Secret Santa fic for clea2011. Sorry about the lack of smut, but I think my smut bunnies have gone missing in action the last few months.
Suggested maximum wordcount? What suggested maximum wordcount? I'm within 500 words of it, what more do you want?! :-)
Title: Not Quite According to Plan
Warnings: Minor peril, mostly fluff, some angst.
Disclaimer: Not mine. ITV and Impossible Pictures own them.
Word count: approx 5385
Summary: Becker had Christmas planned down to the last detail. Unfortunately, he forgot to tell the universe, and Connor, just what that plan was.
AN: Secret Santa fic for clea2011, based on the prompts, ‘snowy, wintry weather’, ‘keeping warm’, and ‘stranded somewhere remote’. Thanks to fififolle for the beta. I added a couple of bits after she looked at it, so if you spot any mistakes they'll be mine!
Connor became aware of a soft nuzzling sensation on his shoulder, and he wriggled closer to the warm body behind him.
“M’awake,” he mumbled, although he hadn’t actually opened his eyes yet.
“I’m not actually convinced that you are, you know.”
Becker’s voice was an amused breath of air in his ear, and something permeated Connor’s consciousness enough to make him open his eyes and turn over, frowning in confusion.
“What are you doing here?”
“What, you were expecting someone else to be spooned up behind you in bed? And if so, who?” Becker looked about as confused as Connor felt.
“No, I mean, what are you doing here right now? What happened to the morning run?”
“Much as I admire dedication to routine and a healthy physical fitness regime, even I’m willing to take a day off on Christmas Eve.”
Connor pondered this briefly. “Where’s the real Becker and what have you done with him?”
“Buried his body in the back garden, I’m actually his evil twin.”
“Cool. Do you make better bacon butties than he does?”
Becker swatted him playfully, and Connor ducked back, in the process letting the duvet escape from around his face.
“Bloody hell, it’s freezing!”
He dived back into the duvet and tugged it up around him, gathering it close to his body, and curling up into a ball. He had forgotten for a moment that they were not at home in their cosy centrally-heated flat, and were spending Christmas in a little holiday cottage in the Cumbrian countryside. The big open fire in the living room was gorgeous, but the heating in the rest of the rooms left something to be desired.
“It is a little bit chilly,” Becker acknowledged. He leaned out of bed and pulled the curtain aside, letting entirely too much sunlight into the room for Connor’s liking. “I think it might snow later.”
Connor squeaked, and snuggled even further into the rapidly diminishing warmth of the bed.
Becker just raised an eyebrow at him.
“I take it that was Connor-speak for, ‘stop letting all the cold air in and get back in here and cuddle me right now’?”
Becker rolled his eyes, but did just that, and in a few moments they were snuggled together under the duvet again. By that point, though, Connor had to admit his chances of going back to sleep were pretty thin. Of course, there were other things they could do that didn’t involve getting up. And they were on holiday...
“Becks, you know how much I like your body, and I would never want to be accused of distracting you from that exciting fitness regime.”
Becker raised his eyebrows again.
“There are lots of other types of workout you could do that don’t even involve leaving the bed.”
“Connor, that was the most terrible attempt at seduction I’ve ever heard!”
“Don’t need to seduce you, I’ve already got you,” Connor pointed out.
“Wonderful. The romance has gone from our relationship already.”
“You weren’t saying that last night.” Connor let his hand wander south until he found Becker’s cock, already beginning to take an interest despite Becker’s complaints.
“Now you’re cheating,” Becker said. He sounded a little breathless.
“You noticed that, did you?” Connor grinned.
Before Becker could reply, Connor pushed him onto his back and kissed him, soft and distracting, taking his time until they both needed air. His hand never left Becker’s cock, and when he finally broke off the kiss Becker gave a needy moan.
“I could stop if you like?”
Becker somehow managed to look both horrified and supremely content at the same time.
“Don’t you dare.”
Connor grinned, and continued to cheat for the rest of the morning.
He was right, it did start snowing later. Becker stood at the window looking out over the magnificent view down the hill and across the valley as the snow fell gently but steadily after lunch. It was beautiful, but he was incredibly glad they wouldn’t need to go out in it again for the next few days. Not until they needed to go home, at any rate.
