we would love not to care [Rhi]

[Tally]

Roman awoke every morning at five, whether he needed to or not and whether his alarm was set or not.  It was a common practice among the Pilots, a result of being forced to wake at dawn every day of your life for four or more years.  For most, the habit tended to stick, as it had with Roman.

At five o'clock exactly, Roman switched on.  He awoke as he always did, abruptly, with no transition between sleep and wakefulness.  He was on his stomach, cool air upon his bare back.  The sheets had been pushed down to his waist.  Deep burgundy, silk, 1000 thread count.  He slept naked.  With sheets like these it would have been a sin not to.

His taste for luxury was a matter of public record and there was no use denying it.

In spite of Roman's sleeping and waking habits, he usually set his alarm anyway.  Not last night though.  With every Pilot safely through the Axis Point and most of them bedridden while they recuperated, there was genuinely not a lot to do today that couldn't wait until later.  There were always candidate issues that needed addressing, but they would keep for awhile.  Today he was taking Gabriel's advice and sleeping in.

Roman opened his eyes long enough to blink at the clock and register the time before letting his head drop back to the pillow.

"Scher?" Even his mental voice sounded groggy.

As she was wont to do, the dragon Scheherazade was at that moment flying high above Haviah, flirting with the upper atmosphere to the point where frost crystallized upon her plated metal and the part of her that was flesh burned for oxygen.  As the five o'clock hour struck, she sank down through the clouds.  Haviah revealed itself through a haze of pollution.  The city was huge.  Even at this height, it spread outward for miles and miles, though its height still outmatched its width.  She came within range just as her human awoke.

"Present!" she pathed back, pitching her mindvoice chipper and happy just to aggravate him.  She could just picture him rolling his eyes.

"Anything on the agenda this morning?"

"What answer are you looking for?"  A long moment passed and Scheherazade hissed in amusement.  "Are you falling back to sleep,  Roman?"

"Not if I've got anything scheduled."

Oh dear.  Now Scheherazade found herself with a dilemma.  On the one wing, she could tell the truth and remind her Pilot about his prior commitment.  On the other wing, since when had she ever made Roman's life easier?  It would be such a shame to break tradition.  "Not a thing.  Rest up."

That was good news to Roman.  He could have gotten up, but it would have been difficult and he would have been bitchy toward everyone all day.  And he did hate taking out his bad moods on the candidates.  As he drifted back to sleep, he couldn't quite shake the feeling there was something he was supposed to be doing this morning.  Hm.  Couldn't have been anything too important.  If he needed to be up, Scher would have told him.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Five in the morning was a time that hadn't really existed for Gabriel since his candidacy. Like clockwork, he still woke up right on the dot, the habit far too ingrained to escape, but he never actually got up then. Just woke up, cuddled deeper into the blankets, and fell right back asleep.

This morning was different.

This morning he bounced out of bed as soon as he awoke, scarfed down a quick breakfast, took a quick shower, and threw on some clothes. A couple cups of coffee helped along the way, and thirty minutes past five he was out the door, hastily towel-dried hair still dripping and getting his shirt all wet. No time to bother drying and gelling it. It would look funky and do all sorts of weird things once it air dried, but so what? He was going to get helmet-head anyway, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

He paused only long enough to lock his door before he was off, jogging down the hall and off to Roman's suite. The place was quiet at this hour, all the other Pilots bedridden, he imagined, but right now he felt fine. Roman's headache trick had cleared up his migraine, and after a nap and a full night's sleep, he felt almost one-hundred percent again. A little tired, but once the caffeine kicked in, he'd be good. Right now he hardly needed a drug to help him feel energized, though, because he was running off of pure excitement.

He was going to look for Temple, and he'd convinced Roman to come with him.

Sure, he could have done it on his own. Sure, he would have been just fine. He was a Pilot and he knew how to take care of himself. But that didn't mean he wanted to. Besides, it was also just another excuse to get his friend out of the Citadel and off doing something with him. He didn't get to see enough of Roman as it was, the workaholic, so it'd be nice getting him to himself for a while.

And if everything worked out, he'd get to return home with his two best friends.

Gabriel skidded to a stop in front of Roman's door, then let himself inside. The door was unlocked, and he never bothered with knocking anymore, anyway. "Yo Romance, you ready--" He stopped and blinked. Silence greeted him, and the living room was empty, no Roman to be seen. That was weird. He poked his head in the kitchen, but no one was there, either, and for a second Gabriel thought maybe he'd misunderstood what he had said. Somehow. He thought his plan sounded perfectly clear, that he'd just meet Roman at his place at five-thirty...maybe he'd left to get supplies?

Huffing in frustration, he turned toward the door to leave. "Hey Siren, do me a favor and ask Scher where Roman went?"

"Went? Oh, your dear Romance hasn't gone anywhere. Apparently, he decided to sleep in."

"WHAT?" Gabriel froze, then pivoted on his heel and faced the room again, while Siren rumbled his amusement in his head. Oh no he wasn't! "For cereal?"

"Like a log."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed dangerously as he marched to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and grabbed a handful of ice cubes from the tray. For as long as he'd known Roman, the man had been a stickler for punctuality, something Gabriel had to have hammered into his head. Now here Gabriel was on time, it was something important, something he was desperately looking forward to, and Roman was sleeping! No, that wouldn't do, and he wouldn't be sleeping much longer.

He strode to the bedroom, found the door half open, and carefully nudged it open the rest of the way. The ice was melting and dripping and making his fingers go numb, but he was going to make this quick. There lay his target, back exposed, sleeping oh so peacefully and obliviously on his pretty silk sheets...

In a matter of seconds, Gabriel had taken a running leap and landed hard on the bed, bouncing on the mattress and using the momentum to swing a leg up and over Roman so he could straddle his back. Then came the ice cubes, which he rubbed all over Roman's bare back and neck and under his arms.

"What're you doing sleeping in?! We're supposed to be gone now!" he exclaimed, then thrust a hand down under the sheets so he could slip some ice into Roman's boxers. Or briefs. Whichever!

Except instead of touching another layer of cloth, his icy hand connected with more bare skin, and Gabriel's eyes widened. Uhh. Nope. No cloth there. That was definitely a butt cheek. It took a few seconds of wide-eyed mortification for it to sink in that he was effectively groping Roman's ass, but when it did he gave a jolt, let go of the ice he'd been intending to dump there anyway, and yanked his hand free with a slightly strangled noise.

