Wax

Twenty

A/N: A note about chapter 19... did no one notice that in the heat of the moment and having absolutely not written any rated scenes for months, Chicken had completely d I s a p p e a r e d in that chapter? Oh good god, I am a terrible, awful writer; I apologize to all the dogs and cats and birds and animals in my multiple universes for they suffer the most.

Thus, I present you... the resolution that Leroy had entrusted Chicken with the greatest task of all and it sitting in the driver's seat of the RV and ensuring that no one gets in the way of his long-awaited touchy-touchy action. Chicken is the most understanding and loving dog ;-; he even agrees to this.

Chicken needs a reward. But I spent the whole of my Sunday writing this again so yes, Chicken can take my life away. 

Enjoy! 

_______________________

[Vanilla]

One does not simply expect to be called in to the office on a Sunday morning for an emergency that had to do with one of our clients demanding an audience. Unfortunately, I had little to no means of knowing this because, well, my phone and I were spending reasonable time apart due to the um, the circumstances of... of a certain idiot.

I now apparently consider him a circumstance, no doubt. Having basically kidnapped me from my workplace and whisked me away to some deserted beach where we proceeded to forage for razor clams, cook them for dinner and and and fire-things and other, quite, illegal activities, Leroy Cox was a grand masterpiece of an idiot fast asleep beside me in bed—unclothed and unbothered.

Needless to say, this was an experience I would consider fairly novel (or aged, at the very least); waking up to the presence of a person, him, in bed, or the general idea of shared covers and pillows that were barely an inch apart. The idea of bashful interaction crossed my mind and almost immediately called for a quick recollection of my fifteen-year-old self waking up to Leroy in my bed.

Granted, it wasn't as though we'd done anything entirely illegal in terms of the Universal Law of V. J. White. In fact, it was upon witnessing the true extent a-and and size of what I was dealing with, I'd somehow managed a professional retracting of prior statements and claims of insistence. Leroy, pleased to see myself enlightened by his physical um, blessing (I don't know, is it, really?), proceeded to end the debate with a criminal kiss that was the last thing I could remember.

Which could not have been the case since I did not recall turning the lights off and drawing the curtains that kept the front and back of the RV separated.

I sat up and reached for my glasses.

The concept of time returned only after my brief recounting of the night before and it was then that I finally entertained the thought of checking my phone for messages or urgent mail. Unsurprisingly however, I had no impression whatsoever of where, exactly, I'd last seen it.

It was after minutes of tip-toeing around the RV and doing my best not to wake the idiot in bed that I finally spotted it on the passenger seat with a grand total of ten percent battery life to spare and an alarming number of messages and unread emails. Chicken remained fast asleep in the driver's seat, all curled up and warm.

The time was five in the morning; the start of the day barely visible in the horizon of the sea and here I was, reading about a client's chief executive intending to drop by the office tomorrow (today) for an 'important discussion' I knew nothing about. Florence had sent several emails and receipts of the conversation and even arranged for brunch to be catered. Apparently, the executive had hinted at several other guests.