"Oh yeah," he said, head shoved deep into the second storage locker. "Tons." For a tiny woman, she sure was pushy. He ignored her oh-so-subtle lightswitch hint and kept looking at movie titles. He hadn't seen a decent movie in months; he was depressingly out of touch.

As soon as he got a room, he was so getting a TV.

"Hey, sweetheart, you have a favourite film?" He glanced over his shoulder at the lean figure silhouetted in the doorway. Light brushed over naked shoulders, highlighted fine-cut muscles, glinted in pale blue irises. "I'm betting not. You strike me as the ridiculously active type."

He swung away from storage locker and strolled back to his tour guide, tweaking a wild brown spike of hair as he passed. "Head of torture over there, right? I vote we go left."

He moved as he talked, suiting actions to words.