uncalendula | {rping} open post

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[The first time, it was partly a mistake.

Alcohol had been involved, supplemented by a very unwise conversation and the subsequent flirting, weeks after introductions at that horrid little speed-dating debacle. The second and third times were similarly circumstantial, but Evelyn can't claim that the fourth time wasn't an active choice, that it stopped being "the last time" and started resembling a pastime.

Now, groggily reaching for consciousness as a thin beam of light stretches through the curtains and over a landscape of bodies under rumpled sheets, Evelyn might grudgingly admit to herself that she enjoys the company of this utter wreck of a human being. She normally has higher standards than this - carpet that smells like cheap cigarettes, an overwhelmingly masculine odour and lack of interior decoration sense - but can't entirely bring herself to care at the current juncture, trapped under his arm. Playing little spoon has always appealed to her tremendously, heat at her back and breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.

If only the big spoon were a reliable businessman and/or academic, instead of an agreeably mussed private detective. Evelyn turns in his grasp and stretches, absently patting at Booker's cheek with the back of her hand.]

Oi.

[ This thing with Evelyn isn't something he's sure he wants to name. He's not a fool. He knows a woman like her is so far out of his league she ought to live on another planet instead of just in a better part of town. In spite of that, they keep sending up like this and he can't bring himself to complain. She's gorgeous, smart and has the sort of attitude that doesn't let him get away with anything.

Mornings are definitely nicer when she's around. He's almost forgot the simple pleasure of having someone to hold. He'd be content to sleep away the morning if not for her patting his face. Arms wrap tighter around Evelyn as he wakes up.

He still looks sleepy as he grins at her. ]

You know, we've gotta stop meeting like this.

Your words, not mine.

[God, he's lucky he's got his looks.

The backs of her fingers curl, twist, nails lightly scraping the shadow stubbling his cheek and jaw. As much as she hates to admit it, the dynamic of their unspoken arrangement is altogether too pleasurable to deny herself, particular when he looks so insufferably charming. Evelyn shifts, throwing a leg over one of his and worming to the source of heat.

In spite of intellectual differences - in spite of a lot of things, matter of fact - there is a much more animal attraction at play, one which startles over her skin like an electric current, pulses through the arms wrapped around her. She tries (and fails) not to look self-satisfied.]

And I don't see you complaining.

Now why would I go and do a stupid thing like that? I've got a good thing going here.

[ Hell if he's going to complaining about waking up in bed with a lady like Evelyn. Sometimes it doesn't quite feel real, knowing she's interested in him. Still, it's hard to deny when she has a look on her face like the cat who got the canary. Booker laughs, presses a kiss to the graceful line of her jaw just to make sure she's spared the horror of morning breath.

At the same time he digs his fingers into a spot he knows if ticklish. ]

But you keep this up and I might start to think you like me. Then you'll never get rid of me.

[Evelyn hums contemplatively, lifting her chin to accommodate his kisses and mulling over the accusation that - God forbid - she actually like him. (She does.) There's something wholeheartedly delightful about the chuckle she wrests from him; at least, there is until his hands find purchase at her sides, eliciting a most violent reaction.

She executes what could only be described as "a close-mouthed squeak," starting with a jerk and immediately flailing to pry his fingers away from her waist.]

No-! [Evelyn exclaims with a desperate giggle, writhing and batting at Booker's grasp.] Do not-

[Yeah, not even. Gonna. Finish that sentence.]

[ He's not a cruel man, he's not gonna go tickling Evelyn when she's clearly trying to get away from him. That'd just be rude after all.

He digs his fingers again just to see if he can get the sound out of her again.

Okay, he's a little rude. ]

What was that? I couldn't hear you.

[ But he knows when to quit and eases up, kissing Evie one last time before she can take any serious revenge on him. Not that he doesn't expect retribution at some point. ]

Now, if I get you coffee will you promise not to smother me with my own pillows?

[Interrupted by another kiss it's difficult to hold a grudge for too long, though Evelyn does her damnedest while gathering the sheets around her like a protective barrier when Booker finally stills.]

I will make no such promise, [she counters petulantly, still feeling squirmy and anticipating more abrupt tickling. With his fingers at her sides it could happen at any second.] But if you do retrieve some coffee you may find me a much more agreeable creature.

[This close, morning breath and all, he has her blood rising.]

[ It takes a moment to disentangle himself from Evelyn, during which he's very careful not to tickle her again. ]

Coffee coming right up.

[ A pair of boxers are claimed on the way out mostly because he can't get over the lingering feeling that it's weird to be naked in the kitchen.

He's long since learned his lesson about cooking for her in the mornings. It never ends well, usually because of a combination of Booker getting distracted by the gorgeous woman who keeps turning up in his bed and the sad fact that he's just not a good cook. But coffee is impossible to screw up. Thank god for that.

Thankfully his place is small so he can talk to her while he fumbles for a filter and tries not to spill grounds all over the counter. ]

I was thinking we could try this place that opened up last month for breakfast if you're feeling up to it.

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