St. Patrick's Day - AKA First Full day Outtah a Cube!
[ETA: There appears to be a four leaf clover on the arm of the couch in the parlor. Wilson and Phale will not need it so if a guest would like to wander through and pick it up, it is open to all guests at the Brownstone!!]
After a really hot pr0n scene in the works making love, the two had fallen asleep -well Wilson had slept, Phale had rested, ( Read more... )
After a really hot pr0n scene in the works making love, the two had fallen asleep -well Wilson had slept, Phale had rested, ( Read more... )
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Except when he was sent down to the wine cellar for a bottle to open while they were cooking. And directed to catch Wilson up on the news articles he'd missed from the week. And hustled upstairs to change into something that was 'anything but beige, beloved'.
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"It's good to see you. I hear you have drinks on offer - a Guinness perhaps, in honour of the day?"
Also, because bubbles going down rather than up is really very special. Like drinking a waterfall, somehow, only one that's almost thick enough to chew.
She's not a beer drinker, but Guinness is not beer.
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"I hope you're doing well?"
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She can't think of anything that would prompt her to turn down an invitation from James, and this one doesn't even come close to qualifying. She's at the door, bemoaning the complete lack of green in her wardrobe.
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"Susan!" He exclaimed brightly as he pulled the door open. Due to the application of angelic fussing the marks he wore from the ordeal in the Cube and the breathplay pr0n afterwards were limited to perhaps some noticable weight loss and hints of shadows under his eyes but otherwise he was all happy smiles.
"Come on in! I'm so glad you came by!"
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"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she replies, stepping across the threshold. "You look like it's been a long week."
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Drink requests were taken and water added to the table for those folks who were still nursing beers or whiskeys. They hadn't had a reason to use the formal dinning room yet but with both sets of double doors flung wide the open space was quite inviting.
Decorated by a male eye -by Phale's eye to be exact- the drapes as well as the table, chairs and matching sideboard and wineracks helped to bring life to the gracefully painted room.
Adding the deceptively simple silverware, which Wilson had insisted upon as soon as he'd seen the word feathered in the title to the table, they began to move the food from the kitchen to the dinning room ( ... )
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James is a cook? She should have expected that.
"It looks and smells wonderful, James," she says. "Thank you for preparing all this."
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As soon as all their guests were seated, Wilson settled himself at one head of the table, Phale up at the other and he turned towards Susan with a bright, if slightly tired smile.
"Thank you for coming to eat it! I always prepare too much, especially around holidays. A trait I got from my mother."
His own plate was going to be the beans, bread, cabbage, potatoes and some of the salmon and salad, staying away from the corned beef, even though it smelled damn tastey and fell apart on the fork.
"We need to try to get back into swing with our Tuesday wine dates."
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Some things just can't be controlled as easily as facial expressions.
She doesn't cook, herself. She can - being capable of cooking was practically a requirement for a female in the 1950s - but she's never enjoyed it. James' domesticity is just one more thing to appreciate about him.
And with Greg next to her... this may be the best day she's had since arriving in this city. And so far, no sex.
Wow.
Who would have thought?
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