"Are you NAKED?!" he blurted stupidly, cheeks burning with heated embarrassment. He was too stunned to move off of him.

[Tally]

"Aaaahh!"  Cold!  Wet!  Roman's eyes snapped open and he would have shot upward but there was a weight on his legs.   Just what the hell?!  Was that ice?!  Immediately alert, he struggled up onto his elbows and tried to wiggle away from that horrid sensation.  An instant later, Gabriel's voice registered in his head and he had a moment of what the fuck is going ON here, mixed with a healthy dose of gods above, I have to KILL him now when a cold hand started groping at his ass.

Yep, Gabriel.  Who else would break into his room, sit on him, and accidentally feel him up?

Personnel working on the roof of the Citadel at that moment were treated to a truly scary sight as Scheherazade, harvesting every image and sensation from Roman's head, folded her wings and crashed and skidded upon the roof in convulsing laughter.  Her impact left great cracks spidering outward, and her claws gouged tracks in the concrete as she writhed in merriment, hissing and roaring and spewing fire in the air.  The other dragons tolerated this with barely a glance, though the humans upon the roof stared and didn't seem to know what they should do.  It would be a full five minutes before she could collect herself enough to take to the air again.

The ice cubes Gabriel dropped had settled against Roman's ribs and hips and...other places.  Melting all over his good sheets, damnit.  Snarling, he went about reaching behind him with one hand, trying to snag the cold lumps and whip them to the carpet.  He would have jumped right out of the bed but Gabriel was still on top of him.  For some reason.  "Yes I'm naked!  Did you not gather that when you were grabbing my ass?  What the hell are you doing?!  Why are you in my room?  Why are you in my bed?  So help me, Gabriel, Haviah had better be burning to the ground!"

Boundaries.  When had they lost those?  Why had they lost those?  They must have existed at some point.  They existed with others.  This situation?  It would never have arisen with anyone else, he'd lay credit on that.

He got most of the ice and slumped to the bed, recovering from the initial shock of the whole thing.  "Geez, Gabriel.  I feel like I need a cigarette now."

Watching all this from the bedroom door was the suite's other occupant.  Roman's cat, Blank, had witnessed Gabriel enter her domain from her hiding place beneath the couch.  That one usually gave her attention and yet he was ignoring her now.  They both were.

Just who did they think they were, paying attention to each other and not to her?

While the humans were making their noises and words, she padded her way over the carpet and joined them upon the bed.  A solid black cat, she was a smudge of darker shadow in the dim room.  Gabriel had not even said hello to her and she made her displeasure known, hopping up onto Roman's back and meowing at the blonde one.  She took a seat.  Until she was properly acknowledged she would not be moved.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Gabriel palmed his face with his cold hand, hoping that would cool the blush away. Oh...Gods. He couldn't believe that. Only him. This would only happen to him where something totally innocent--relatively speaking--would take a turn like this. At least there were no witnesses this time, but for some reason that made this all the more awkward. He could hear Roman snarling and something was thumping to the floor, probably the ice, and he hunched his shoulders when Roman reminded him of what he had just done. Argh. Yes. He had gathered as much.

"Why are you naked?" he groaned, letting his hand slip down and away from his face when he felt the redness had subsided some. Then, straightening up and biting back his embarrassment as much as he was capable, he leaned forward and snapped, "You're supposed to be dressed! You're supposed to be up! We're supposed to be leaving! Out the door! Gone! Temple, Roman. Looking for Temple. Remember? That thing you promised? You'd come with me?"

He punctuated his words by bouncing on the bed to bother him, scowling down at the back of Roman's head even though he wouldn't be able to see it unless he twisted around. Good thing, too, because it came out looking more like a frustrated pout than the evil glare of seriousness it was supposed to be. "You didn't seriously forget!"

The cigarette comment earned Roman another glare, though this one had concern behind it.

"Don't smoke. It's bad for you," he grumbled, shifting a little and sitting back. Now that the excitement had died down and he wasn't so damned mortified, he realized he was still sitting on Roman. In his bed. Who was naked under the sheet.

Er.

With a small cough, Gabriel started to move off of him, carefully so as not to drag the sheets down, but something dark and inky streaked across his line of sight and Gabriel jumped, gasped, and nearly fell over backwards in alarm before he realized it was just Blank. He froze in place, heart hammering in his chest from the brief scare, though he had no idea what he had thought she was. When she meowed at him, though, and then sat down on Roman's back, he could only stare at the cat for a few moments, blinking slowly, until the overall hilarity of the situation and exactly what he'd just done abruptly sank in. He'd been too irritated to see the humor in it before.

He burst out laughing, toppling off of Roman and flopping sideways onto the bed. He clutched at his stomach and gasped for air, unable to do much more than that for a while, but once he got himself mostly under control again he cracked his eyes open and reached out weakly toward Blank to stroke along her back. "Haha, aww, sorry girl! Hi," he managed to get out between snickers, forcing himself to take deep breaths because his sides were aching. "Why didn't you get him up? You're really starting to slack, Blanky. You should claw him for me."

[Tally]

Roman dug out a couple more pieces of ice from his sheets and tossed them away.  "I always sleep naked.  Not that it matters.  You asked that like this is all my fault.  Was I supposed to send out a memo?"

Hey everyone, I sleep naked, so don't go ambushing me in bed unless you're down with that?

Gabriel, who apparently didn't at all mind carrying on a conversation with nothing but a thin bit of silk between Roman and himself, was in the process of saying something but Roman was finding it difficult to follow with the other Pilot bouncing on him and causing heat and friction in all the wrong places.  Or the right places, depending on your point of view.  He was about ready to sit up and topple Gabriel backwards, but Blank on his back was the last straw and his face hit the pillow instead.  Within him was some cocktail of exasperation, resignation, and still just a little bit of snarly anger.  It was a relief when Gabriel finally rolled off him.  For one thing, it would be easier to continue the conversation face to face.  For another he'd actually be able to move.

He scowled as darkly as he knew how, but the younger Pilot was too busy laughing it up.  Ha ha, he'd broken into Roman's room and ruined possibly the first good night of rest Roman had had since who knew when.  Hilarious!  And yet Roman's bad mood faltered against the obvious absurdity of the situation.  Gabriel was already seeing the humor in it and it was difficult to hang on to anger when one was stark naked and had a cat perched on one's back.

