::twitches in sleep, dislodging death grip on second pillow::
::sniffs, promptly catching a whiff of the first one...laundry day soon, maybe?...::
::mutters at banal train of thought that interrupted dreams...good ones, at that::
::sniffs again...hell, not bad, maybe they smell more appetizing without a recycle::
::steps into main bedroom, wiping evidence of work from hands into shirt::
::pauses, catching a glimpse of target in brief glimmer of light::
::shakes head...he ought to just replicate a safety blanket, the poor man::
::steps forward decisively...sort of::
::catches sight of the framed picture by the bed and reconsiders earlier idea to just...well, join him::
Can beds be possessed?
::decides to save research on vengeful Ocampan spirits for another time, tip-toeing around to the other side of the bed instead::
::grabs tufts of pillow, attempting to dislodge his cling::
::wrinkles brow, catching whiff of another scent...could be one of those hallucinary dreams...::
Pillow doesn't smell, Paris.
::satisfied with own firm reassurance, tightens grip again::
Pillow isn't alive, Paris...
::reaches, futilely attempting to hold onto corners::
::releases last of grip, scowling...dreams like this could only be a bad sign, mentally::
::blinks, dragging eyes open in effort to self out of it::
::blinks some more::
::claps hands, smiling in delight at the sight of...okay, hazy...blue eyes::
::lets pillow fall to floor with a faint thump, taking a few, saving seconds to consider the myriad possibilities::
::in the end, settles on just asking::
What the hell are you doing in here?
::switches to a frown...really, that tone::
For all you know I could have rushed in here to warn you about an impending attack.
...the alert system is tetchy.
::straightens, folding arms and releasing a put upon sigh in response to his look of mulish antipathy::
I wanted to beat everyone to the punch.
Great, so now there's a 'hit Paris while he's out' pool?
::heaves a long, unsatisfying sigh::
::finishes bringing foot forward, effectively sweeping the pilot's seat out from under him::
::ignores muffled Ow!, kicking the piece of furniture aside and reaching for his collar::
::crouches daintily, meeting flabber-gasted blue eyes::
What is next, Tom?
::sighs, releasing last, thin, thin shred of dignity::
Fine, fine. We can take this thing to warp, if it means that much to you.
::claps hand over mouth, not quite disguising mixed snort and giggle::
::quickly coughs, tossing head back while batting away moisture in eyes::
::relents, loosening grip, falling back on ass as he clambers up::
Lord a'mighty, I'm sorry.
::finishes yanking shirt back down, fast-rising irritation blinking out at her jagged apology::
::offers a hand, waiting until she's on her own two feet again before daring eye contact::
::offers a slight grin::
Your humble pie isn't nearly as filling as your omelet was.
::looks past him, taking in abandoned meal...and remembering the point of it::
::claps hand over mouth again, shaking head::
No, I'm really sorry. It's your birthday, for Pete's sake...
::follows her gaze, then moves on to nearest chronometer::
Not yet, we still have a few minutes.
::hitches breath, lowering eyes to take in numbing hand, clenched tightly within his own::
::lifts them, lashes batting in cautious flirtation::
I guess we should find a more memorable way to ring it in than doing dishes, then.
::reads companion's look, loosening grip on her hand and lifting it to chastely kiss the offended digits::
::pulls lips away as her fists clench nervously in reflex, staring::
::briefly drops the grip entirely, transferring it...both hands this time...lower, snagging shapely hips and drawing her nearer::
::expels a faint breath of determination, dipping head to meet her kiss::