Thank you sir — hello, handsome. ( that latter part is directed at the dog straining at his collar to lick her fingers. and yes, she stops and spoils him with indulgence, then a scratch behind the ears. he's such a happy thing; almost seems too happy to be used to wrangle recruits, they'd figure out that tiberius just wanted to play instantly if they were worth any intellectual salt.
but after a little head patting, roxy tears herself away and traipses upstairs. she's trying very hard not to think about the fact she's in merlin's bedroom when she pushes open the door, and it's pretty easy because eggsy is on the floor — or rather, overflowing from the dogbed — and his clothes are half off. they hadn't spent a year in the dorms together, in beds side by side and not learn intimate details about each other's sleeping habits. the nocturnal gas wasn't all that surprising, but she also knows that if he's sleeping particularly hard after a rigorous set of night sprints, she can wake him up by massaging the stiff muscles in his neck.
hey.
...hey.
you need to get up.
i don't want to.
you need to go home.
and then he groans and rolls over, collecting a dislodged jb and muttering excuses that she knows to really be rooted in the sore reminder of harry harts death (it's a year two weeks from now). she's a terrible friend, they'll need to hang out and talk, but not in merlin's bedroom and not when he smells like sour alcohol. extremely hungover, eggsy totters downstairs and apologizes to their superior when prompted, then offers some halfassed excuse for leaving without coffee or without looking the other man in the face. sorry, merlin, i've gotta... my mum needs — 'n my sister...
and while she's very worried about him, he seems safe enough to drive, and roxy'd like to give him a little time to sober more completely before demanding be explain his feelings to her. so she doesn't follow. )
I would enjoy coffee if the offer still stands, sir. ( she tells him softly from the base of the stairs, watching eggsy reverse and back out of his parking spot. )
no subject
but after a little head patting, roxy tears herself away and traipses upstairs. she's trying very hard not to think about the fact she's in merlin's bedroom when she pushes open the door, and it's pretty easy because eggsy is on the floor — or rather, overflowing from the dogbed — and his clothes are half off. they hadn't spent a year in the dorms together, in beds side by side and not learn intimate details about each other's sleeping habits. the nocturnal gas wasn't all that surprising, but she also knows that if he's sleeping particularly hard after a rigorous set of night sprints, she can wake him up by massaging the stiff muscles in his neck.
hey.
...hey.
you need to get up.
i don't want to.
you need to go home.
and then he groans and rolls over, collecting a dislodged jb and muttering excuses that she knows to really be rooted in the sore reminder of harry harts death (it's a year two weeks from now). she's a terrible friend, they'll need to hang out and talk, but not in merlin's bedroom and not when he smells like sour alcohol. extremely hungover, eggsy totters downstairs and apologizes to their superior when prompted, then offers some halfassed excuse for leaving without coffee or without looking the other man in the face. sorry, merlin, i've gotta... my mum needs — 'n my sister...
and while she's very worried about him, he seems safe enough to drive, and roxy'd like to give him a little time to sober more completely before demanding be explain his feelings to her. so she doesn't follow. )
I would enjoy coffee if the offer still stands, sir. ( she tells him softly from the base of the stairs, watching eggsy reverse and back out of his parking spot. )