"...but are you sure you're really comfortable with thi- "
"Deacon, you ask me that one more time and I really will let you take the floor."
If the fondness in his laugh didn't quite reach your ears above the distant rumble of late-night traffic streaming past the motel on the highway below, the jostling of his muscled shoulder against yours would likely clue you in.
The narrow queen bed, though a welcome reprieve from the maddening rambling of this weekend's protectee in the cramped SUV - and your agreed alternative to continuing the four-hour drive back to LA from his upstate estate this late at night - sees you squeezed against one another beneath the threadbare covers so as to not necessitate either of you crashing on the raggedy carpeted floor, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip in a way that has your face so hot you're thanking your lucky stars for the darkness filling the tiny, drab room.
With you now dressed in only the camisole and shorts you'd thankfully taken to wearing under your unofficial uniform and Deacon in just his boxer shorts, the bristling night air doesn't stand a chance at seeking you out in the confines of the comfortable haven you've made for yourselves - but still he asks, in an alluringly soft tone and with a turning of his head to look at you from across your shared pillow, if you're warm enough.
A set of headlights stream in through the drawn curtains, opportunely filling the room with enough light for Deacon to see the cautious smile creeping onto your face - and for him to extend his arm out for you to move into his embrace, as you turn on your side and meet his brightened eyes. "I don't think that's going to be much of a problem."