The Arms Hotel, Pillow Suite, Sunday night

[lovemykilt]

Priestly poured himself his -- okay, he'd lost count -- next drink, taking a sip even as he recapped the bottle. He knew he was maybe going a bit overboard with the drinking, tonight, but the thought that tomorrow he'd be back in his house in LA, facing down all the questions Selene was going to have about his trip and another week of whatever crazy idea the producers had for the show was enough to drive him a little bit mad.

"Right. This one looks simple enough. We should have all the ingredients in here, somewhere." He'd done a fairly random grocery trip earlier, picking up some basic staples along with a bottle of wine and the scotch he was currently drinking. He looked up at Dinah. "You want some meat, or should we go for a light pasta dish?"

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[lovemykilt]

You know, he'd kind of forgotten that she could literally read his mind. Priestly grinned, thinking a nice, emphatic fuck yeah back at her as he put his fingers to work as best he could, both on her clothes and investigating every inch of her skin.

Things might get more complicated later, but right now, this was Dinah, and he was Priestly, and what they were doing was the simplest thing in the world.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Which Dinah returned with interest, compound and possibly the kind from once-in-a-life-time investments, especially when the clothes finally got flung other places, the pillows finally stopped shifting, and the last verbal thought died in a very, very happy wave of ohhhhh yes.

Dinah threw all thoughts of complicated away, because hey, this was good and happy after way too long of neither and she'd trusted Priestly for how long? And she had his back. Well, all of him. So any bad would be outside forces they could deal with. Together.

Later. Much, much, much later.