At least he'd kept his sheet up, though it hadn't stopped Gabriel from getting to second base with him.  He raised up on his elbows again and just waited for Gabriel to get control of himself.  He even cracked a wry smile and chuckled a bit himself, drawn in my Gabriel's infectious laughter, and was forced to note just how physically comfortable he was with this particular Pilot.

Those elusive boundaries again, no doubt.

With Gabriel off of him and most of the ice on the floor and the rest melted, Roman was actually able to process what Gabriel had said before.  They must have gotten their lines crossed somewhere, or else Gabriel was just making shit up.  He really had no recollection of saying any such thing about Temple.  

"What are you talking about?  I never said anything about...ah shit."  It hit him then.  Yesterday, on Gabriel's bed interestingly enough and just to make Gabriel feel better, he'd mentioned something about going with him out to the wastes.  Ugh.  Yet another example of him saying something offhand and not realizing it would come back to bite him.  Or rub ice on him and grope his rear.  He sighed and rubbed his face, then looked over at Gabriel as the laughter finally started to fade.  "I forgot," he said, lamely.  What an excuse.  No way Gabriel would let that slide without comment.  Roman propped his head up on one hand and watched Gabriel pet his cat, who arched her back against his hand and hopped off Roman's back to rub up against Gabriel and purr.  "Don't suppose I could convince you to put it off for another day, huh?"  Like he didn't know the answer to that.

He thought about the pack of cigarettes in his bedside table drawer.  One part of him wanted to smoke just to push Gabriel's buttons, but the other part of him didn't want to listen to colorful lectures about lung cancer on the flight out from Haviah.

[Rhi-Rhi]

It was probably saying something about Gabriel's comfort level that he could go on sitting atop Roman, and then sprawl out next to him in bed, while fully aware that he wasn't wearing a stitch--and all this shortly after accidentally groping him. Then again, there was a huge and mortifying difference between grabbing someone's bare bottom and someone, say, sitting around in a towel. Roman had a sheet covering him, so all was well--to Gabriel.

He had been completely oblivious to the effect his "bouncing" had.

The situation was still awkward, sure, but it was also a measure of just how relaxed he felt around his former mentor. He couldn't throttle just anyone like this, lucky Roman. Of course, it hadn't been that way in the beginning. He'd hated and feared Roman at first. But somewhere over the years they'd just made that transition, gradually and seamlessly, and here they were now. Gabriel never questioned it and just accepted it for what it was. Whatever it was.

Gabriel's laughter finally subsided until all that was left was a broad, satisfied grin and a few repressed giggles, because he'd gotten a smile and a chuckle out of Roman. Heh, he thought he was pretty damned good at that, piss the guy off all to hell and then make him laugh somewhere during it all, and in Gabriel's mind a chuckle from Roman was the equivalent of sending anyone else into peals of laughter. He'd take what he could get!

He propped himself up on an elbow and stretched out, noted that the sheets were amazingly soft, and was about to make some offhand comment about that when Roman spoke.

The effect was immediate. His grin faded, his hand stilled on Blank, and he snapped his attention onto Roman, eyes wide with disbelief, before his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. Whaaat? Like hell he was pulling this on him! Gabriel stiffened and opened his mouth, on the verge of calling him on his shit and even quoting him--but luckily he didn't have to.

He still did, though.

"You forgot?!" he repeated incredulously, and when Roman mentioned putting it off for another day, he sat up on his knees just so he could stare Roman down. "Uh, no. You said today, we're going today. The longer we wait, the harder the search will be. I'm holding you to your 'when have I ever said anything and not followed through with it' thing, so yeah. You're coming if I gotta drag you out of--" He stopped short, dropped his eyes to the sheet, and his cheeks darkened again.

"Well...you'll get yourself out of bed," he amended, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and shooting Roman an accusatory look. "This is all your fault, by the way. I'm not the one that stripped you and forced you to sleep in. Jeez, I can't believe you forgot. How could you forget?! And then try and weasel out of it..."

Gabriel pulled Blank into his lap and continued petting her from her head all the way down to the tip of her tail, scratching at the base of her spine because cats always loved that. "Blank would never forget, would you, Blank? Hey, you gonna get ready or what? Or do I gotta get more ice? There's plenty more in the freezer," he said, arching an eyebrow at Roman as though challenging him to do anything but agree.

He'd do it, too.

[Tally]

For some reason, the sight of Gabriel climbing to his knees just so he'd have the height advantage struck Roman as funny and he choked back a laugh.  This was fun, in spite of the abrupt awakening.  He was usually the one getting indignant and irritated.  Roman knew very well just how intolerably smug he could be if he tried and he let some of that filter through as he smiled up at Gabriel, meeting his umbrage with the kind of unresponsive placidity that could drive the kid batty.  It wasn't often he got the chance to get this kind of rise out of him.  When Gabriel managed to make himself blush, Roman did laugh.  Served the kid right, breaking in like this.

And if he thought Roman was going to wrap a sheet around himself when he got up just to make him comfortable, he was due for an epiphany.

"Hey, hey" Roman said, holding a hand up, "I'm not trying to weasel out of anything.  Just thought I'd ask.  Relax, I'll get up.  No more ice.  You've already gotten my silk sheets wet, thank you, and you need to get your shoes off of them by the way."  No appreciation for the finer things in life.  Sad, really.

Roman reached up to the curtains above the headboard, nearly losing the sheet in the process, and nudged them open.  It was still dark out, but beginning to lighten.  One entire wall of Roman's bedroom was floor to ceiling plate glass windows, with a pair of simple glass doors that opened onto the balcony.  The night lights of Haviah spread out below and all around and their glow filtered into the room and brightened it marginally.  It was an incredible view.  The Citadel was the tallest building in a city of immense skyscrapers, and the Pilot Royals' suites were situated high up on the 275th floor.  One could stand on the balcony and look down and never see the ground.

The lights still stung Roman's dark-adjusted eyes, and he brought one hand up to rub at them.  Time to leave his nice warm bed and go play in the wastes.  Awesome.

"Hope you're pleased with yourself," he sent up to Scheherazade.

"I made a crater in the roof."

While the exchange took place, Roman's face took on that blank expression that said his thoughts were far away, sailing above the city with his dragon.  "Planning anymore surprises for me today?"

"I don't think anything could follow that."

