( two )

[caipirinha]

my character gets into bed with yours, or vice versa;
what happens?
have you crawled under the covers for some friendly
cuddles, or are your intentions not so innocent?
are you planning some form of practical joke, or are
you just plain drunk?
maybe you just have no idea what's going on.

( adapted from the plurk meme! )

Comments

[sexting]

[ Cambridge hadn’t been asleep for very long by the time that Oxford dropped by. In fact, he had been caught out by the sudden wave of weariness that had struck him just as he had decided that perhaps a shower was in order. Reasoning that perhaps he could just lie down and rest his eyes for a few minutes before the shower had obviously not worked out very well: fourty-five minutes later, he was still delicately laid out on top of the sheets wearing only his boxers. The lights had switched off when he had, plunging the room in to darkness and leaving him in the state that he is to be found in now.

And Cambridge is nothing but receptive; when Oxford lays his hand on his back the first time he can feel the rolling clouds of sleep falling away. Consciousness floods back quickly and Cambridge shifts sharply in response to the press of Oxford’s fingers. He twists, squinting in the darkness at the deeper shadows of the man leaning over him, and reaches out to grasp Oxford tightly by the shoulder to pull himself up. ]

A present? [ His mouth hasn’t quite yet caught up with the speed of his brain and he repeats Oxford’s words dully as he presses the heel of his palm in to his vision as if to clear away the lethargy. ] You’re too kind...

[romanticism]

[ Oxford remains rather a steady pillar as Cambridge uses him as a handhold, though he keeps himself very much within the other man's personal space, hoping to make his desire for a more simple intimacy tonight clear enough without having to spell it out. He hasn't even any sexual motives, shockingly enough, he merely wants the company of another human being tonight and he would prefer for that human being to be Cambridge. Oxford shifts his position, sitting down and leaning to one side so that his hand is propping him up on one side of Cambridge's hip, settling himself a little more comfortably on the bed. ]

Aren't I just. [ The quirk of his little smile is audible in his voice. ] I just happened to be walking through reception when I overheard a waiter telling the concierge that he'd found a pair of shoes, can you believe it - an expensive pair, apparently, very stylish - and wondering what to do with them. Apparently, it's a shame to let such good shoes go to waste.

Now, you can imagine that this little story caught my attention, and I thought there might be a chance that these could be your shoes. I had my doubts, of course, since the waiter made out that they hadn't been ruined, and we all know how difficult it is for you to keep your shoes both on your feet and in tact. [ Oxford loves telling a story, his words languid and theatric. ] So I took a chance and asked about these shoes, described them to the concierge and waiter, and what do you know? Your shoes are quite safe and perfectly sound.