Having a week away in Cumbria for Christmas had been Becker’s idea. He suspected Connor would have been just as happy with a few days at home, or indeed anywhere, as long as he had reliable access to the internet, a mountain of food, and the Doctor Who Christmas Special. But it was their first Christmas together, and Becker had taken it into his head to do something special, so here they were, in a little cottage in the middle of nowhere, with gorgeous scenery, proper winter weather, the requisite mountain of food, and a mostly reliable TV signal. The internet and phone signals left something to be desired, but in truth, Becker secretly hoped that might mean a whole lot more quality time with Connor, without any distractions.
Becker turned away from the window to see Connor pump the air with a fist, before his fingers began to rattle across the keyboard of his laptop.
“What have you done?”
“Got connection long enough to log in to the Doctor Who chat-room.”
Becker frowned, but refrained from saying anything. He headed into the kitchen and did the washing up from breakfast and lunch, and then, because he might possibly have been slightly control freaking over the thought of cooking a full Christmas dinner the following day, he started getting everything out and double checking exactly how long everything needed to cook for. He had decided a turkey was pointlessly big for just two of them, so he had opted for a chicken instead, and that was nicely defrosted, as were the prawns for starters. Veg were all present and correct. He had backed down in the face of feasibility (and his own cooking limitations) on the subject of Yorkshire puddings, and had opted for premade frozen ones.
Everything accounted for, Becker decided it was probably time to make the stuffing, so it would just need throwing in the oven at the appropriate time. Which was a good plan, until...
“Connor? Did you pack the stuffing mix?”
Becker continued to search the cupboards, and then the plastic bags they had brought.
“The stuffing mix. I asked you to grab it and put it in one of the bags on the way out.”
Connor finally appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Isn’t it there?” he asked with rather more hope than conviction for Becker’s liking.
“If it is, it isn’t obvious,” Becker muttered, going through a cupboard that he knew he had already searched.
“I remember seeing it,” Connor said helpfully.
“Yes, but did you pack it?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Maybe.”
Becker stopped searching and turned to look at Connor. Connor shuffled awkwardly.
Becker closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to quell the sudden urge to shout at his lover.
“One thing, Connor. That’s all I asked you to do.”
“I was carrying a load of other stuff as well. I must’ve just left it on the side and meant to go back for it.” Connor sounded defensive now. “Anyway, it’s just stuffing. It’s not like we forgot the chicken or anything. We can do without it.”
“No we can’t!”
Becker surprised himself with the sudden outburst. He opened his eyes again, and saw Connor staring at him in shock.
“Becks, it doesn’t matter, really.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I wanted this to be-” Becker scrubbed a hand through his hair, and then shoved past Connor and grabbed his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
He pulled on his gloves and opened the door into a face full of swirling snow.
“Becker! Where the hell are you going?”
“To the village shop. They might still be open.”
“Don’t be an idiot! You said yourself you didn’t want to drive on these country roads in the snow.”
That much was true, but he didn’t want to hear it. Not from Connor, not right then. Becker braced himself and stepped outside. Connor grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“Seriously Becker, what’s wrong? It’s one tiny little thing that really doesn’t matter. Why are you being like this?”
But that was the thing – it did matter. And right then he really couldn’t bring himself to try to explain why.
He rounded on Connor.
“Why don’t you just go back to your bloody Doctor Who site? You obviously care more about that than you do about our Christmas holiday.”
Becker shook Connor off and walked out to the car, his breath catching at the icy bite to the air. He got in the car, turned it around and set off down the long winding lane to the main road. He tried not to look in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t want to see the look on Connor’s face as he watched him drive away.
The village shop was still open – just. Becker got a slightly annoyed look from the lady behind the counter when he came in, letting all the cold air in with him, and shedding snow all over the entranceway.
He decided to avoid unnecessary loitering by asking where he could find the stuffing mix, and headed straight for the aisle the lady directed him to. She looked slightly less annoyed when she realised that he was a) extremely polite and well mannered, and b) somewhat flustered.
He found what he was after relatively easily, although he couldn’t help noting that the price was about double what he’d paid for the same thing in Tesco. Typical local shop prices, although right then he didn’t have a great deal of choice. On the way back to the counter he was distracted by a selection of puddings, and paused. Sticky toffee pudding was Connor’s favourite, and Becker himself was partial to jam roly poly and custard. It had been one of the few things on the menu at boarding school that he had truly looked forward to as a child.
