Once her fingers closed around his wrist and the deceptive, yet gentle strength in which she used to propel him downward and onto the squishy cushions of the leather couch, there was little he could do to deny the more than subtle clue that she demanded nearness. He could have pulled away, balked it off with some flippant and evasive comment about absence of leg room and the fascination he found with spring mechanized recliner chairs, but neither seemed appropriate and both insulting at best. Instead he followed the draw of her hand, an expression of mild surprise widening his eyes as he bounced unceremoniously upon the cushions once or twice before awkwardly settling in at her side.
“I've heard that before,” he teased, a wry look in his eyes. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he believed her, but there was little to be done of it and this was Rose. She wasn't supposed to render him useless with innocent physical advances. He swallowed whatever nervousness that had started to build in his gut and played it off with a pointed nudge from his shoulder to hers. “Shove over then, and give me some of that blanket you're already hogging,” he scoffed, wiggling down into the seat and stretching out enough to slip a hand into his pocket to retrieve the sonic screwdriver.
He thumbed a button and pointed the glowing blue instrument toward the ceiling, dimming the lights until there was only the projector screen to cast varying colors throughout the room each time the scene changed to something new.