She had a point there.  Roman blinked and came back to himself.  He sighed once for his lost sleep, then resigned himself to the task.  "All right.  Go make me some coffee, woman."  Then he threw the sheet off, got up, and headed for the bathroom, baring not only his naked rear but also the tribal rose tattoo just below the small of his back.  Gabriel didn't like the sight, he shouldn't be breaking into Roman's bedroom.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Gabriel rolled his eyes at Roman and stayed put right where he was, mumbling something about how he'd get his shoes off the bed when Roman stopped being lazy. Not to mention that was an intentional attempt at aggravating him. Roman was sure taking his sweet time and that smug, placid smile made him want to twitch. Rrgh. If he'd just had clothes on under that sheet, he would have had no qualms about rolling him out of bed himself, but for now the man was safe from further attack.

Boundaries. Roman wondered where theirs were, and Gabriel had finally found them--even if they were still rather flimsy and not immune to things like feeling Roman up unintentionally.

He sighed in frustration as Roman puttered around, opening the curtains, marveling at the view, going off into La-La Land. Probably talking to Scher. Gabriel squinted in the pale light, having gotten used to the dark, and when he looked out past Roman he was grudgingly forced to admit that it was easy to get sucked into the view. It was amazing--though it was also one that didn't allow any room for acrophobia, not that any Pilots would be afraid of something as silly as heights. Was anyone in Haviah afraid of heights? Hm...maybe someone on the bottom rung of the social ladder, and in this case that wasn't just metaphorically speaking.

"You Royals sure are spoiled," he commented, getting a better view of Roman's bedroom now. He smoothed a hand over the sheets, and snorted. Silk. Jeez.

Roman finally came back from wherever he'd gone, and Gabriel had been about to say something to that, something witty, something reminding Roman that he'd been the one playing devoted housewife baking pies for he and everyone else. But then Roman threw back the sheet and got out of bed, buck naked, without even the decency nor modesty to wrap a blanket around himself. The words died before they could even make it to his mouth and all other thoughts tumbled out of his head aside from a vague sense of, I didn't know he had a tattoo there. He hardly noticed the design. He was currently noticing everything else.

"Roman! What the hell!" he yelped, hopping down off of the bed, glad Roman's back was to him--for a couple of reasons. His face was burning again, the bastard, and he turned his back on him so he could head to the kitchen. He rubbed his head. Coffee. Right. He was supposed to make coffee. "Jeez, thanks. I really wanted to see that."

Eugh. He supposed that made them even, though. He'd groped him, now he'd flashed him. What the hell.

He fled to the kitchen, deciding he also needed another cup, and rummaged through Roman's cupboards for the coffee grounds and filters. Good gods. What a morning. Gabriel plugged in the coffee machine, stuck in a filter, and hastily spooned in the coffee grounds, spilling some onto the counter. Then he added the water, some of it dripping out of the measuring cup to join the coffee grounds, and set it to brew. He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his still-damp hair, and leaned back against the counter, waiting. He didn't bother to close the cupboards or drawers he'd opened, nor clean up what he'd spilled.

The coffee wasn't done yet, after all, so he might as well wait until he was done being messy. Besides, Roman had just told him to make it, not clean up after himself. Call it vengeance.

[Tally]

It was a good thing Gabriel couldn't see Roman's face, because he would have seen him smirk as he walked away.

Once in the bathroom, Roman breezed through his morning wake up rituals and was in and out of the shower in five minutes, though he could have lingered under the steaming water for a good hour.  It did wonders for his mood and his still somewhat sleep-fogged mind.  Three hours of rest he'd gotten last night.  The night before, two.  Before that, none.  He'd pulled a couple of all nighters after Temple went missing.  The face that stared back at him in the mirror looked tired, but no more or less so than it had for months.

Amid a cloud of steam, he opened his medicine cabinet.  Five different kinds of prescription amphetamines looked back at him.  The Citadel doctors had tried to stop him from taking anymore but who could really deny a Pilot?  He got what he needed.

He downed however many it seemed would get him through the day, then chased them with two idrafinil to help with the mind fatique.  He was good at this.  Not even Scher knew.  But he had to function, one way or another.  If sleep was a lost cause, he'd do what he had to to get the job done.

Once upon a time, Roman had gone without shaving for a day to see what life would be like with a beard.  The results were predictably horrifying.  Today, as every day, he shaved after his shower.

The enviro flight suits couldn't be worn over clothes, so he didn't give much thought to what he pulled on.  A pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a white collared shirt, which he didn't bother to button.  He'd only be going from his suite to the flight deck.  A pair of sneakers and he was done and ready.

Clean-shaven, smelling of soap and shampoo and with his hair dripping upon the shoulders of his open shirt, he emerged into the kitchen, blinking at the brighter light.  He found Blank there with Gabriel, rubbing up against his legs and demanding her breakfast loudly and incessantly.  She got up at five every morning, too.  Roman pulled out the bag of dry cat food and thrust it in Gabriel's hands.  "Here.  Make yourself useful."  Without missing a beat, he went about undoing everything Gabriel had done in his kitchen.  He nudged the drawers shut with his hips while reaching up to swing the cabinets shut, then grabbed the closest dishrag at hand and started the process of cleaning up the water.  The water with coffee grinds in it.  Roman made a face.  "Made it with your eyes shut did you?"

Every Pilot did, of course, have the option of maid service, but they never found much to do in Roman's suite.  Usually he didn't want them in here anyway.  They might move something out of place.

[Rhi-Rhi]

By the time Roman made his way into the kitchen, bringing with him a fresh, clean scent, Gabriel had recovered and Roman looked significantly more alive--if tired and haggard, though that was nothing new. Gabriel felt a little pang of guilt as he looked him over, guilt for having to wake him up like that when he was always telling Roman he should get more sleep, but a promise was a promise and Roman's brother was out there in the wastes somewhere. Temple probably wasn't getting a nice, warm bed with silk sheets and--Gabriel stopped that train of thought while he was still ahead though he was unable to repress a shudder. They had to find him.

Caught up in his own worries, Gabriel hadn't heard Blank meowing for her breakfast, nor what Roman had said until he got a bag of cat food shoved into his arms. He grunted and blinked down at it, then gave a start when Blank's mewls finally penetrated his thoughts. "Oh, sorry, kitty!"

He unfolded the bag, found her bowl on the ground, and stooped down to pour the kibble in, then reached out to pet her when he was done, smiling at the way she butted his hand and weaved around him. Of course, now that the dish was full she wasn't nearly as interested in it.

