2020-06-03 - Just Shy of Forever

Sparrow did not fall asleep like this. She fell asleep in a happy, belly-down sprawl with her attention turned to the windows, the starry sky beyond the last thing she saw before drifting off. She woke, barely, when the sun began to rise and scooted across the magnificently big bed to tuck herself in snugly against Rhys, half of her limbs slung over him to secure her hold. The way she seems so small when curled against him like this, her head resting on his chest, might be a whole lot cuter if there weren't a puddle of half-crusted drool now connecting the corner of her mouth to his skin. At least she isn't snoring.

She doesn't smell of the decadent perfume she'd worn the night prior, hints of vetiver and plum now faded beneath the more prominent alcohol and chlorine and sex. Somewhere, a bag from one of the casino's boutiques holds the clothes she came in with, the bikini she bought to replace it a good bit less tidy in its placement, each piece tossed to the floor in different directions. She'll worry later about what to wear home. For now, her only thoughts are still half-rooted in dreams, the edges of wakefulness expressed only in the stretch of her body against his, the curl of her fingers on his hip, the satisfied rumble suggesting awareness of his proximity.

It's difficult to know the time without twisting to find the bedside clock given how grey the world is outside, the overcast morning rendering temporal placement nigh impossible. Still, there's a beauty to the diffuse light, to the clouds reflected on the water. It's looking like the sort of day made for laziness.

Rhys sort of fell asleep like this, though between then and now he's occupied several different locations and positions, regularly managing to take up more bed than someone his size should by rights be able to. The scoot-and-cuddle turns out to be an effective way of pinning him down, and he hasn't gone anywhere since she employed it, an arm around her in return. There may have been some snoring earlier, but the current position seems to avoid it. Which is good, since his snoring gear is a lot closer to her ears than before.

Unsurprisingly, he smells rather similar at present, only the subtle underlayer of his cologne and the natural scent of his skin creating difference. They probably ought to employ that massive shower or the jacuzzi tub in the bathroom before they head out, but for now, alcohol and chlorine and sex are the stuff of pleasant morning dreams. Pleasant morning waking, too, unhurried, with a soft wordless murmur answering that rumble, still balanced between realms of consciousness.

His suit is nearly hung on one of the provided hangers in the closet, evidence if any more were needed of the order of operations, as what's presumably his swimsuit is hanging off a corner of the nightstand, where it apparently caught when abandoned. None of these are things he particularly cares about at the present moment, or is even consciously aware of. The gradual waking focuses very much on the warm solid softness of Sparrow right there, the faint scents, the light filtering into the room and gently through his eyelids. ...and the weird wetness against his chest. A hand shifts automatically to rub at the puddle of drool with the nearest bit of soft cotton sheeting.

Sparrow smears the damp spot before Rhys gets a chance to swipe at it, head turned face down to rub against him like maybe she's itching her nose. The subsequent sniffle only reinforces that thought, but it's a blessedly dry sound, no snot likely to have joined the drool-puddle she's left behind. Squirming closer, edging upward, she nestles her sleepy face in against his neck, nose just below his jaw and, for several uncounted seconds, just stays right like that, breathing him in until a happy sigh comes out. Followed promptly by a drowsily murmured admission of, "I like this," as if the way she holds herself against him hadn't already made that point for her. More quietly--and with a subtle touch of the kind of gravity that implies revelation--she clarifies, so very eloquently, "Like. Really like this."

The hand that would've swiped the spot reroutes itself to pet and twine into Sparrow's hair instead, his eyes still closed and remaining so as she snuggles up. The slow waking is accompanied by a slow smile, and not long before that sigh of hers his head tilts enough to nuzzle against the top of her head. "Mmm," he replies agreeably, wrapping his other arm around her, and it takes a second or so before words drowsily remember how to properly form themselves. "Kinda fond of it myself," he murmurs back. "Pretty high on my list of nice ways to wake up." A small twist of his head lets his lips brush against her head in a light, still-drowsy kiss.

