Wrapped in his robe and fresh from a shower after a long day of shooting, Mike was ready for a little TLC. Given, and received. Morris would momentarily be coming back from her own shower (in their house, showers for "clean" were better taken alone). He popped the top off of the cocoa butter on the nightstand and thoroughly worked it into his calloused fingertips. Then up his wrists, and along his forearms. And then, knowing how turned on she got by the fragrance of Ivory Soap au Chocolat, he dabbed a little behind each ear, then wiped the residue a little further south. Not that she generally needed more encouragement, but a little garnish never hurt...
Thus prepared for an evening of animalistic getting-it-on, he padded to the bedroom door and called out in his best Princess Gwen soprano:
"Come hither, herein I linger!"
"What?" came the muffled reply.
"Hm, door's still closed." He raised his voice a bit. "I said come hither, herein I linger!"
Her voice came again, louder as she had opened the bathroom door. "What?"
He huffed a sigh. Sweet jumping Jesus, that woman could kill a mood faster... this time he bellowed in full voice:
"COME HITHER GODDAMMIT, HEREIN I LINGER!"
He dropped his robe and lay on the fur bedspread in his exquisitely tailored (or so he'd been told more than once) birthday suit. In a matter of seconds Bonnie entered wrapped in her own robe.
"Okay, okay, I'm ready." In her outstretched hands were a pair of tweezers, and a magnifying glass.
Mike sat up wearing a narrow stare. "Damn, Morris, I can take a joke as well as the next guy, but there's such a thing as pure mean."
She looked at him, puzzled, poking at her ear with one pinkie. "Huh? Weren't you just yelling for me loud enough to wake the dead?"
"Yeah. I said 'Come hither, herein I linger'," he grumbled, "Last time I waste any class on you missy. Next time I'll stick with 'come'n'git it'..."
She looked at her hands and then looked at Nesmith, now flopped out flat in a regal huff, and offered a sheepish grin.
"Oops."
"Oops?" Mike ranted to the ceiling. "The woman casts heinous aspersions on my romantic prowess, with props, and all she can say is 'oops'?"
Bonnie shoved the tools in her pockets, dropped her robe, and dove headlong onto the bed to crawl on top of him.
"Yeah, oops. I thought you said 'Got a sliver in my finger'."
"Oh, well then." He wrapped his arms around her to roll her next to him, smiling wickedly. "I do have some wood for you, but I promise it won't be a splinter."
"Hmmm," she purred as she kissed her way from his mouth downward, "looks like I won't be needing that magnifying glass after all."