"Nah, my eyes were open. I was gonna save that for when I poured your coffee," Gabriel said with a wink, grinning up at Roman as he went about undoing all the damage. He picked up Blank's water dish and stood back up, then headed to the sink to wash it out. "But that's an idea! Maybe I'll try that next time I'm here. Try and feel around with only telekinesis to guide me. Never know, could be pretty handy." He flashed Roman a bright and cheery smile, then filled the bowl with water and set it back down by Blank's food dish, dripping a bit of water onto the floor as he went.

The cat food he placed back onto the counter, still open, before he returned to his original spot by the coffee machine, flicking water at Roman in passing since he hadn't yet bothered to dry his hands. Everything had been put back into place, he noted smugly as he wiped his hands off on the front of his jeans; Roman just did it automatically, and he expected no less. He had the guy trained. Tapping a finger to his lips as he looked around, he tilted his head and asked seriously, "How do you get your kitchen so clean?"

Just then the coffee pot started to beep, signaling it was done, and Gabriel strolled back over to the cupboard and fished out two mugs. He set them on the counter--once again neglecting to shut the cupboard door--and then grabbed the flavored creamer out of the refrigerator which turned out to be the only door in the kitchen that he closed. Food was precious, after all. He loved food. Thus, that was one thing he could never bear leaving open, not even to annoy Roman.

"Hope you like a lot of creamer, 'cause that's the only way I know how to make it," Gabriel said as he fixed Roman's coffee. Miraculously, he didn't spill a drop this time around, not even when he made a cup for himself--at least not until he set the dirty spoon on the counter, where a little puddle pooled around it. "Coffee is served, m'dear!" he announced when he was done, smiling impishly and holding Roman's mug out to him.

He'd basically just undone everything Roman had righted, and he was fully aware of it, too.

[Tally]

Without even having to think about it, Roman followed behind Gabriel as he tore through the rest of the kitchen, picking up stray bits of kibble he missed, stooping to swipe away the drops of water on the floor, swinging shut yet another cabinet door that was left open.  Through it all Gabriel talked on, trying to goad him with talk of destroying his kitchen.  Roman ignored it for the most part, but the image of Gabriel flinging coffee everywhere with telekinesis did petrify him for a moment.  Blank reared up and kneaded her claws into his pant leg as he stared into space in appalled silence, picturing the scenario.  Coffee grinds scattered hither and thither, water dripping from the counters and pooling on the floor, every cabinet and drawer in disarray.  Horror.  Gabriel wouldn't dare.

Scratch that.  Before this morning, he would have sworn Gabriel would never pounce him in bed and violate him, and look how that had turned out.

Gabriel flicking water at him brought him back from that dark place of coffee-stained counter tops and sticky floor tiles.  Roman flinched away from the water flung at his face then nudged an elbow into Gabriel's ribs for it, smiling a little.  This whole process—Gabriel leaving his kitchen looking like it had been ransacked and Roman just trying to keep up—had the feel of routine.  It was comfortable, if exasperating.  (And blaming Gabriel for being exasperating was like blaming a dog for licking itself.)  Considering where they were headed off to and what they'd be facing out there, there were worse ways to start the day.

"Spare me the nervous breakdown," he said, accepting the coffee mug, "and practice your telekinetic coffee brewing at your own place."  Sometimes he would dare Gabriel in some way, just to see how far he'd go.  In this, he was willing to concede defeat.

Roman swirled the mug, judging the color.  A little light, but easily fixed.  He gulped down three large swallows—pouring caffeine on top of the speed, he realized with an unpleasant little jolt of shame—then topped the mug off with more coffee.

That open bag of cat food just sitting there on the counter was getting to him, though, and wouldn't wait another second.  "Is it so hard to just put things back where they belong?"  As he was bending over to tuck the cat food back in its proper place, he added, "I'd swear you were doing it on pur—"

Epiphany.  Roman looked at Gabriel, eyes narrowing.  And to think, all this time he'd thought the kid was just incompetent.  He straightened and pointed at the spoon.  "I am not cleaning that," he said.  "And it will be clean before I leave this room."  He folded his arms and his body language spoke volumes.  They would not be going to hunt for Temple until the offending utensil had been washed and set aside to dry.

[Rhi-Rhi]

"But if I practice at my place, I'll make a mess," Gabriel replied sweetly, taking a sip from his own mug to hide his grin. This was so much fun! It had been some time since he'd been able to properly aggravate Roman, and he always got a kick of watching him scurry around doing damage control. It wasn't that he liked annoying him, per se...it was just that his reactions were amusing. It was like a game, just a lot of friendly teasing, and making little messes was just one of those things that produced reliable results.

Like that open bag of cat food. Gabriel had his eye on it, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Roman caved and cleaned that up, too. Right now Roman was doing an impressive job of ignoring it and paying attention to his coffee instead, but Gabriel knew better than that. It was just sitting there, open, staring at Roman. Or, well, the cat on the bag was, at least. Gabriel leaned back against the counter and sipped at his coffee, pretending not to notice.

And then, finally, results! Gabriel snorted into his cup when Roman went to tend to the bag, and was about to say something about how he'd forgotten where it went when Roman spoke again and--aw snap.

Caught. Roman finally got it.

Gabriel's eyes widened and his eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise as he followed Roman's finger to the spoon, which was on the counter he was leaning against. Then he looked back up at Roman, the coffee mug still in his face, though he took a final sip and lowered it slowly. Uh oh. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. Wait for it...wait for it...

Ah! Yep. There it was, as predicted. Roman crossed his arms. Gabriel knew, from years of experience, what that meant. When Roman crossed his arms it was like a wall went up, and trying to move him was just as fruitless as trying to bust out of the lead rooms. This was serious business now. That simple action had always sent a little jolt of dread through Gabriel back when he was candidate because it meant he was in trouble (and he'd admit, sometimes it still had that effect), but now he just arched an eyebrow, tilted his head to one side, and leaned back a little more with his elbows resting atop the counter, mug still in hand. Two could play that game, and now that the two of them were equals as Pilots--though Roman far outranked him--Gabriel played this game often. It was a test of wills. Who would break first?

Usually Gabriel did, but that was beside the point.

He glanced down at the spoon, laying there right beside his arm, then looked up at Roman and made his eyes wide, allowing himself a little mock pout. "I don't know how. Anyway, we should get going! You gonna grab a bite to eat? Protein bar or something?" He took another swig of his coffee to finish it off and then set the mug aside. Pushing off of the counter and straightening up, he half turned toward the living room. "Hurry up and finish your coffee!"

