on. You should take more off. And get in bed,” Sloan orders.

Rachel grins. “I think I can do that.”

“I know you can,” Sloan replies.

Rachel crawls into bed beside her, and Sloan decides it won’t be such a bad thing if grades are a little late this semester.