"What else?" Sparrow murmurs with her lips so close to his skin that the syllables are fairly indistinct, a muffled mumble distinguished from mere pleasure only by the slight rise in pitch in evidence of inquiry. Clarification takes a moment, delayed by a spattering of kisses before she draws back just enough to ask more articulately, "What else is on that list?" She has the courtesy not to look up until after she's spoken, her impishly innocent smile keeping any potential morning breath at bay. A devilish glint sharpens her otherwise sleep-softened gaze, assuring she knows damned well how cruel it is to set into interrogation before Rhys has had a chance to wake up... and maybe hinting that it's a trick question. Or that she'd like him to think so. Somebody has no compunctions about pouncing on her prey while his guard is down.

Opening eyes is still more work than Rhys feels like doing thus far, which means he misses these potential visual warnings! But also means he doesn't have to open his eyes yet, so it might be worth it. The kisses and the following clearer version of the question have him grinning more broadly. There's another appreciative little noise for the former, and for the latter, "Most of the others involve you being there too." Still drowsy, and quite possibly a better victim for this tricky interrogation than usual, though really, how much complaint could he possibly dredge up for being the target of her pouncing regardless? He continues lazily toying with her hair, and the fingers of the arm wrapped about her trace equally lazy patterns along her side. "Wonder how long we could get away with just staying like this. Though on the other hand: hungry."

Sparrow's accusation of, "Tease," sounds only marginally disappointed, though the hint of a pout in her tone is surely genuine; that deft stroking of her ego does well to assuage her curiosity. It doesn't hurt that he is, potentially accidentally, granting her a moment of private voyeuristic pleasure, allowing her to observe him without being observed herself. Visually, at least, the softening of her expression as she savors his lazy contentment going blissfully unnoticed. Her head tilts into his touch, turning a little bit as if to steer his attention toward particular spots, like a cat craving very particular scritches.

The low murmur with which she answers Rhys' declaration of hunger implies she might not be, an unspoken I dunno easily read in that note. But it's also accompanied with a shift of her hand, hip abandoned to slide down his thigh and edge inward with a distinct threat of reversing its vertical trajectory. "I could be hungrier." The little nip at his jaw might be a start toward working up an appetite. Except...

When she lets go, when her nose nudges against the damp spot in his beard that she's left behind, she poses, "Let me kidnap you," with a bit more seriousness. "Let's have breakfast in bed and take a long bath and then. Just. Go." Nothing in her tone suggests question, but should he open his eyes, he might find her peeking up past his cheek, so very close, brows arched high and curious.

"Is that a request?" Rhys murmurs to the accusation, though if it had been he'd be doing a poor job of fulfilling it, easily letting her guide his fingers to precisely the scritchin' spots she's inclined to have toyed with at the moment. Whether this is a matter of being obliging or just more laziness could be debated.

The assertion that she could be hungrier makes the grin spread again, particularly with the addition of that little nip. "Might be able to help you solve that problem, I guess. You know. In a pinch." Which is inevitably punctuated by his other hand sliding further down to locate a cheek and give it one.

It's the actual request that follows which has him finally opening his eyes, the lids parting just a crack so that he can peer down at her past his lashes. "...just go, huh? How long are you aiming to make this abduction?" It's not an immediate yes, but there's no question he's intrigued, and almost certainly tempted, as well. Whatever's keeping him from instantly signing up for this plan, the likelihood is he's doing some mental Tetris to see if he can make responsibilities and impulses both tumble into a neat tessellation within the time and space reality allows.

Sparrow lets out a semi-muffled yelp at the unexpected pinch, hips jerking forward roughly in a futile attempt to escape his fingers. There's nowhere to go in that direction, but who's gonna complain about her body being that tiny bit closer to his, her muscles all suddenly tensed up in anticipatory defense of a second attack. It leaves her eyes a little wider and wilder when he peeks her way, her nodding to his initial question a shade more enthusiastic than it might have otherwise been. "Just shy of forever?" she ventures like it's a viable possibility, like an eternity isn't really all that big an ask. It's a good opener, anyway. It makes the, "Couple days?" which follows seem both far more reasonable and much less nebulous.

Somewhere, her phone chirps out a familiar notification sound, vibrating against a hard surface, muffled by something soft thrown over it.

