lady_bols | Room 6620, Afternoon

Impossible for him to stay asleep at the first hint of interruption at the moment. She stretches, and it pulls him to the edge of consciousness, and then she speaks and he blinks awake. Semi-awake. He shifts, and wants to doze off again.

'S'not lunch 'ready, is't?'

Not so much with the coherency, then.

'I hope it's lunch,' she purrs. 'If you'll let me up, I'll go see.'

Of course, she makes no move to get up. It's nice here. Safe.

'Mmm. Don' wanit.'

He wants to go back to sleep. He misses sleep.

And her breast is still in his palm, he registers. That's nice too.

'We have to eat sometime. Keep our strength up, and all that.'

She shifts a little, turning to look at him from the corner of her eye.

'I promise, I'll come right back.'

He sighs, and loosens his grip.

''K.'

He'll be asleep again by the time she gets back.

And she'll let him sleep. He hasn't had any for too many days in a row, so she moves quiet as a mouse, slipping her robe back on and making her way to the door. She even tries to open the door as quietly as possible, but moving the trolley with their lunch is just not that quiet, unfortunately. Plates and cutlery rattle against the metal trays, banging a bit as the wheels hit the threshold.

Once it's on the rug, it's easier to keep quiet. She peeks under the covers and sees a salad that makes her mouth water. His is steak and chips, predictably. All of it seems to be magicked somehow to keep it chilled or warm as appropriate. They even included fresh wine glasses, but no bottle of wine, presumably having taken their earlier purchase into consideration.

'Huh,' she muses, retrieving one of the bottles of red and opening it. 'I could get used to this.' She pours herself a generous measure and takes a sip before heading back to bed.

She sits beside him on her side of the bed, one hand reaching out to tug the sheet up a bit. It's strange, watching him sleep. He looks so young.

The rattling makes his groan and turn on to his front, but not wake up properly. He's slipping down somewhere deep, and then she sits on the bed, making the mattress dent under her weight - he jolts, and his eyes fly open, because it feels like falling.

When he realises he's not, he covers with a hand over his face, rubbing sleep away. An hour will do for now.

'What'd we get?'

'Steak and chips for you, salad for me. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.' So much for letting him sleep.

She brushes his hair back from his eyes, and careful not to spill her wine, she bends down to kiss his cheek.

'Come on, you'll feel better for some food.'

'Can we have it in bed?'

Probably not a good idea. But getting up just feels like an effort too far.

'You could feed me chips. Better than grapes, anyway.'

He's still on his front, and not moving. Might be eyeing up her legs though.

That gets a little laugh, the sound far more relaxed than any he's heard her make since she arrived. Their earlier discussion blew off some heavy steam, and it's easier to just be now, knowing that he's not going anywhere.

'I don't see why not,' she singsongs. 'I draw the line at cutting up your steak for you. There are just some things a man has to do on his own.'

She sets her wineglass on the night stand and strolls off to bring the trolley over.

'You do have to sit up a bit, lazy bones.'

'Some things are more fun with two, an' all,' he mutters, but does sigh as well, and roll over. It's a struggle, but he drags himself up so he's slumped against the headboard. It's a bit of a fight to keep hie eyelids up, so he finds a cigarette in the hope it'll help.

'What's with all the salad? Don' think I ever saw you eat one in Fenchurch.'

'What? I like salad. And Luigi's idea of a salad was one sorry little piece of iceberg lettuce and a pineapple ring. They have fresh produce here, and it's delicious.'

She says all this as she unrolls the linens and finds a fork.

'Do you have to smoke in bed?'

'Yeah.'

If he's not getting up for food, he's not getting up to smoke.

'So long as you're not on a diet. Can't abide women on diets.'

Then again, he doesn't really approve of fat women either. Not the point.

'There's nothin' to you already.'

She huffs a little, displeased at his answer, but not so much that she wants to make a stink about it.

'Tell you what. I won't dictate what goes in your mouth, and you don't dictate what goes in mine, and everyone will be happier in the long run.'

Save for the fact that she hates the smell of smoke in everything. Maybe there's some sort of super advanced air freshener she can order up from the bar. She makes a mental note to look into it later.

In the meantime, she snags a chip off his plate and offers it to him, batting her long eyelashes at him.

'You're right. It's not as romantic as peeled grapes.'

But it suits them, and she's fine with that. More than fine.

'What, nothin' that goes in your mouth?'

He pulls a face. Disappointing. And bites the chip from her fingers, just because it's there.

'Peeled grapes remind me of eyeballs. Disgusting.'

He does put the fag out. Not because she doesn't like it, but because the steak smells good. The smoking thing is likely to be a long and bloody battle.

'I said dictate. That doesn't cover anything I might volunteer, or actively seek out to put in my mouth.'

Her words take on a promising, sultry tone.

'I suspect you might be in for another surprise in that department, and I'm not about to ruin it for you like I did the last one.'

Another swallow of wine, and she tucks into the salad. Mmmm, the tomatoes are perfection.

He raises his eyebrows. Actively seek out. That sounds promising. And if the surprise is anything like the last one, he's already looking forward to finding out.

He almost asks when he might get a chance to find out about this surprise, but she said she wanted to wait with all of that, so he's not going to pressure her. He starts on the meat instead.

'Tease.'

'Admit it, you love it,' she says, giving him a saucy wink.

She refills her wine, and pours him a glass as well.

'Excellent choice of wine, I might add. I didn't know you knew anything about French wines.'

He pulls another face, which might be his way of admitting it. But all he says is,

'I don't. I just tell her to give me somethin' good, and trust she's not tugging my todger when it turns up.'

Let's face it, he'll drink most anything. As long as it's not paint stripper or meths. Or poncey.

'Hmm. Well, either way, it's lovely. Thank you.'

She may be looking at him from beneath her eyelashes, sitting there with the sheet wrapped around his middle, comfortable in his own skin.

It's attractive, even with his hair all mussed and a mouthful of steak.

Yeah, there are the butterflies again. Fluttering under her skin, making her exquisitely aware of how little she's wearing.

He shrugs off the thanks, and concentrates on lunch. He managed half of a big breakfast, so he's really not that hungry. And he's just as aware of her as she is of him.

'You want to go out again this afternoon?'

He can't really be bothered, but it's polite to ask. And it might remove the temptation.

'Not especially,' she says, poking at the last bite of salad, trying to sound casual.

'Do you?'

Oh look, more wine.

He puts his plate to the side, and picks his glass up. He's no expert, like he said, but it tastes pretty good.

'What do you wanna do, then?'

A hesitation, before he says in a tone both gentle and firm,

'I've had enough talkin' about all that crap.'

'For once, we are in complete agreement.' She takes his plate and her own, returning them to the trolley before making her way back to the bed. She arranges her pillows, making a bit of a production of it, fluffing and smoothing them, before sitting back down and turning to face him.

'How do you feel about canoodling? For or against?'

'For.'

As she's moving around, he's slumping back down in the bed, sprawling across it and scratching his stomach lazily.

'For a detective of your calibre, that was a daft question.'

He eyes her as she turns to him.

'Though honestly, Bols, if you're not sure - then it's going to end up pretty painful for both of us.'

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