Agnès locked up Room 202 and took hold of the handles of her trolley, rolling it down the hall towards the next room. The entire twenty-third floor was virtually empty – most guests had finished their afternoon naps and went out to the beach for a swim. It was usually around this time, at two-thirty, that Agnès' job as a hotel maid kept her most busy. The work was time-consuming, but she always cherished the moments of peace her job otherwise never provided her while she changed pillow-cases and put up fresh towels. She brought the trolley to a stop in front of Room 204 (she was in charge of the even rooms – Marion cleaned the odd ones), already going over what must be done in her head. It was as she picked out the right key out of her belt that she heard it.
Dear God, she thought, freezing where she stood, it's started. Not again.
As if on cue, another obscene moan vibrated through the hall, causing Agnès to turn a deep shade of red. She narrowed her eyes at the door of the offending suite – number 205 – that stood at the very end of the hall. The only room with it's Please do not disturb! sign hanging on the doorknob. Which had coincidentally been hanging there for three days now.
Agnès herself had never seen the guests from Room 205, but Brigitte, who worked the same floor during the evening shifts, said she'd seen them go out once for dinner the day they had arrived. Two men, she had said, a Brit and an American, both blonde and tall.
And both nymphomaniacs, Agnès thought as a breathy groan followed the clang of a fallen chair.
She couldn't understand it. They were in Cannes, the jewel of the French Riviera, and instead of enjoying the azure sea and golden beaches? They were locked inside a hotel room, having copious – indecent – amounts of sex.
Shaking her head, she turned to unlock 204, when the door of 201 opened and out came Marion, holding a bundle of dirty sheets.
"At it again, are they?" her friend chuckled and jerked her head in the direction of 205. "Incredible."
"Unbelievable," Agnès corrected. Marion tsked as she dropped the bundle into the sack of her trolley, then came to lean against the wall beside the other woman.
"Come now, Agnès, don't be a prude. They're on vacation, no? They're meant to be enjoying themselves."
The other rounded on her. "Yes, but three days is enough enjoyment, don't you think? I mean, how much more until enough is enough?"
"What I wonder is how they have any strength left." Marion smirked. "Perhaps they're newly-weds?"
Agnès peered over the other's shoulder. "You think? How much do you know about them?"
"Not much, but I know the suite is reserved to an L. Novak. Lu or something of the sort," Marion replied. "Anyhow, he's the American."
Agnès frowned. "How do you know?"
Marion looked at her like she was a particularly dense child and grinned cheekily. "Because that's the name the Brit keeps screaming for."
It was the second time Agnès blushed that afternoon. "Anything else?" she muttered.
"Pierre says—" Marion raised her eyebrows comically when a sharp cry cut her off.
Out of pure curiosity, Agnès tried to hear the exact words. But she knew very little English and understood only the profanity at the start.
Marion went on, smiling, "Pierre says they've been ordering room service ever since the morning after their arrival."
"Have you been able to clean inside at all?" Agnès asked.
"How can I?" Marion laughed. "They've been screwing each other senseless since they got here!"
Her words were droned out by a throaty whimper, but Agnès scolded her for her loud volume anyway. "Shut up! They'll hear you!"
"Darling, I don't think they care. They clearly don't have a problem with us hearing them." Marion emphasized her point with a lazy gesture at the aforementioned foreigners across the hall.
"I'm surprised there haven't been complaints." Agnès shook her head.
"Pierre hasn't mentioned any. Not to me, at least," Marion said. "But honestly, there's only four other occupied rooms up here, and the guests are barely in there at all. I don't think they even notice it. If you ask me, those two are the only ones truly appreciating the king suite."
Agnès giggled. "Right, maybe a little too much."
A muffled voice called out, and again Agnès couldn't catch anything but a few swear words.
Marion however, being excellent at English, widened her eyes and slapped a hand against her mouth. "My God, the mouth that Brit has! Did you understand any of it, Agnès? He said he wants the other guy to—!"
"Ugh, shut up, Marion! I don't want to know!" Agnès intercepted, already blocking her ears.
Not even two seconds of silence passed when a heavy thud literally shook the wall of the suite, almost immediately followed by the crash of silverware and shattering glass.
"Oh, shit!" Agnès squeaked before she could stop herself, voicing the exact same sentiments as the American. "What are they doing?!" she hissed in a whisper.