Okay, 'just shy of forever' is going to be difficult to tessellate. It gets a sudden, startled laugh, and it's hard to be sure whether what would've come next were the reasons that wasn't likely to work or a fantastical construction of how it could. The following proposal does come off more doable by contrast, at the least.

Rhys has not the slightest complaint about her being pressed up even closer, and less about the yelp, which gives the grin a fleetingly feral edge, though he follows it by given the pinched skin a somewhat gentler squeeze. "Couple days," he echoes, thoughtfully. "Breakfast in bed, long bath, give me... an hour or two to find out what Thorne wanted, make sure everything's handled around here, check in with the boss. Barring surprises there, I think I might be able to squeeze out a couple days. One of which you still owe me, by the way. But I'm saving that a bit more." His gaze flicks toward that muffled sound, but it isn't enough to urge him to further movement yet.

Sparrow hums her wordless approval of the proposed plan, the very definite probably implied in breakfast and bath and... business? Her nose scrunches at the prospect of that allowance, fingers squeezing with just a hint of possessiveness as she clarifies, "After breakfast and bath and all appropriate lazy morning languishing?" Beat. "Not necessarily in that order." Beat number two. "With follow-up showers as necessary?" She takes another quick nip at his jaw, prompt to follow it up with a soft kiss before letting her head sink back to his shoulder, clearly in no particular hurry to get on with the prescribed ritual. Even if her phone does go brrt again wherever it's hiding. "French omelette. With banana-hazelnut crepes on the side." How he's gonna make good on that request is up to Rhys to figure out; she's content to keep him snuggling right here, intermittently kissing his shoulder, holding a little too tightly to his hip.

Hey, at least it fits their alliteration scheme? Rhys makes a small pleased noise at the squeeze, and her clarifying questions gets a soft laugh. "More or less. As defined by statute. Might let you handle drawing the bath when we get to it and see if I can squeeze a quick call or two in, get efficient." But first, he's gonna get that kiss. And maybe another one, if he can catch it before her head's fully nestled down again. "But first." He reluctantly unwinds the arm closer to his edge of the bed from where it's settled around her, stretches it out almost full length to where proprioception tells him the nightstand ought to be, and pats around without looking. "I know we left a phone here somewhere." Using his eyes might help. But the blind flapping of his hand against things is arguably a better fulfillment of the laziness clause. And funnier.

No hurry, anyway. Even if he is hungry. After all, "...but I seem to recall you could be hungrier. So the question is, if it takes them, I dunno, fifteen, twenty minutes for an omelette and crepes, are you gonna be hungry enough by then? 'cause otherwise, I'm thinking that's the front to tackle first." Yes, of course 'front' gets punctuated by his hand returning to give an appropriate (or perhaps in-) stroke. He's ignoring her phone right now. She has voicemail and he's pretty sure the thing's not within reach, and someone moving to get it would just be a shame.

Sparrow's easy to catch. And reluctant to escape once caught, savoring each of those kisses until she has to sink down just to bury the absolute embarrassment of that big, dopey smile of hers. Not that she's the least little bit bashful about it, really. It's more all the emotions bubbling up behind it that she's happy to hide. Why ruin all this perfection with all that silliness? Better to focus on that ridiculousness of Rhys' blind fumbling for the hotel phone, the haphazard theatre meant to assure that her wishes will be fulfilled. Probably. Maybe. Eventually. Funny how she's suddenly not at all concerned with crepes when his fingers resume their roaming. "If we hold off on ordering," she murmurs against his skin, "we can probably see to the back before they get here, too."

It doesn't take much effort to push up and shift her weight, to let the knee already half-draped over him sink to his side. Even if that leaves it precariously close to the edge of the bed. That problem's likely to fix itself soon enough. For now, she takes advantage of her new position astride him to go in for more kisses, to commit to the proposed postponement of breakfast. Eventually, they'll call room service. And she'll run a bath. And he'll makes his calls. And she'll check her messages. And plans to run away for a couple of days won't play out the way either might like. But for now? For this one magnificent morning? Everything's going to plan.