Beneath the Surface (For Weonna)

[CyanDimitrik]

The sudden uptick in aggression as she shoves him off doesn't bother him, likely much to Rianne's vexation. It actually hits him differently now that they've connected on a different level. It feels less like an earnest ire, and more a defense. A posture. A need to protect herself, perhaps more than ever before after being pinned in the ring after their explosive first encounter at that press release. He's pushed off of her, finally breaking the warmth of skin contact - but with a sly snicker, not disappointment.

He's quick to move to the side, however, and pop open his gym bag to retrieve a pair of black boxers. He's not at that point where being casually naked is fine yet. Though after pulling them on, that snicker has evolved into a full laugh. She's going to love this reminder:

"You're in my room, Sporty Spice!"

Meaning, she may have to find something to wear and leave herself, rather than get the luxury of kicking him out. She may be staring down the barrel of the walk of shame, as he forces her to find something to wear that clearly isn't hers before getting to be rid of him by stepping out into the backstage public.

Of course, any thoughts of that may be promptly interrupted with the sudden feel of a soft, adroit peck on the cheek.

"Gimme a second to find pants and you can hang out here."

Of course he wouldn't actually subject her to that kind of humiliation ritual. He just wanted her to know he could, if he felt her bratty disposition warranted it. But true to his word, he sets about finding a pair of slacks to awkwardly pull on over his boots, stuffs his trunks into his gym bag, then unless stopped, takes his leave with his bag to let her keep her dignity.

[Weonna]

Her glare, fierce and unyielding, softened slightly as he moved away, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving her feeling strangely cold and exposed.

The sound of his laughter, light and teasing, sent a fresh wave of heat to her cheeks, her face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and residual anger.

"You're a right wanker, you know that?"

she snapped, her voice hoarse and rough. She looked down at her own body, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red as she realized the state she was in.

"Bloody hell, just... just get out, yeah? I'll find something to wear and get out of your hair."

She turned her head away, hiding her flustered expression as she tried to gather the tattered remains of her pride.

"And don't you dare say a word about this to anyone, or I swear I'll make your life a living hell."

[CyanDimitrik]

Having found and pulled on blessed pants, Drake was about ready to depart and give her her peace and opportunity to compose herself. But she had to say that. She just had to. How could he not respond?

Drake swings around to rest his back against the wall beside his door, giving her a coy smile. "Rianne, Rianne, Rianne... isn't that how you wound up in this situation to begin with?"

Her, attempting to make his life hell. And now look at her. Look at them.

Fully expect her to fuss more, he just shoots her a wink and pops the door open with his near hand. And with a quarter spin, slips on out the opening and shuts the door behind him!