Roger groaned, leaning back against Simon's body, tipping his head back to rest on Simon's shoulder. "Simon -"
But Simon had to go and be simply maddening, whispering, "hold that thought, darling," in his ear.
Then he pulled away and Roger heard his footsteps echoing - then silence.
"Simon?" Roger called out, wondering what was going on, but there was no response. A minute, two; it was hard to tell the passage of time without any stimulus at all. He sighed and took off his undershirt, dropping it to the ground. "Simon, is this some sort of game of yours? A little help would be nice, old man -"
Still nothing, and more time passed, Roger tapping his foot simply to hear *something*. Maybe Simon was wanting a show, waiting to see what he'd do, but Roger wasn't going to do a thing without knowing what his surroundings were like. He wished he had a cigarette. He wanted to at least sit *down*. "Simon, what the bloody hell -"
He was going to take the bloody thing off in a minute.