“Bloody unromantic, I call it.”
“Mmm?”
“That hot-water bottle. Zen keeps the place about the temperature of mid-June if you ask him…”
“It.”
“…and you’re coming to bed with that.” [the characteristic noise of a hot-water bottle hitting the wall] “Well, you’ll just have to warm up on me…” [rustling, moving noises, screech] “You sod, Kerr!”
“I thought you wanted me to keep warm with you.” [mildly and unconvincingly]
“Keep warm, yes. The odd cold foot on my back or my bottom I can cope with, but…”
“You were facing me.”
“…something that amounts to two extremely large ice-cubes dumped in my crotch isn’t going to encourage any of the activities you seem to be so keen on later at night.”
[padding feet]
“Where are you going, Avon?”
“Back to get the hot-water bottle.”
[going-back-to-bed noises, then quite a lot of wriggling and sighing]
“What are you actually doing with that hot-water bottle, Kerr?” [in the tone of someone who probably knows the answer but can't quite believe his ears]
“Consoling myself. You know, after its brief visit to the other side of the room, it’s actually quite a good temperature for a bit of frottage. Mmm… Pleasantly firm, as well…”
“I’ll give you ‘pleasantly firm’…” [through gritted teeth]
“I’m sure you would. If you were up to it.”
“You’re going to regret making that remark, Kerr!”
“Ah?” [rather coyly, followed by the sound of bedclothes being shoved off]
“Because I’m going to be put to the trouble of giving you what you should have had when you were a small child. My cock may be limp, but my hands are still sufficiently firm…”
“Don’t you dare, Blake!”
“One,” [slap. Confused noise somewhere between "ouch!" and "oooh!"]
“Two… You know, there’s a lot to be said for this as a method of improving your circulation. Shuts you up, as well.”
“Don’t bet on that… Ouch.”
“That was three.”
“I can count, Blake.”
“Four.” [pause]
“Isn’t the traditional measure supposed to be ‘six of the best’?” [a little breathlessly]
“I’m just finding all this exercise has improved my circulation, as well.”
[wriggling. Deeply appreciative voice:] “Yes, it has.”
“Now, they might say ‘spare the rod and spoil the… subordinate’…”
“I’ll correct your unwarranted assumptions later.”
“Obviously, just my hands aren’t giving you a proper sense of your subordinate position…”
“But you haven’t got any equipment for corporal punishment…”
“I’m tempted to add ‘as far as you know’…”
[rather intrigued "Ah?"]
“…but on the other hand I could just make do with whatever I happen to have, and apply this rod, here, to your recalcitrant bottom…”
[wriggling, and the noises of necessary oils being applied, followed by many rhythmical noises not suggestive of corporal punishment, which reach a crescendo. Consider this as some sort of narrative climax]
“That was a good deal more than two strokes, Blake.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then go to sleep.”
[snuggling noises, followed indeed by peaceful sleep. Blake is disappointed that he can never manage to get the last word in daylight, but not too disappointed]
