I like watching television okay, but you can't do that for the rest of your life, even if you're the kind of guy -- and I am -- who likes to yell at the characters on television for their stupid decisions.
I bet you'd do brilliant at it. It can't be any worse than that shit.
[Yes, he's glaring at the book all the way across the room now. He's slightly regretting chucking it away because he wants to find more horrible quotes to get Ginsberg flustered with, and standing up is pretty much entirely out of the question, at the moment. He had to use all of his not subtle tactics to get them into this comfortable position, he's not messing it up now.]
I don't actually think anybody would read a three hundred page book about cuddling.
[He might read it, come to think of it. He probably wouldn't write it, though.]
You're good at cuddling, too. I mean, as far as I can tell. I don't have an extensive list of cuddlers to compare you to, but you're making it surprisingly tolerable to be stuck in here, so I'm pretty sure that means you're good at it.
Well, you're more than surprisingly tolerable. The room isn't, though. It's been upgraded from "oh god I'm going to die" to "surprisingly tolerable," though, so that's pretty impressive, right?
[Just saying. The cuddles are the real magic. He's pleasantly surprised his arm hasn't gone to sleep yet, actually, but it does mean he can settle his arm around his waist comfortingly.]
Yes, probably. Warning you now, though, it may take ages.
[The head on his shoulder is totally allowed, you can stay there for a bit. Oliver's just going to sort of rub his beardy chin on the top of Ginsberg's hair because it really is amusing how floofy it's getting.]
[He does manage to doze off for a bit, the sort of half-asleep daze you tend to fall into when it's the middle of the day and you have another person half-draped across your chest. Although seeing as this room doesn't have any windows, he really has no idea what time of day it is. He certainly has far less of an idea when he blinks himself awake some time later. It may have been minutes or hours, for all he knows.
[Ginsberg owns -- and is actually wearing -- a watch, but he's apparently fast asleep, so if Oliver wants to check the time he'll either have to wake him up or very carefully pull his arm closer to look at his watch. Either way, it's kind of a miracle that he's sleeping at all. He'll probably wake up in a couple seconds.]
[He's still just staring at his watch, pulling it closer to take a better look and probably sort of yanking Ginsberg half on top of him in the process.]
Well, shit, sorry my watch doesn't measure up to your exacting standards.
[It's not exactly hard to tug him around, considering how much shorter and smaller he is than Oliver, and so he's easily pulled halfway on top of him. And tries his hardest to be nonchalant about it.]
Remember what time we fell asleep? It's seven now.
[He'll pay attention to how much he's manhandling you around as soon as the much more important aspect of what day it is is cleared up. Just enjoy your perch while you're here.]
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[Maybe he enjoys watching mortals do stupid things a little too much, so sue him.]
'sides, there's always things to do while you're waiting. Watch television. Write a terrible sex book. All sorts of things.
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And I'm not writing a terrible sex book.
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[Yes, he's glaring at the book all the way across the room now. He's slightly regretting chucking it away because he wants to find more horrible quotes to get Ginsberg flustered with, and standing up is pretty much entirely out of the question, at the moment. He had to use all of his
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[Yep, he really just admitted that. Oh well.]
On the other hand, maybe that's not a prerequisite for writing something that bad.
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[Oliver could pretend to be surprised by that particular admission but... it doesn't exactly contradict the clues he's had so far.]
You could write an excellent book on cuddling, you're very good at that.
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[He might read it, come to think of it. He probably wouldn't write it, though.]
You're good at cuddling, too. I mean, as far as I can tell. I don't have an extensive list of cuddlers to compare you to, but you're making it surprisingly tolerable to be stuck in here, so I'm pretty sure that means you're good at it.
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[Just saying. The cuddles are the real magic. He's pleasantly surprised his arm hasn't gone to sleep yet, actually, but it does mean he can settle his arm around his waist comfortingly.]
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We probably can't cuddle forever, though. I mean, eventually you'll get sick of it.
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[The head on his shoulder is totally allowed, you can stay there for a bit. Oliver's just going to sort of rub his beardy chin on the top of Ginsberg's hair because it really is amusing how floofy it's getting.]
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[Why is his beard the best thing ever? Why is Ginsberg so fascinated by his beard? Nobody knows.]
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Well let me know if you get sick of it, first.
[Settling back and closing his eyes, yep. He's far too comfy not to.]
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[He's definitely closing his eyes, too. Not like he's tired or anything. Just resting for a second.]
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Sometimes he really regrets not owning a watch.]
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7pm. That would be more useful if he remembered what time it was when they feel asleep.]
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Still locked?
[Apparently he's remembered about the door being locked fast enough.]
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[He's still just staring at his watch, pulling it closer to take a better look and probably sort of yanking Ginsberg half on top of him in the process.]
I wish you had dates on this thing, too.
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[It's not exactly hard to tug him around, considering how much shorter and smaller he is than Oliver, and so he's easily pulled halfway on top of him. And tries his hardest to be nonchalant about it.]
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[He'll pay attention to how much he's manhandling you around as soon as the much more important aspect of what day it is is cleared up. Just enjoy your perch while you're here.]
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[And he does check his watch frantically when he's locked in a room.]
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[He drops Gineberg's arm at last. Oh, now he notices the smallish mustached man on his chest.]
Hello there.
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Hi.
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Comfy?
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