milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

*A pink-haired witch is seated at her usual table, one foot curled up underneath her. A half-finished bottle of Butterbeer sits in front of her, as does a large stack of files. The latter, however, she is determinedly avoiding for the time being, engrossed instead in the latest issue of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle.

Let's just call it escapism.*

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*she jabs her finger lightly into his bicep*

And don't you forget it.

*more scribbling, as she moves onto things for the kitchen, and then pauses*

Erm. You might be a bit better at knowing what we need, here -- I've no idea at all, besides the basic things.

*He gives her a look, and slides the paper over, plucking the quill out of her hand.*

You will, you know.

*She looks almost amused.*

Hey, if you think you can teach me how to cook, more power to you. It's just a hazardous undertaking, is all. And I make no guarantees of success.

*He grins as he writes.*

We'll start slow.

*He glances up at her, then kisses her quickly.*

I don't cook alone. It's no fun.

Well. Just wear old clothes.

Black doesn't really stain.

*She opens her mouth to speak, clearly recollecting something, and then flushes slightly before taking a swig of Butterbeer.*

Course not. You're absolutely right.

*He opens his mouth to ask, but then thinks better of it.*

You're terrifying.

...Just a little bit.

*Bernard smiles and slips an arm around her waist, returning to the list.

Whatever kind of terror she is, he doesn't mind.*

What about Sunny's room?

*She leans her head on his shoulder, idly twining her fingers around the hand at her waist.*

She really liked her old room, so maybe we can still use everything from there, with a few extra things -- a dresser, that kind of thing.

...And I really need to look into those child-alert charms for her room. Like Muggle baby-monitors, sort of, only they also let you know when they're up and about and, ah, headed your way.

...They have those? What, are they like telephones?

More like -- oh, what're they called, walkie-talkies.

*an arch look, as she bites back a grin*

What's this, something the scientific genius hasn't heard of?

*Bernard Is Outraged.*

I'm still catching up.

*She pats his cheek condescendingly.*

Sure, sweetheart.

*A little defensively*

Well, it's not as if baby monitors were ever high on my list of priorities.

True. And if they were, I'd say you left out some pretty major details about your life.

*Grinning, she kissing him quickly before looking back down at the list.*

What're we missing?

*He leans over to press his lips to the sensitive spot just underneath her ear.*

The study.

*Her voice, as she replies, is suddenly a bit high-pitched.*

Right, right. I've promised Crowley a sofa in there...

*She trails off as his breath tickles her ear.*

*When he grins, his lips brush her earlobe.*

And if we're going to have people over, we need a table and chairs in the dining room.

*She bites her lip, her eyes drifting closed for a moment.*

Yeah. And, um. What sort of...I mean, there's all different styles...

*She appears to be having a little trouble focusing.*

*For all intents and purposes, it looks as if the Head Barman is merely whispering in his girl's ear, with his arm around her.

As his hand slides from her waist to her back and his thumb slowly circles that spot, Bernard's grin turns mischievous.

He knows better.*

What would you prefer?

*Her flush deepens, and she hums low in her throat.*

Ahh. Nothing too, um--

*she sucks in a breath as the pressure increases imperceptibly*

--dark.

*He bends his head to press a soft kiss to the place where her neck joins her shoulder.*

Well.

I've always preferred lighter woods.

Maybe oak?

*Her voice is faint as she arches her neck slightly.*

Oak? Sure. 'S lovely.

*At this point, she could be agreeing to a dining set made entirely of popsicle sticks, and never notice.*