Marion returned a scandalized grin. "I think they're doing it against the wall!"
And yes, Agnès feared she was right, because all of a sudden the noises were much clearer and much, much louder. Moans and whines and kisses mingled together with—
No. Agnès couldn't believe her ears.
Laughter. They were laughing.
Propped up against the wall, standing in shards of glass, minds quite clearly set on ravaging each other, and they were laughing?
"Shit, you okay, baby?" she heard the American croon, chuckling.
"They are insane," she decided.
"Hush, they're sweet," Marion disagreed. "When was the last time someone made you laugh during sex?"
Agnès rolled her eyes as shuffling sounded and the Brit made a reply to the other. She caught the words 'glass' and 'careful', and turned to ask Marion for the rest (although she could already make a guess). But before she could form the words, heavy footsteps were heard against the parquet, as well as another thump, softer than the previous one.
Marion pinched one eye shut as she strained to listen. "Looks like they found the bed."
"Now, seriously! This is too much, Marion. Let's leave them alone, we have work to do!"
"Fine, fine! I'm going!" the other responded, heading back to her trolley. Agnès watched her enter 203, then she closed herself inside 204.
It didn't help much as far as the noise was concerned – 205 was right across her, and she could still hear everything precisely. There were demands and praises and encouragement lost between quick kisses. The two lovers chatted animatedly over the squeaks of the mattress, stopping only when broken off by an aroused gasp or a desperate plea.
The literal banging she heard as she exited 204 was belatedly recognized as the headboard slapping against the wall. She was only given a moment to worry whether there'd be a dent left, when broken moans ripped through the hall, tangling together profanities and two clashing names. Agnès was left with her face in her hands because by God, she'd never heard anyone climax that loudly.
When it was finally quiet again, she returned to her trolley to put away the laundry, although she was still fanning her face as she did so. A door opened in her peripheral vision, but it wasn't 203, where Marion was. It was 205.
She stood up straight to see a blond man with piercing blue eyes standing under the frame, clad in nothing but black boxer shorts. He was drenched in sweat and God knows what else, his hair was a mess, his chest and arms were covered in bruises and scratches, but he wore a smile like he'd won a million dollars. It was all Agnès could do not to recoil in terror.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her, then began talking in rapid American English.
"Oh, no!" she mumbled, then pointing at herself, she tried in his language, "I, euh... do not speak..."
The man nodded and returned a short, "Oh, okay, shit." He looked at the ceiling for a second, muttering to himself, then finally looked back at her with a sheepish grin. "Ah, I need... a— uh—"
"Towel, darling," Agnès heard from inside the room.
Both she and the man looked back at the voice. The other blond was lounging on the bed like a cat, completely naked – although, Agnès was glad to see, there was a bed sheet thrown over his lower abdomen. He was in no better condition than his partner; it looked as if he'd been kissed all over his body, and his grin was sleepy.
"I'm afraid we've used up the towels. Could we have one more, please?" It surprised her that the Englishman spoke perfect French.
She nodded and answered a quiet, "Yes, of course," then scuttled to her trolley and pulled out two towels from her stack. She handed it to the standing man and smiled.
"Perfect, thanks— I mean," he winced, and then added in French, "Thank you."
Agnès nodded again and said slowly, "You are welcome."
"Excuse me," the Englishman called to her as the American headed over to the bed. The Brit sat up and gestured vaguely around the room with a guilty smile. "I apologize for the mess in here, but it was his birthday and I promised I'd indulge him this weekend. We'll be going out for dinner tonight and let you clean up. Please give us a bill for the damage."
Agnès laughed a little and said, "Yes, sir. I'll explain it to the manager."
"Thank you," he told her, before his attention was demanded elsewhere. The American had sat beside him and began wiping at his chest gently, apparently not at all concerned by the maid's presence. The last thing Agnès saw before she closed the door was the Brit softly cupping his partner's jaw and pulling him in for a chaste kiss.
"So?" Marion, who had been watching the scene unfold from behind the door of 203. "How did the room look? Will the girls be busy tonight?"
Agnès laughed and responded by throwing a pillow case at her.
A/N: Written for my sister, whose one true OTP is balcifer. Really enjoyed writing this, both for the plot (ha, plot, she says) and for the characters. It's a nice break from the constant Dean-and-Cas :D