[Tally]

And so here they were, again.  Another clash of wills, another pointless struggle over some petty thing that shouldn't have mattered to either of them.

Seriously, a spoon?

Roman ought to have been ashamed of himself.  Staring at that spoon with it's little puddle of coffee drying on his granite counterop—leaving a stain even now—his internal dialogue began to berate him.  How idiotic is this?  It's a spoon!  Just clean the spoon.  At least Gabriel has an excuse.  He's a twenty-something, he's allowed to be irrational and silly.  You are a grown ass man.  You are too old to be attaching your pride to a dirty utensil.  What would you even get if he cleans the spoon?  A sense of cheap satisfaction?  Isn't respect for yourself more important than that?  It's technically your spoon anyway.  Take the high road.  Go on.  It'll prove you're a bigger person than he is.  Be a man, clean the spoon.

Good points, all.

He still wasn't gonna do it.

And now Gabriel was trying to be cutesy.  "You don't know how," Roman parroted back.  The hell he didn't.  Ah, but Roman had an advantage here.  Gabriel wanted to hurry out and look for Temple.  Roman could wait here all day if he had to.  He would wait all day if that's what it took.

In one breath he gulped down the rest of his coffee, then caught Gabriel's arm as the kid tried to leave, drawing him back until Roman was looking him in the face.  Neither of them was going anywhere, even if he had to physically keep Gabriel in this kitchen.  "You're not leaving," he said, drawing close so that he could put his extra two inches of height to good use.  Sometimes, back in the day, this had been all it took to intimidate Candidate Tierney.  A deep, commanding voice and a bit of looming.  Pilot Tierney wasn't as easy a mark, and Roman was potentially just making things more difficult for himself, getting Gabriel's back up and tapping into that instinct he had of pushing back whenever he was pushed.  

Wasn't going to stop him from trying.  "Now get over there and clean up your mess.  I'm not going to repeat myself again."  It came out sounding like some kind of ultimatum, though if Gabriel didn't do as he was told, well...then they were at an impasse because Roman had no idea what he'd do if this didn't work.  Stand there and give him the silent treatment?  Refuse to move until Gabriel did what he wanted.  That seemed petulant.

Well, he'd think of something.

Blank, meanwhile, seemed to have sensed the tension in the air, or else she was once again disturbed that all their attention was on each other and none on her, because she paused in her eating to sit and stare up at them with her pale yellow eyes,  tail swinging from side to side.  They had an audience, and the victor had a witness.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Gabriel jerked backwards and turned around when Roman snagged him and drew him back, and the next thing he knew Roman was all up in his space, drawing himself up to his full height and everything. This was also familiar. The deep, ominous "you-better-listen-to-me-now-son" voice, the looming...Gods, but as a candidate it was enough to make him shudder and back down when he'd gone too far. It had been uncomfortable and nerve-wracking back then, and the fact that it wasn't now was just another testament for how much he trusted Roman. Still, just for Roman's benefit he let a little mock fear creep into his expression. He even went so far as to wince, hunch his shoulders, and shrink back, dropping his head down as though trying to make himself appear small.

It lasted all of a few seconds before he barked a laugh and straightened back up to his full height, the illusion gone.

"D'aww, Romance," he said, breaking out into a broad grin. "You're so cute when you're trying to be all scary." Still grinning, he reached up and pat the older Pilot lightly on the cheek. "Don't try so hard, babe. You'll get wrinkles."

Turning away from Roman, he snatched the spoon up from the counter and looked back at Roman, then heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and let his shoulders slump in defeat. "Alright. Fine, fine. You got me, I give. I'll clean up my mess, just so we can get out of here already. Jeez..."

He sighed again and shook his head, then eyed the spoon as though it could bite him, contemplating his options. He wanted to get out of here. They needed to leave. But it was all too true that whenever Roman pushed him, he wanted to push back just a little harder and just giving up was not going to do. He never gave up--unless Roman pulled rank or something like that, but other than that, never. He was too competitive, and Roman was too sure of his victory, since he'd made it quite clear that neither of them would be going anywhere until he caved. Over there by the food dish Blank was watching them; he had a lot to lose right here.

Gabriel's lips twisted into a scowl, and then he just gave a little shrug, licked the spoon clean, wiped it dry on his shirt, and held it out to Roman. "There," he said, turning it this way and that so Roman could see it from all angles. "No more coffee, all clean and shiny. I'll go put it away now, then I'll clean the counter, alright?"

It took all the willpower Gabriel possessed to keep a straight face as he stepped away from Roman and opened the silverware drawer, fully convinced that he had him now.

Ignore this, Roman.

[Tally]

For a second, Roman almost thought he had Gabriel going with the disciplinary tough guy act.  It was easy to fall into that mode, to switch it on and off.  He'd had years to master that role and plenty of candidates to practice it on.  He was the Authority Figure.  The Tyrant.  He wore it so well, he was hoping it would get him easy results.

He was ready to start feeling good about his chances until Gabriel cracked.  Damn kid.

What was worse than a hyperactive, mischievous Gabriel?  A cocky Gabriel.  A Gabriel who thought he'd actually won something.  Roman dropped into a sulky slouch and had to endure that patronizing pat on the cheek.  "Used to be I could make you flinch that way," he muttered.  "Those were the days.  I must be losing my touch."  That, or Gabriel just didn't take him seriously at all anymore, which was more likely and a rather wearying realization.  Made him wonder why he put up with all this, the barging into his place at random, the constant button pushing.  Cheap entertainment, that's what he was.

It would have been easy to put a stop to it.  Remind Gabriel that he was talking to a superior officer.  Shut down, stop encouraging him.  Send him away and make it clear he expected their future interactions to reflect their respective stations.  Simple.  It would have worked.

And he couldn't have done it any more than he could suck it up and clean that spoon.

Pride thoroughly checked, Roman leaned against the counter and watched Gabriel suspiciously.  Way too easy.  Gabriel acquiescing?  Without getting to the part where Roman lost all patience and just started yelling at him?  Never.  Temple would walk through Roman's door and give him a great big hug before that ever happened.

"I'm old," he said, wary.  "You should be humoring my senile delusions—what are you doing?"

He could not have just seen that.  He could not have just seen Gabriel lick the spoon clean and wipe it off on his shirt.  He wanted to slap himself just to see if he was dreaming.  Or slap Gabriel for being a horrid, disgusting, juvenile little brat.  Roman stared with his mouth hanging open as Gabriel held up the spoon for his inspection...

