Keeping Warm

by Jules Jones and Alex Woolgrave

This started life as a piece of fanfic, which we recycled to use in The Syndicate. In the end we decided that it didn't really fit into the style of the novel. On the other hand, why waste it? :-)

"Bloody unromantic, I call it."

"Mmm?"

"That hot-water bottle. MCU93 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, Allard!"

"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, Allard?"

"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, Allard?" [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, Allard!"

"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, Vaughan!"

"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, Vaughan."

"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, Vaughan."

"Are you complaining?"

"Not in the least."

"Then go to sleep."

[snuggling noises, followed indeed by peaceful sleep. Vaughan is disappointed that he can never manage to get the last word in daylight, but not too disappointed]