Once his drink is safely on the little round table nearby, Chris practically falls into the worn, red, plush embrace of the lounge chair, a leg slung over one of the arms as he leans against the other, elbow braced so he can rest his cheek in his hand.
Hawke goes for the food and it seems a suitable distraction, but Hawke did the exact same thing Chris did: pretend to leave something alone only to circle back around to it later. He'd most assuredly be only a moment.
"You look good in my clothes." He offers, though it's only half the effort of flirtation he'd offered earlier. Because, yes, there it was again.
Chris sighs and looks over at the sheet-covered equipment against the wall to his right.
"Right...start short and maybe we can get longer later, if you're good." Where was the short version, though? "I was stuck in here, by my own design, holding someone dangerous prisoner until his memories returned to him for roughly a week. I don't do so well feeling trapped, even if it was my idea, so...a mess." He shrugs.
no subject
Hawke goes for the food and it seems a suitable distraction, but Hawke did the exact same thing Chris did: pretend to leave something alone only to circle back around to it later. He'd most assuredly be only a moment.
"You look good in my clothes." He offers, though it's only half the effort of flirtation he'd offered earlier. Because, yes, there it was again.
Chris sighs and looks over at the sheet-covered equipment against the wall to his right.
"Right...start short and maybe we can get longer later, if you're good." Where was the short version, though? "I was stuck in here, by my own design, holding someone dangerous prisoner until his memories returned to him for roughly a week. I don't do so well feeling trapped, even if it was my idea, so...a mess." He shrugs.