And  opened the silverware drawer...

And moved the spoon toward it...

Roman darted forward and grabbed Gabriel's wrist.  "Drop that spoon and I'll drop you."  No smirks or smug posturing.  This had just gotten serious.  He slammed the silverware drawer shut with his other hand.  There would be no spit spoons mingling with his clean utensils.  "You are so gross.  Don't think you're getting out of this by being disgusting."

It was true Roman was just fine with never going out there to look for Temple.  He'd be perfectly happy going back to bed.  It was also true that spoon was getting washed now, before Gabriel decided to dunk it in the toilet or something.  Euuugh.  With a hand on Gabriel's waist, Roman shuffled him over a couple of steps to stand in front the double-basin sink.  "If I have to go through this every time you use my kitchen you and I are going to have a problem."  Roman jabbed a finger at the sink.  "Now clean that spoon.  The right way."

[Rhi-Rhi]

In Gabriel's mind, the only thing that would have completed the scene was if Roman had dived at him in slow motion, complete with an exaggerated and dramatic, "Noooo!" He still visualized that in his head, just for his own amusement--amusement he wisely hid when Roman grabbed his wrist, made that threat, and slammed the drawer shut. Gabriel flinched at the noise, no acting involved there. Ooh boy. He was starting to get pissed, which was to be expected because Gabriel knew how Roman was about slobber. It never failed. Usually.

Then Roman had a hand on his waist and was maneuvering him over to the sink. Gabriel was starting to feel a little less confident here. He was running low on tricks, but he wasn't out of them completely and Roman was so close to flipping out. He could tell; just as Roman was good at picking up on his moods, Gabriel fancied himself pretty darned good at reading Roman. If he just got Roman to lose it completely, he'd probably give up and just do it himself, and victory would be his!

Unless he was wrong this time around, in which case he might end up thrown out of his apartment.

That meant it was time for the next phase. Time to be cute and naive and annoying.

"Hey, you said clean it! You didn't say how," Gabriel protested, twisting a little to frown back at Roman. "And you didn't fuss when I cleaned your fingers that way, either, so I figured that was alright. You're sending mixed signals, Romance, and it's confusing me..."

Gabriel turned back toward the sink and just stared into the basin for a moment. Some part of him couldn't believe he was drawing this out the way he was. If he just sucked it up and washed the thing, they could leave. He knew perfectly well how to wash dishes; his mother had always been anti-dishwasher because of the electricity or whatever, so that had been one of his chores growing up. It was just a spoon! It took like five seconds to wash, rinse, and dry, and as he stood there holding the utensil he began to feel guilt creeping into his mind.

He was wasting time waging an epic battle over a spoon when they should have been airborne by now, hunting for Temple.

Gabriel winced, suddenly feeling a little ill, and swallowed hard. Right then and there, he wanted to just clean it and get out of there. How selfish and stupid could you get? But deep inside he also knew why he was doing this, and it wasn't just because the spoon had transformed into something much greater than a mere utensil. It was simply for the fun of it all, goofing off with a friend in a familiar, comfortable way. The trip out to the wastes was not going to be fun; it was going to be dangerous and possibly depressing. Gabriel was dreading it, dreading what they might find or worse, might not find. For the moment, this let him think about something other than the friend he might never see again. Who could blame him for wanting a little stress relief before the big journey?

Just a little longer. He almost had him. If this didn't work, he'd just have to fold. Another time and he could have gone all day.

He reached out toward the cold water knob and turned it, slowly, as though he had never done it before in his life--never mind that only minutes ago he had thoroughly washed and rinsed Blank's bowl. He was hoping Roman would be too irked to remember that minor detail. A trickle of water came out of the faucet, and he held the spoon under it.

"But...for cereal, Roman, I really don't know how. I just use the dishwasher," Gabriel said slowly, deadpan, as he turned the spoon under the flow. "I mean, seriously, what's the right way? Why is your way anymore right than my way? So long as it gets the job done and--you're hovering, Roman! Stop hovering!" he said, then dropped the spoon in the sink and crossed his arms. "Jeez, you're stressing me out. I don't even know if I'm doing it right or wrong anymore..."

[Tally]

Roman leaned on the counter with one hand, still and silent save for the slow, steady drumming of his fingers on the countertop.  He only arched a brow slightly that Gabriel would bring up the the finger-licking.  Didn't trust himself to respond to any of that with words.  If he opened his mouth, he'd go off on Gabriel and—according to the rules as Roman understood them—that would be a defeat.  Or something.  No doubt anyone else would pronounce them both losers for this nonsense.  Even knowing that, Roman was seething and didn't care how obvious it was in the clenching of his jaw or the stillness that had come over him.  All of his concentration was bent on not yelling.

You'd think that, over the years, he'd have learned not to let himself be baited with this cutesy, oh-gee-I'm-such-a-mischievous-little-scamp-tee-hee crap, but here they were, yet again.  Reminded him of the first time he'd thrown candidate Gabriel Tierney out of his office.  Figuratively that first time, but there had been plenty of instances afterward where he'd lost it and literally grabbed Gabriel by the collar and hurled him out the door.  Remembering that made him feel a little better actually.  Though he'd never before allowed a candidate to draw him into an argument.

Back then, he'd calmed himself down and settled back into his office chair and thought, with all due confidence and conceit, that he'd cure Gabriel of this insolence.

Seven years later, and all he could do was repeat an old, familiar mantra in his head.

I am not going to yell.

I am not going to yell.

I am not going to yell.

But damned if it wouldn't have felt good to boot Gabriel out of his apartment and make him sit in the hall until Roman had the spoon situation settled and had marshaled enough equanimity to get him to the wastes and back.  It was the thought of Gabriel spending the whole day basking in self-satisfaction that kept Roman's temper below the boiling point.  Barely below.

Hovering.  I'll show you hovering, Tierney.

Roman took one deep breath and let it out again.  I am not going to yell.  Momentarily free of the impulse to punch a whole in the wall, he took Gabriel by the shoulders and turned him around to face the sink again, then slid up behind him.  With his chin resting on Gabriel's shoulder, he reached around and took hold of the other Pilot's hands and manipulated them through the motions of dish washing, first turning the hot water knob on, then picking up the spoon again and going for the detergent.  He'd go through every step from beginning to end if he had to.  "See," he said, affecting the kind of tone most people used when explaining something to a small child.  "This is how we clean."

