OOM: Room 6620, #3

[the_gene_genie]

 
The evening did pass smoothly, and it's been a long time since he's been so grateful for anything. OK, there was the inevitable drifting of his thoughts back to recent - and not so recent - events, but it helped to have a distraction. He forced himself to concentrate on what happened with her today, and it gave him some respite. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have picked up The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly - he's seen it too many times to get fully lost in it.

Still. As things stand, he's got no complaints. But now it's over, and they do have to make an attempt at sleeping again. So he's in the bathroom, freshly out of the shower, newly shaved, and telling himself firmly that restraint is the order of the day, here.

Definitely a tad nervous when he emerges into the room, though.

Comments

[the_gene_genie]

'You're a bloody bad influence.'

He doesn't sound like he minds. He sounds sated, amused, tired. And kisses her gently, wrapping his arms around her back.

'But I already knew that.'

[lady_bols]

'I'm a bad influence? Oh please.' She chuckles, soft and low, slipping down to rest against his side. Her legs feel like jelly.

'I feel like I've just run a marathon.'

There's no small amount of wonder in that observation.

[the_gene_genie]

He winces as she moves, a familiar ache making itself known.

'Hey, don' blame me. You put the idea in my head.'

A one-handed search of the bedside cabinet comes up blank.

'An' I hear running marathons is good for you. Got any tissues on that side?'

[lady_bols]

She twists away from him, fumbling in the darkness. A light clicks on and she hisses.

'Here we are.' She's smirking as she hands him the box. 'They're good for you if you been in training. I'm afraid I'm out of practice.'

She sprawls on the bed beside him, her head lolling to one side so she can look at him.

'I expect that won't be the case much longer.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Mmm. 'spect not.'

He tries to clean up surreptitiously, which isn't all that easy when she's this close. And he offers the box to her, because she's bound to need it as well.

'It'll be a once a week, Saturday night chore soon enough, probably.'

The tease should be obvious in his tone, though maybe with a hint of real expectation to it as well. That's what tends to happen eventually, he's led to believe.

[lady_bols]

That gets a genuine belly laugh out of her.

'Oh right, of course. A chore. You're such a charmer. How the hell did I resist for so long?' The last is muttered against his lips as she steals another kiss.

'You, don't move. I'll be right back.'

She slips from the bed and heads for the bath, tutting under her breath. Maybe he can hear the smile in her voice even in the darkness.

[the_gene_genie]

'Meant chore for you,' he says, with a little smile. Because it's a long-held belief in British TV comedy routines, and TV shows, and culture, that long-suffering wives put up with their husbands demands because they have to. At least, in his era.

Once the bathroom door is closed, he lets out a long breath and just stares at the ceiling for a while. That...all went better than he thought it would. At least he doesn't have to worry about her fancying him any more. The evidence is right there on his stomach. He lights a fag, and lifts up the quilt an inch or two.

'You. Don' let me down, OK?'

Sergeant Rock's thoughts on the matter are not forthcoming. He's asleep. Gene sighs, and sorts his clothes out, and tries to just think about nothing while he waits for his turn in the bathroom.

[lady_bols]

She thinks he might be pleasantly surprised to discover just how different the reality will be compared to his imagination. But that's a surprise for another night.

The smell of sex permeates the air, and she grins, still vaguely feeling the place where his fingertips dug into her hips. It's been a long damned day, and it's getting difficult to keep her eyes open, even as she stands in front of the wash basin and cleans up with a flannel.

Her lips purse in amusement at the state of her hair. She hasn't even been well-shagged yet, and it still looks good on her. A few moments of toying with it and she gives up. Again, she has a debate with her Id, telling it firmly that no, she's not going to waltz back out there wearing nothing. He might die of a heart attack. Or worse, he might take it entirely the wrong way.

She said she'd wait, and wait she will, if it kills her.

The water from the tap isn't cold enough, she thinks.

A few minutes later, she emerges, humming a drowsy little tune under her breath. 'All yours.'

[the_gene_genie]

He's grinding his cigarette out when she turns up, looking mussed and bloody gorgeous. His lips form their customary pout at the sight of her, and he nods to cover his appreciation.

'Ta.'

His own clean up doesn't take long, but he lingers in the cool of the bathroom, leaning against the sink and rubbing the back of his neck to try and ease the knot of tension. He's more exhausted than he can remember being, but the release has helped a bit. He no longer has the energy to feel like he doesn't fit in his own skin. There's a chance for sleep.

As for the stuff they talked about - that can wait until tomorrow. He stands straight, and stretches, and thinks of the feel of her straddling him in the dark. There's going to have to be more of that, but he's still glad she didn't let him forget they were supposed to hold back.

He's not humming when he emerges, and probably still looks a mess. But he smiles at her a bit anyway, and there's no hesitation at climbing back into the same bed as her.

[lady_bols]

He's tired, and it shows, but he still looks good to her. (Considering she thought she'd never see him again, he looks damned good, no matter what.)

She holds the covers up for him, and insinuates herself along his side again, briefly pressing a kiss to his cheek.

'I think I'm going to sleep for a year.'

[the_gene_genie]

'G'on then.'

He puts his arm around her, and wriggles himself comfortable.

'I'll wake you up in three months for some food, and a shag.'

[lady_bols]

She makes a contented sound, nestling a bit until they're both settled. The reality of their situation looms, but she shoves it aside again, resolving to deal with it later, when she's had some rest.

'Wake me when ever you like.'

She lets out a huge sigh, and closes her eyes. After the last three years of madness and confusion, this feels right in a way she can't quite explain. For the first time in recent memory, she doesn't feel the incessant pull of not being where she belongs.

She levers herself up, weary but determined, pressing one last kiss against his lips.

'Night, love.'

When she lays her head down again, she can't keep her eyes open for another moment.

[the_gene_genie]

He cups her face briefly as she kisses him, then lets her lie.

'Night, sweet'eart.'

And as it turns out, sleepless night aren't so bad when there's a beautiful woman next to you. A reminder, if nothing else, that there's good things to look forward to. It's something to hang on to.