ArchivedLogs:Cigarettes and Coffee

Cigarettes and Coffee
Dramatis Personae Jim, Melinda
In Absentia	2013-04-07 Warning, allusions to adult situations in the log.
Location <NYC> Melinda and Tag's Apartment - Lower East Side
Follows log: Communication Issues. A good time was had by all that afternoon, and when all is said and done, there is some obligatory cuddlings. It isn't necessarily agreed on, per se, but some is just necessary. First, Mel just needs a minute to breathe, collapsing on Jim's chest and be semi-conscious while her heart stops racing. After that, she can only roll off Jim to rest on her side, the rest of her still a little too jelly to actually move much. As feeling starts to return to her legs, she leans forward and kisses the side of of his neck, lightly and gently before starting to extract herself from bed. "I'll be right back," she states, smiling at him as she moves toward the door, slipping back into her bathrobe only as she gets ready to leave. "There're tissues and a trash can over there," she gestures vaguely before disappearing to the bathroom. She's not gone long. On that romantic note, Jim is rolling over to begin the slow awkward stages of postcoital regrouping. Right. Trash. Tissues. And then the next hurdle: PANTS. Well, underwear first. /Then/ pants, which he blunders around for until he locates them. The business NEEDS to be taken care of, but that's just life for sexually active adults. Mel returns a few minutes later, watching Jim hunt around for his pants. She smiles a little and walks up behind him, ready to embrace again, if he's not too prickly. "Hey. Did you want coffee or something?" Aaaa. Ohh, right. Uh, /embracing/. He claps a hand to either of Melinda’s shoulders. “I,” he states, “would kill for a coffee.” And gives her a little /shake/, moves her aside /by/ her shoulders, and goes in search of his shirt. Well. Undershirt first. Hunt-hunt-hunt. Mel's eyebrows rise as her brow wrinkles, blinking quietly as he moves her and goes back to searching. "Um. Okay." She draws in a deep breath and does an about face, exhaling as she turns to leave him to his clothing finding. She is quite okay with wandering around naked under her bathrobe. She heads for the kitchen, fingers gathering and twisting her mussed hair into a bun at the back of her neck. "Coffee coming up," she announces, casually. By the time Jim comes out of the bedroom, he’s barefoot and /sniffing/ for it, scrubbing at his hair with his nose all ponderously stuck forward? Sniffsniffsniff? And creeps up behind Melinda to peer over her shoulder. Don’t mind him. He’s just /nosy/ about what she’s doing. Melinda has ground fresh coffee and has opted to bring out the french press for some rich, dark, thick coffee, rather than the standard drip machine. She's eyeing a couple spice bottles as well. "Nutmeg or cinnamon - or neither?" She asks, the kettle on the stove starting to really get hot by now. "So..." And so it begins. She turns to look at him. "What do you like to do after sex?" “What?” Jim goes from industriously inhaling the scent of coffee grounds to wrinkling his nose like he smells something funky, squinting at the side of Melinda’s head, “The hell kind of question is that?” "Hmmm. Well, I... it was just... Sorry. Just curious." Mel frowns a little and leans against the counter. She is thoughtful for a while and fingering the bottle of nutmeg for a while before taking the cap off and extending her arm, offering it to Jim. "I had a good time." She gives a quick smile, but turns away when the kettle starts to whistle. “Oh, for crying-.” Yeah, no. The kettle can whistle all it wants but Jim’s closed a big steady hand around Melinda’s wrist when she extends the nutmeg. He /takes/ the nutmeg from her and sets aside where she can’t /get/ at it, tugging her back around to face him. “Could you chill out? Just cool it. It was good. If you’re good, I’m good.” But now he’s looking /upset/, his brow mapped out in furrows. "Oh." Mel blinks, studying his expression. Her brow takes on some wrinkles of its own. She glances at her arm, her wrist wrapped, the way he holds it, then back up to his face, the focus of his gaze, the shape of his mouth. "Yeah. I'm good. Really good. Why are things harder with our clothes on?" Eyes travel down his body, stopping around his midsection before looking up at him. "Can you turn off the stove?" Jim drops a hand, fumbles for the turndial, shuts off the stove - /all/ without looking away from Melinda’s face. Somehow, he manages to do this also without setting himself on fire. “Because then you go /running around/ again,” he has this answer /ready/. “Just. /Look/. I’ma go sit on the fucking couch. And once you got coffee going, you come and sit the fuck down, too. I smoke in here?” He’s letting go of her arm. "Near the window," Mel notes, glancing toward the living room, then back at Jim. "I don't care. Just... haven't asked the other roommates." She considers for a moment. "You can smoke in my room." She turns away and pours the hot water into the french press, filling it up, then putting the kettle back down. Both cinnamon and nutmeg are forgotten. Jim has his smokes out all too quickly, lipping out a cigarette by the filter - /high-tailing/ it for Melinda’s room like it’s the promised land. “-You don’t smoke, do you?” He calls over his shoulder, going into the room and CLOSING it behind him. Leaning against the doorframe inside Melinda’s room to shout at her from the smoking zone. "Uh, no. not as much," Melinda replies quietly and starts gathering things for bedroom coffee. When she makes her way to the bedroom, she's got two mugs and the french press in one hand. In the other, spoons, half and half and honey. She kicks the door gently for admittance. With cigarette tucked in the side of his mouth, Jim pushes open the door for Melinda to enter, closing it behind her. “Maybe you should try it.” He follows along behind her as they move back into the bedroom, Jim plopping down on the bed and, without further thought, hands over his Marlboro to Melinda. In exchange /for/ a coffee, maybe. Melinda starts putting things down on the nightstand, as she can do little else until she does. She then pushes the plunger down on the coffee and watches the filtered section of the vessel grow in size. She pours. "Oh, well, I don't know how? I mean, I guess, I could." She hands a mug to Jim, and then pours one for herself, cracking open the window before sliding back onto the bed. "I just don't fancy the idea of ruining this nice sex buzz with coughing and hacking." Hey coffee, come to /papa/. Jim has his legs all stretched out, folded at the ankles. In one hand he has coffee, in his other, a cigarette. It doesn’t get better than this, and he takes another drag, “You only cough and hack if you’re doing it wrong. Here.” He slurps his coffee and leans nearer to Melinda, bracing his shoulder against hers. “I’ll show you.”