Already he was regretting his overreaction. His mind kept flashing back to the image of Connor standing in the doorway watching him leave, and the kicked puppy look on his face.
But at the same time he couldn’t help the anger and frustration he felt every time he thought about it. He had just wanted everything to be right. He wanted one Christmas that was perfect, right down to the last detail.
Becker didn’t have many perfect Christmases that he could remember. For the last several years running, first in the army and then at the ARC, he had contrived to be on duty for the Christmas period, mostly, he had to admit, in an effort to avoid having to spend it with his family.
This year, his first Christmas with Connor since they had become serious and moved in together, he had convinced himself it would be different. Proper home cooked Christmas dinner, just the two of them together, snuggled in front of an open fire. No tension, no awkward questions about why he didn’t have a girlfriend, no snide comments about his current ‘safe’ posting away from a combat zone, no possibility of the simple matter of carving the turkey turning into an alpha male pissing contest with his father. No arguments...
Well, he had done a damn fine job of that one, hadn’t he?
Becker grabbed both the mini puddings off the shelf, and a packet of instant custard to go with them. He was still annoyed about the fact that he seemed to be the one putting all the work into this holiday, but he was also man enough to admit that he owed Connor an apology. He hoped the pudding would make a suitable peace offering.
“Whereabouts are you heading?” the shopkeeper asked as she rung up his purchases. Clearly she had discerned from his accent and the fact that she didn’t know him that he wasn’t a local.
“Staying at the holiday cottage on the hill.”
The lady gave him an appraising once over, which Becker found somewhat disconcerting.
“If you want my advice, you’d be best heading back sooner rather than later, and staying in once you get there. They don’t send the gritters out this far, and that road up the hill is a bad one in good weather, let alone in this.” She nodded towards the window, and the continuing steady snowfall.
Becker nodded and handed over his money. To be fair, if he was capable of driving a jeep on what passed for roads in the desert while being fired at by Taliban operatives, he suspected he could probably make it up a British B road in a bit of bad weather. But he could see her point.
If anything, though, the snow was getting worse by the time he got back in the car and set off out of the valley and up the hill. The sun was setting, not that he could actually see the sun itself through the thick white clouds that filled the sky, and he drove as fast as he dared to get back in decent light. For reasons that completely eluded him, the local council had decided that the country roads didn’t need streetlights, and despite his bravado, he really didn’t fancy doing this in the dark.
He had a horrible feeling Connor was going to be sulking when he got back. That version of sulking where he went all quiet and kept glancing at him with those big brown eyes full of hurt and confusion, like he honestly didn’t know what he had done wrong. Why couldn’t he see how much this meant to Becker?
Well, that would probably be because you never ever talk about your family, so why would he understand why this year was special? Becker’s brain helpfully supplied.
He turned off the main village road onto the single-track lane that led up the hill towards the cottage. The tyre tracks left when he had come down this way were already barely visible.
Oh, god. Was this really going to necessitate an actual conversation about feelings and their relationship? He really hoped not. He wasn’t good at that kind of thing. He suspected Connor wasn’t either. Maybe he could just allude to the difficulties with his family, and tell Connor that Christmas always made him tense, and that was why he had snapped. It was even the truth, albeit an extremely abbreviated version of it.
Becker knew he was going to sound like a whining woman if he even suggested that he was upset because Connor seemed more interested in his internet connection than in him. And it wasn’t even true! Becker liked the fact that they had entirely different interests and hobbies, and that they didn’t have to be doing the same thing together all the time. God knows they worked together all day. He was normally more than happy to sit and read a good book for an hour or so while Connor watched TV, or surfed the net of an evening.
God, when had he become so needy?
Oh yeah, that would be when it was bloody Christmas.
He felt the tyres losing grip, and dropped into second gear to get round a corner. It couldn’t be much further. Becker squinted up the hill through the thick flakes of swirling snow, trying to make out the lights of the cottage.
“Come on, come on.”
That would be just typical, if he ended up crashing the car because of his own stubborn insistence on a perfect Christmas dinner. No, there was the road sign warning of a double bend, and the incredibly tight left turn that meant he wasn’t far from the cottage.
