bloodyrockgod | (no subject)

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Charlie is composing--not down in the bar, for once, just sitting on the floor in his room with guitar and open notebook.

He's still sneezing periodically.

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And Darien looks down before blinking curiously at Charlie.

"I like feeling it," he says simply.

He smiles up at Charlie.

"My chest or my heart?"

Another smile and he reaches a hand up to pull Charlie in for a kiss.

"Yours both, babe."

A soft chuckle: "Both. Your heart, at the moment. Though your chest is, as always, a thing of beauty and joy forever." He kisses the base of Darien's throat.

He grins and pulls Charlie in again.

"Mmmm...ditto, baby."

His hands go down Charlie's sides as he looks to his boyfriend.

"Though you usually get me so hot and bothered I don't get a chance to tell you."

"Nothing wrong with going slowly sometimes." He smiles mischeviously and slides calloused fingertips down the front of Darien's shirt.

Then he pauses. "If you need your shot we probably shouldn't risk it."

And his forehead thunks gently against Charlie's chest.

"Yeah...yeah."

"Particularly since you'll have to go back to Claire to get it.

"I need to meet her, by the way."

He grins up at Charlie.

"Yeah, well, I was gonna do a--"

And his eyes darken again.

"A double date."

"We still could," Charlie murmurs, gently.

"I can make a real nice dinner for the two of you, if you like that idea."

He smiles at Charlie...and doesn't mention the other idea.

"That sounds nice," Charlie says, nodding. More time. Yes. "I think Claire would like that."

He grins.

"Claire's never had my cooking."

"Then she's in for a treat, isn't she? And maybe you should tell her to bring somebody . . ."

He pouts and shakes his head.

"She'd bring Eberts and just... ugh."

"Who's Eberts?" he asks, picturing a portly film reviewer.

He rolls his eyes.

"Trust me, he's not someone I feel like cooking for any time soon. He works for the 'Fish."

"Is he not a nice bloke?"

He winces.

"He's not...not nice. He's...he's Eberts.."

"Which explains it entirely," Charlie says dryly. "Dreadful, horrid--the condition of being Eberts."

He raises an eyebrow.

"You've met then?"

"I'm extrapolating from your tone."

He grins and pulls Charlie down for a kiss.

"Good extrapolating."

"I read you like a book," Charlie murmurs against his lips.

"You know, oddly enough?" he says with a smile as he stands, Charlie in his arms, "that's a turn on."

Bed. Beds are good.