Foreman didn't resist Amber's shoves maneuvering him towards the bed. Under different circumstances, he would have laughed at her eagerness. As it was, he let out a muffled grunt and fell back with barely-controlled force when the bed hit the back of his knees and Amber's push put him off-balance at the same moment. Amber was on top of him a second later, and Foreman's mind began to catch up with their situation about the moment she flung his tie to one side and started industriously opening his shirt. Foreman's eyes widened, his breath coming shorter in surprise. Instead of the immediate, consuming attention he'd had for her a second ago, his gaze darted to the door, and then around the room.
It was small, big enough for the double bed and the small desk with an old, oversized computer monitor, but a row of boxes along one wall along with their piled baggage took up most of the remaining floorspace. The overhead lights were off, the rest lit by a small bedside lamp that someone had probably turned on as they'd carried the luggage up. Foreman couldn't get much more than an impression of buttercup-yellow walls and the matching bedspread underneath him. Amber's childhood room. Amber's room, right above Amber's parents' heads. "I--are you sure you--" He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to cover his hesitation, something Amber never appreciated when she was this determined. He wanted her, yes, and the wine was making it suspiciously easy to give in, but the fact was that he wasn't sure he could be quiet, or how quiet 'quiet' was--Kate and Chris's bedroom could be on the other side of one of these walls, dammit. Foreman half-sat up, struggling a bit under Amber's pinning weight, and brought his hands to cover her wrists. Not tight enough to stop her, but with enough weight to make her think about what they were doing. Tell him what they were doing, before they were caught up in the middle of it.
no subject
It was small, big enough for the double bed and the small desk with an old, oversized computer monitor, but a row of boxes along one wall along with their piled baggage took up most of the remaining floorspace. The overhead lights were off, the rest lit by a small bedside lamp that someone had probably turned on as they'd carried the luggage up. Foreman couldn't get much more than an impression of buttercup-yellow walls and the matching bedspread underneath him. Amber's childhood room. Amber's room, right above Amber's parents' heads. "I--are you sure you--" He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to cover his hesitation, something Amber never appreciated when she was this determined. He wanted her, yes, and the wine was making it suspiciously easy to give in, but the fact was that he wasn't sure he could be quiet, or how quiet 'quiet' was--Kate and Chris's bedroom could be on the other side of one of these walls, dammit. Foreman half-sat up, struggling a bit under Amber's pinning weight, and brought his hands to cover her wrists. Not tight enough to stop her, but with enough weight to make her think about what they were doing. Tell him what they were doing, before they were caught up in the middle of it.