Becker took the corner as slowly as he dared. The back wheel spun once, and then gripped again. He came out of the turn, the headlights showing him a straight run ahead, and Becker let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.
So, what would be the best way of starting the conversation with Connor?
The fox came out of the hedge and darted across the road, its red fur and terrified eyes illuminated in the headlights. Becker hit the brakes and swerved. The back tyres began to skid, and he let go of the brakes and tried to drive on through it. A skid became a full on slide, and all he could do was ride it out. A wall of snow appeared out of the darkness and hurtled towards him.
That was the last thing Becker remembered.
The snow was falling more heavily than ever. Connor shivered and pushed his hands further into his pockets as he stood at the large window looking out over the valley.
Becker should have been back by now.
Not that he was in any way looking forward to Becker’s return, truth be told. Okay, yes, he had forgotten to grab the stuffing even after Becker had asked him twice, but he’d possibly been a bit overexcited at the thought of going on a romantic Christmas holiday with his partner for the first time ever, and was a little bit distracted. It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose!
Connor wasn’t an idiot, and he guessed that there was something else going on, and that the thing with the stuffing had just been the catalyst, but he was honestly at a loss to understand what it might be, and the longer he waited, the more his brain came up with ever more strange and convoluted possibilities. And Becker’s accusation about him caring more about Doctor Who than him was just ridiculous! He had only intended to get online for ten or fifteen minutes and catch up on the latest speculation before the Christmas Special episode, it wasn’t like he was going to spend all night on the internet (which was now completely impossible anyway, since the internet connection was iffy at best, and seemed to have been getting worse along with the weather). Connor suspected he maybe ought to make that clear to Becker when he returned. In fact, putting the laptop away entirely was probably a good idea.
With one last look out into the snow, he set about a bit of tidying, and put the kettle on. The big open fire was beginning to burn low now, and Connor pondered putting another log on it, despite Becker jokingly forbidding him from touching the fire the day before, on the grounds that Connor and an open fire was a health and safety nightmare.
He reluctantly left the warmth of the fire and wandered back over to the window.
Where was Becker? Maybe the village shop hadn’t been open after all. Was he really in enough of a mood that he would drive further afield to get what he wanted? Because if not, he really should have been back by now.
Connor checked his phone, but the signal seemed to have died along with the internet connection.
A sudden flurry of wind swirled the falling snow back up into the air, and in that second Connor thought he saw headlights in the darkness. He couldn’t help glancing back into the room to make sure he hadn’t left any mess that might annoy Becker. No, it was all good. But when he looked back outside, there was no sign of the car coming up the path to the cottage.
Okay, now Connor was starting to get properly worried. What if something had happened to Becker? What was that light he had seen if it wasn’t Becker coming back?
Connor took another look at his mobile just in case a signal had appeared in the last five minutes, but was unsurprised when it hadn’t. Becker was probably going to shout at him for being stupid, but Connor knew he couldn’t just stand there any longer. He had to do something.
He pulled on a fleece hoody and a jacket and his gloves and boots, and opened the door. Shit, it really was becoming a proper blizzard now, and not just a bit of snow. The cold was enough to steal his breath for a second, and Connor slammed the door behind him to keep the heat inside the cottage while he braced himself against the icy wind and squinted into the darkness.
The snow was several inches deep, and he stepped carefully through it towards the end of the drive and the gateway that led onto the road. Maybe Becker had been cut off by the snow and was staying in the village until it eased off a bit? Of course, he would have tried to call, but with the mobile phone signal practically nonexistent the message wouldn’t have got through.
But honestly, Connor didn’t believe that at all. He knew Becker, and he knew how much of a stubborn bugger he could be at times. If there was even the slightest chance he could make it home, he would have tried, and Connor also knew that Becker had driven in far worse conditions than these in the past.
Connor made it to the gate without falling over, and peered up and down the road.
Becker’s car was less than 200 yards away, one headlight steadfastly illuminating the falling snow. It took Connor a few seconds to realise that the driver’s side light was buried deep in the drifted snow at the roadside. Drifted, because there was a dry stone wall hidden behind it.
