lady_bols | Room 6620, Afternoon

'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.'

'I know you're for it in general, but I was inquiring about specifics. Which, all right, I'll concede is pretty daft.'

As she talks, she slips back into her place along his side, propped up on one elbow so she can look him in the eye.

'A man's man like yourself might not consider canoodling a viable way to spend the afternoon.' That teasng lilt is back, cheeky as ever.

She gets a flat look for that one.

'A real man doesn' turn down an afternoon in bed, snogging a beautiful bird. You calling me queer!?'

He's kidding, though the mock-outrage is fairly convincing. He turns to his side, and slips his hands 'round to her back. He speaks even as he's moving to kiss her.

'Let's jus' see how it goes, yeah?'

'Mmm, playing it by ear. Sounds like a...'

The last word is lost to a soft, gentle kiss. Their earlier discussion, and the last few days, have left her with an ache in her skin, and just being close to him seems to have a soothing effect. But it's more than just a simple comfort, this time. It's about telling him without words, all the things she's never been able to express. She tilts her head, and her lips part, her tongue teasing along his, inviting him deeper.

It's about trust, and intimacy, this time. And other, deeper sentiments.

It's feels indulgent, but she doesn't care. She wants this, and she needs to feel that he wants it, too. She needs to feel his hands on her body, and to feel his breath and his pulse.

There can be no doubt at all about how much he wants it, not if the way he kisses her is anything to go by. It's soft, yes, but hungry too; slow but with an edge of excitement compounded by his hand stroking up and down her ribs. He knows she wants some distance from this morning's conversation, so he's got no expectations. But that doesn't mean he won't touch if she'll let him. There's something magnetic about her body, probably from all this time spent wondering what it would feel like.

Well, now he doesn't have to wonder any more, and it's magic.

It's a wonder to be able to touch. Her hands begin a gentle exploration, mapping the now familiar territory of his face, fingertips marking the line of his jaw, playing along his sideburns, around the shell of his ear. His kiss is intoxicating, and she's lingers for a long while, enjoying this new way of conversing with him.

Eventually, she finds herself nuzzling his chin, and her mouth strays to the sensitive skin of his neck, wet kisses trailing down to his pulse, tasting him in another way. More uncharted territory, and the quiet sounds he's making spur her on.

He knew this was going to end up painful. It'd be nice to be able to stop himself getting hard, so as to keep this easy. He's sure he's managed it with any number of women. Simply kissing doesn't normally have this effect on him.

But she's started on his neck, and that's practically impossible to resist. Still, he just eases his lower half back a bit and concentrates on the feel of her lips instead, shutting his eyes when the arousal starts to flare and heat him from the inside out.

His hand moves up from her ribs, and takes her breast instead. Far nicer, and if she's going to play outside the boundaries of 'canoodling', then he is too. He fondles gently, stroking along the soft underside and teasing the nipple hard with his thumb.

He reckons she'll tell him to stop if she wants to.

He shifts away and takes her breast, and she misunderstands, arching back to offer herself up to him. The robe slips down over her shoulders and there is a soft exhalation of breath at the touch of his hand on bare skin.

Her definition of canoodling may be a bit broader than his. She watches him through hooded eyes, safe expectations and overwhelming desire warring under her skin.

Christ. Offering herself up on a platter, and while hanging out of her dressing gown too. He's got a thing for mucking around half-dressed, and Sergeant Rock gains an degree or two of rigidity just looking at her.

'Mmm,' he says, because that seems a good enough level of coherency before he slides down, and nuzzles the soft rise of her tits. He presses a soft, wet kiss between them, breathing a bit harder as his mouth replaces his fingers, licking and sucking so gently on the soft skin on the underneath of one.

She wants to spend the afternoon letting him do this, that's just fine with him.

It's easy to close her eyes and give herself over to this. He's so gentle, seeking out and finding her sweet spots with an uncanny accuracy. She's content to stroke his head, biting her lip to stifle the quiet moans his kisses are evoking.

'There, just...' He kisses her sternum and her breath shudders, her hands gripping a bit tighter.

Edited 2012-07-16 15:37 (UTC)

'There?'

He moves back between them, kissing a line up the valley and then back down again, because he's not going to relinquish this without a struggle. What's better than having your face buried between a beautiful woman's beautiful tits?

He wouldn't call himself accurate. Simply that he can't stay away from breasts, and he's rarely got any complaints from indulging his desire to play. His mouth does stray a bit lower as well, onto the top of her stomach, while his hand slips under her robe to her bum. If she's going to lie facing him, it's just the easiest place to put it.

Yeah. That's the reason.

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