gonna_live | (no subject)

(no subject)

Kaylee's standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, looking a little disgruntled.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Take somethin' before you go to bed," she says absently. "It'll help you in the mornin'."

"I'll see what I have handy," he murmurs.

"...how're you feeling?"

A moment's consideration.

"Not drunk enough."

She works on remedying that.

A low chuckle, and he takes another swallow. "There's more when that's finished."

"Bad influence," Kaylee says again, and reaches her free hand up to the back of her neck, rubbing at the muscle there.

"Let me," he murmurs, and reaches over with his own free hand.

She makes a small noise of protest, but doesn't actually move. "Don't have to."

"I know."

His fingers knead the tense muscle, smoothing along the line of her neck.

"Might almost think you miss me." With a tiny smile.

His hand moves to her shoulder, rubbing in small circles.

"I always miss you when you're gone," he murmurs.

"Mm." She tilts her head to the side. "You sure about that?" A little teasing.

He's massaging the side of her neck now.

"Quite sure." Calm. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, I just thought you might like it when I'm not around to steal the covers."

"I thought I was the one who always steals the covers."

He takes a last swallow of his drink, and looks around for somewhere to put down the cup.

"Well, you are," she says, reasonably. "And if I'm not there... they're all yours."

"It's not really a very satisfying tradeoff," he tells her seriously.

"So turn down the temp, and it will be."

"But what if I don't want it to be?"

He's still rubbing her neck.

A quiet sigh.

"Then I guess I go back to feelin' guilty and tryin' to tell myself this is for our own good." She pulls away. "I think there's a couple more things I could do tonight. You don't need to stay, though."

"Kaylee ..." He moves after her.

"I was planning to stay the night."

She looks up at him, a little uncertain.

A beat.

"If you wanted."

The words are hesitant; the voice isn't.

"The pallet's terrible," she says -- and she's hesitant where he isn't. "You'd be roughin' it."

"I don't mind."

He smiles, small and warm.

"Not if you're here."

She starts to move in --

-- and catches herself. "I'm a mess." Low, and a little wry. "Sorry."