No doubt about it: Crowley had the worst timing in the history of the Universe.
John wasn't quite sure how they'd wound up in this situation--there'd been a lot of Glenlivet involved, and no small amount of Guinness, and between one thing and another, without really intending to, they'd managed to wind up on top of the table rather than under it. One of them (didn't matter much which) had had the presence of mind to suggest taking things upstairs. He was of no mind to analyze things any further than that. More important things to attend to.
His hands and his full attention were occupied with getting a complicated piece of feminine under-gear unlatched (which probably would have been easier if he'd dispensed with Kit's blouse first, and maybe turned her around so he could see the damn things; but he'd always been notorious for doing things the hard way, and anyway that would have meant he'd have to stop kissing her,) when the plaintive sound of Crowley's voice cut through the haze of alcohol and testosterone.
John broke away from Kit's mouth with a vile expletive--even a best mate could only get away with so much--and turned a pointed glare at his interloping friend, but it softened to a worried frown when he got an eyeful of Crowley's rumpled, woebegone state. "Crowley. What's the matter, mate?"
no subject
John wasn't quite sure how they'd wound up in this situation--there'd been a lot of Glenlivet involved, and no small amount of Guinness, and between one thing and another, without really intending to, they'd managed to wind up on top of the table rather than under it. One of them (didn't matter much which) had had the presence of mind to suggest taking things upstairs. He was of no mind to analyze things any further than that. More important things to attend to.
His hands and his full attention were occupied with getting a complicated piece of feminine under-gear unlatched (which probably would have been easier if he'd dispensed with Kit's blouse first, and maybe turned her around so he could see the damn things; but he'd always been notorious for doing things the hard way, and anyway that would have meant he'd have to stop kissing her,) when the plaintive sound of Crowley's voice cut through the haze of alcohol and testosterone.
John broke away from Kit's mouth with a vile expletive--even a best mate could only get away with so much--and turned a pointed glare at his interloping friend, but it softened to a worried frown when he got an eyeful of Crowley's rumpled, woebegone state. "Crowley. What's the matter, mate?"