Connor ploughed through the snow, flailing his arms to stay upright. He yanked the passenger side door open and leaned in.
Becker was slumped against the side window, and his eyes were closed. Connor scrambled into the car, knocking several things off the passenger seat as he did so, and shook his glove off so he could feel for a pulse.
“Come on, Becker, I know you’re a stubborn bastard, you can’t die on me like this.”
“Wasn’t planning to,” Becker mumbled, his voice so quiet Connor almost couldn’t make out the words.
“Becker!” Connor jumped and whacked his head on the roof and swore loudly.
Becker opened his eyes and turned to look at Connor, and immediately winced.
There was blood smeared down the side of his face, and a matching patch of red on the smashed side window.
“Uh... that doesn’t look good,” Connor said. He pulled his phone out again, more in hope than expectation, and wasn’t surprised by the result. “Becks, there’s no signal, I can’t call for an ambulance or anything. And you’re going to freeze if we stay out here. We need to get back into the house. Can you move?”
Becker mumbled something that might have been yes, but was otherwise unintelligible. Nevertheless, he started fumbling at the clasp of his seatbelt. After a few seconds, Connor batted his hand out of the way and did it for him.
“Right, you can’t get out that side, it’s stuck against the wall. You’ll have to climb out over this side.”
Connor shuffled backwards out of the car to give Becker space to move, and somehow, with a lot of swearing and tangled limbs and Connor providing support, Becker managed to manoeuvre himself out until Connor got him propped up against the side of the car.
“Can you walk?”
Becker looked like he was going for a disdainful expression, but in truth he still looked scarily out of it, his eyes groggy and unfocussed. He stood up and wobbled straight into Connor’s waiting arms.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Connor muttered. He slung Becker’s arm around his own shoulders, and then looped his arms round Becker’s waist, and began the journey back to the cottage. The fact that Becker let him do that without complaint was almost as scary as the sight that had greeted him when he had opened the car door.
He didn’t remember much about getting from the road to the living room, only the icy, biting cold, and the fact that Becker was bloody heavy. Eventually he all but dropped Becker onto the sofa in front of the fire, and then stopped to catch his breath for a second before stripping off his soaking jacket and gloves and kicking away the boots. Then he turned his attention to Becker.
The blood was coming from a gash on his temple, and Connor now had enough experience with anomaly-related injuries to recognise that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. He was sure Becker had once said something about even minor head wounds bleeding a lot. Or maybe it had been Stephen. Either way, it needed to be dealt with, but Connor was pretty sure that it was the least important priority. He could tell that Becker was dangerously cold, and he was starting to wonder if his sluggish responses were more to do with that than concussion. He didn’t know, and there was no chance of getting hold of anyone else who might be able to help.
“Don’t move,” Connor ordered, and ran off, coming back a moment later dragging an armful of blankets from the bedding cupboard. He dumped them in front of the fire, and then proceeded to strip Becker’s wet clothes off, coaxing him into helping and moving where necessary, and just manhandling him the rest of the time.
Eventually he got Becker wrapped up in three large blankets on the sofa, their wet clothes thrown into a pile out of the way. Connor ran back to the bedroom and grabbed himself some dry trousers and a t-shirt, paused for a moment, and then pulled the duvet off the bed and into the living room. Becker hadn’t moved, which was more than a little worrying. Connor threw the duvet over Becker, and then scrambled under it himself, dragging it around them like a nest, and wrapped his arms around Becker.
They stayed like that for a long time, heat gradually creeping back into their bodies, from the fire, and from each other. Connor had lost track of time when Becker began to move of his own accord again, but only so that he could curl even closer into Connor and steal more of his warmth. Connor grumbled quietly but found Becker’s hands under the blankets and started to rub them again.
“I’ll make us some tea soon, that’ll warm you up. And put some more wood on the fire.” Connor knew he was rambling, but he didn’t really care.
Becker mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like it involved the words, ‘burn the house down’.
“Oi! In case you hadn’t noticed I’ve just saved your life. Stop being horrible to me!”
Becker frowned and he forced his eyes open and peered up at Connor.
“Sensible, not horrible.”
“Thanks,” Connor muttered, hoping he didn’t sound as petulant as he thought he did.
