fandomhighdorms | Deck, Saturday Afternoon

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Deck, Saturday Afternoon

It was warm outside. There was no way freaking way Hannibal was going to stay inside when ti was warm and sunny and there was fresh air to be had. He thought of going to the beach but figured the water wouldn't have warmed up over night so the deck it was.

There, at least, he could get out of his shirt (exhibitionism whoo!), get himself a cold drink (no telling what was in it) and enjoy himself. Finals were done, the semester was done and summer was coming.

There was really no better way to spend a Saturday in his opinion.

[deck is ooooooooopen!]

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"I could back out," he said and kissed her cheek. Not that he would back out but he could. "Blame a sudden stomach illness. Or something."

"And now you've told me that, I'll know you're lying," she said. "Not going to get away with it."

He sighed in mock exasperation and said, "Fiiiiiine. No excuses. I don't have any other plans for this week so I'm sure I can fit a play in. Other than that, I might just stay in bed the entire time."

"Or out here lounging in the sun," she guessed. "...I might be blocking your tan, here." Not that she was moving. "Sorry."

"Plenty of time to work on my tan," he pointed out. "This is only the first day. Just gives me more incentive to take off my shirt. Hey, the new student picnic's gotta be coming up. I'll be all ready for that."

"If I leave my hand heeere," she said grinning and, spreading her fingers out on his chest. "You might end up with a nice hand print..."

"You would have to leave your hand there for a long time," he said, looking down. "And is there a reason you'd want your hand on my chest?"

"Wanting you to have a pretty pattern isn't enough?" she said, smiling, tapping with those fingers.

"I could get a tattoo if you wanted that," he said. "Handprint seems a little...weird to call a pattern."

"This is more entertaining for me," she told him. "And it being weird puts me off very little." She kind of liked weird.

"I'm surprised you don't figure out a way to put your hand there instead of your hand," he said. "That handprint could be anyone's!"

"I'll know," she said smugly. "Everyone else is just going to think you fell asleep in a weird position in the sun."

"Oh no," he said and shook his head. "Our hands are different. If there's a little hand on my chest, they'll think it's not mine. My hands are big."

"I doubt anyone's going to be measuring," she said, amused. "Your hands are not that huge."

"There is a marked difference between your hand and my hand," he said and held up one of his hands. "People would know that it wasn't my hand."

"Mmm." Angela smirked and measured her hand against his. "I don't know, I'm not sure they would," she teased.

"You keep insulting my hands, you're not going to get the benefits they give," he said, shaking his head.

"I wasn't insulting!" she laughed. "You have very, very nice hands. I do love your hands."

"You're saying someone would mistake them for yours," he pointed out, lacing his fingers with hers. "That's equivalent to calling them girl hands."

"Or I'm saying people are unobservant," she suggested. "Really, really unobservant and with some size gauging issues."

"And then what if they want to put their hand there?" he asked, snickering. "People seem to do that with handprint stuff."

"Mm, I don't know how I feel about that," she said. "Other people trying to stick their hands all over you."

"You'd be the one arising curiosity with your handprint pattern making on my chest," he pointed out. "It'd be all your fault."

"Damn you and your logic," she grumbled mildly, turning to kiss his cheek.

"Hey, you can still put your hands on me," he said, smiling. "Just no handprint patterns. Who knows what sort of things you might bring on me?"

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