(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

It's late afternoon and warm up in the hayloft, the sounds of the animals below muffled to almost indistinction, dust-motes dancing in the ambient light.

It would be a fantastic place for a nap.

It is an even better place to one space-faring doctor to re-make the close acquaintance of a beguiling woman he met in a bar.

Or at least, that's how it would read if it were a romance novel.

Comments

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

His smile is a welcome back from where-ever she had just retreated to.

"Here's as good as anywhere, I suppose - in front of the roaring fire." He drawls, making sure to be out of easy arm's reach when he says it. Or, at least, what he thinks is easy arm's reach. "There's plates in the kitchen."

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

Her eyes narrow at him, but the grin is mirrored with a little head shake. She follows him back into the kitchen, snagging a handful of napkins and the utensils before reaching for a plate.

"Smells delicious," she says, leaning her shoulder against his, her eyes on the very important task of serving herself a mess of hot food.

[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

The watermelon rind he'd been nibbling on while watching her work gets tossed into the empty bags - it'll serve for debris until they can find where the trashcans have gotten hidden.
"Is delicious." He notes, and... it's silly, really. Standing in a kitchen serving up food from take-away boxes should not make him ridiculously happy.

But knowing that doesn't do anything to dim that ember of contented joy, with her leaning against his shoulder, in some place that feels less anonymous and cold than a hotel room, and the foundations of something that could be very fantastic indeed.

We'll blame it on the peanut slaw. It's pretty good stuff.