[Rhi-Rhi]

Gabriel was impressed. Roman was hanging in there like a real trooper, right there on the edge, so close to toppling over but damned if he wasn't clinging by his fingernails. Ah well. That just meant Gabriel had to find a way to stomp on Roman's fingers--figuratively, of course--so he could claim his victory and the right to tease Roman for the rest of the day because he'd had a hemorrhage over a freakin' utensil.

And, of course, that also included with it the right to tell everyone else about this little episode, too. It was a package deal.

If he managed to push him past the breaking point, that is. He hadn't snapped yet and that was a little worrisome--though hey, he'd at least gotten him to the 'too angry to talk' stage. At this point, this truly was a battle of wills.

Silently, Roman took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the sink again, and silently he drew in close and grabbed his hands. Gabriel stiffened momentarily, fighting back the urge to grin like an idiot or laugh or both because this was a victory all on its own, though Roman just didn't know it yet. So he just let Roman take control, making his arms and hands limp so the other Pilot truly had to do everything, biting down on his lip in a failing effort to keep a straight face, and wondering when Roman would see the irony of what he was doing. He wanted Gabriel to wash the spoon--but when it came right down to it, he was ultimately still the one doing it! Just through Gabriel.

"Whoooa, really?" Gabriel breathed, feigning awe and playing along. "How cool is that? I didn't know you could--and whoa, what's that liquid-y blue stuff? It's like the stuff mutants bleed in that new movie! You seen that yet? You wash your dishes with mutant blood, Roman? That's kinda sick. Sick as in cool! For cere--ow!" He winced and jerked one hand away from the water, then nearly smacked his face into Roman's when he went to shoot him a glare. This whole situation, with Roman basically holding him from behind, might have been a little awkward if not for the circumstances surrounding it.

He let his arms go slack again and gave a little huff, then faced the sink so he could mock-glare at that instead. "That's hot. I'm sensitive, you know. Make the cold water come on." If Roman thought Gabriel would participate any, he was sorely mistaken. He even slouched back against Roman, letting him support his weight. Nope. He was just a puppet here. A demanding puppet. But Roman was still doing all the work, so hah. Win.

Leaning his head against Roman's, he sighed. "Sure takes a long time to clean a spoon...my method was better. Also..." He grinned. "I think I kinda win."

[Tally]

This wasn't going quite as Roman had hoped.  He remained sullen and silent, guiding Gabriel's hands through the motions of washing.  Not easy, with Gabriel doing his impression of a limp noodle and Roman having to do everything himself anyway.

He let one hand drop briefly to flick the side of Gabriel's head.  "Be useful."

Roman's temper was building back up.  Gabriel's weight against him put him in mind of stepping quickly aside and letting the kid fall backward on his rear.  Damn, that would have made it all nearly worth it.  He would have done it too, if he weren't so committed to not losing his temper for once.  

Just this one time, he wanted the satisfaction of saying Gabriel couldn't get to him.  He wanted to say his self control was more powerful than a spoon.

To that end, Roman attempted to block out Gabriel's inane chatter—mutant blood, what the hell was he talking about?—and just get the stupid spoon washed and get out of there before he had a stroke from the effort of still not yelling.  It wasn't easy.  Gabriel wasn't making it easy.  Roman had never scrubbed a spoon so agressively in his life.

"You're fine!" he snapped, forcing Gabriel's hand back under the hot water to finish the job.  That hadn't been a yell.  He was still in the game.  But gods above!  Acting like a little bit of hot water would kill him!  "Just shut your mouth and deal with it.  No, stop talking.  Seriously.  Before I strangle you.  I don't know what you get out of antagonizing me all the damn time.  You could have just cleaned up your own mess and we could have been out of here already, but nooooo.  You just had to start something over it.  I swear, you are banned from my kitchen from now on.  Forbidden.  In fact, if I ever catch you in here after this, I will throw you out bodily."

Roman took a deep sigh and pushed back against Gabriel's head.  "So long as you make it out of here alive, I think we both win."

The spoon being adequately clean now even by Roman's standards, he rinsed it in cold water and set it aside.  Before turning off the water Roman leaned his head away, smirking a little now he'd had his little rant and made it through without committing homicide by spoon, and flicked water at Gabriel's face.

Yeah, he was angry.  Had been damn near raving.  No denying that.  But he was also quick to let go of anger.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Gabriel was feeling good and cocky slumped back against Roman, watching the other Pilot make his hands scrub the life off that poor spoon and listening to his rant. He thought about complaining about the temperature some more and pulling back again, just to be difficult and annoying, but then Roman threatened strangulation and his eyebrows lifted. Whoa. Wisely, he shut his mouth and pursed his lips, partly because he didn't want to get strangled and partly because he was trying so damned hard not to laugh; somehow, that rant just sounded childish and a little whiny coming from Roman.

The silence lasted all of a few seconds until Roman got to that last bit. The part about being banned from the kitchen.

Forbidden.

That got Gabriel to drop the limp noodle act.

He pushed back against Roman's head when he was pushed, straightened up, and was vaguely aware of the hot water going cold and Roman making him set the spoon aside. "What? Roman, are you--gah!" He cut off, flinching and blinking when Roman flicked cold water at his face, and almost reached up to wipe the droplets away before he remembered that his own hands were quite soaked. "Are you serious?"

He couldn't be. Now that going too far.

Twisting around to face Roman and leaning back against the sink, Gabriel placed both wet hands on either side of Roman's face and smooshed his cheeks, revenge for the water flicking. "Aww, Romance. You don't really mean that now do you, honeybear? Forbidden? C'mooon, that's a little extreme, don'tcha think? It's just a spoon. Nothing to have a hemorrhage over. No harm done, I washed it, it was funny, we can laugh now. Ha ha?" He frowned and tilted his head to the side. "You don't mean it. You couldn't have, you didn't yell."

Gods but he deserved an award or something for making it through this whole debacle somewhat straight-faced. Roman was taking it all so seriously, and that was probably the best thing about it.

Kind of. If Roman had seriously banned him from his kitchen, that would suck. It wasn't like he needed access to Roman's kitchen or that it was a particularly exciting locale--it was a freakin' kitchen--but it was the principle of the matter that would get to him. It was the being banned and forbidden--no, exiled!--that would gnaw at him. It was being told he couldn't do something that made him really, really want to do it.

"Anyway! Now that's out of your system and I'm so not banned...can we go?"