Becker sighed and snuggled deeper under the mound of bedding. Connor felt Becker’s arms sneak around his body, and then he all but squawked out loud when Becker burrowed his exceedingly cold nose into the crook of Connor’s neck.
“Gah! Could you at least give me a bit of warning next time you’re going to do that?”
A soft huff of breath against his collar bone told Connor that Becker was actually chuckling.
“Well, if you’re laughing at me I suppose at least it means you’re probably getting better.”
Connor finally began to relax, and was gently stroking Becker’s damp hair while he allowed himself to be used as a hot water bottle by his increasingly wriggly lover.
“I had noticed, by the way,” Becker eventually said. “You saving me.” He cuddled closer, and Connor felt a soft kiss on his skin. “Thank you. You’re brilliant.”
“I know. But it’s always nice to hear it sometimes.”
Becker chuckled again, and Connor decided to take advantage of the moment, before Becker became fully awake and alert.
“Sorry about what happened before. I am. I didn’t want to mess up Christmas dinner, it was a mistake, I just forgot it. And for the record, I do care more about you than about the Doctor Who Christmas special.”
Becker hesitated before he replied.
“I’m sorry I overreacted. I know it wasn’t your fault, not really. Christmas... isn’t a good time for me.”
“Why? Are near-death experiences at Christmas a regular thing? Because if so, you could have warned me in advance.”
“No. Just... some not good memories, that’s all. I wanted it all to be perfect for once. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I am sorry, Connor. I mean that, I’m not just saying it because I owe you one.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Connor didn’t know, and Becker didn’t seem keen to elaborate, so Connor decided not to push it. Not right then, at any rate. The fact that Becker wasn’t dying of hypothermia, and apparently wasn’t angry with him any more was good enough for Connor.
They both became quiet and simply continued to cuddle until Connor decided it really was time for hot drinks and a bigger fire. Even then, he only emerged from the warmth of their cocoon long enough to do what was necessary, and then scrambled back as quickly as possible, this time with his hands wrapped protectively around a steaming cup of tea.
“I should probably do something about that cut on your head at some point.”
Becker prodded it, and winced.
“Feels like it’s stopped bleeding already anyway. I’ve got a bit of a headache, but that’s all.”
“Typical.” Connor rolled his eyes. “The last twice I’ve been in a car accident I’ve been concussed and unconscious and everything. You just get ‘a bit of a headache’.”
“I could pretend to be more concussed, if that would make you happier?” Becker threw him a sly smile. “Of course, that would mean I might be too badly hurt to cook Christmas dinner tomorrow. You’d have to do it all.”
Connor spluttered tea in a thoroughly undignified manner, and glared at Becker’s laugh.
“I’m sure it can’t be that difficult for a man of your intelligence to cook a roast dinner. And I can always supervise.”
“Supervise? Great, that’s just what I need – you control freaking over my shoulder. I’m not sure which one of us would resort to murder first!”
“I accuse Connor Temple in the kitchen with the potato peeler,” Becker announced. Connor jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.
“Besides, I don’t need any supervision at all to put pizza and chips in the oven.”
“We are not having pizza and chips for Christmas dinner.”
“Well, you’d better get recovering then.”
Becker grumbled under his breath as he finished his tea in record time. He dumped the mug on the floor, and then reached over and prised Connor’s half-finished tea out of his hand and removed that as well.
“Hey, I was drinking that!”
“I can’t cuddle you if you’re holding a drink. Do you want to add scalding to my list of injuries?”
Without waiting for a reply, Becker snuggled back down under the duvet and put his arms around Connor and settled down against his chest. Connor let him shuffle around until he got comfortable, and then wrapped Becker up in a hug.
“You’re very demanding when you’re injured.”
“You’re very demanding all the time.”
Connor didn’t even bother to protest that one.
“So,” Connor said. “White Christmas, just us, snuggling together in front of an open fire. All worked out pretty well. Apart from the whole nearly hypothermia thing.”
“Yeah, apart from that.” Becker glanced up at him and smirked. “Don’t suppose you picked up the stuffing mix and the puddings from the car as well, did you?”
“Sticky toffee. Your favourite. And custard.”
Connor pretended to consider this for several seconds.
“I’ll go get them later.”
Becker pouted and tried his very best puppy eyes.
“I’m quite traumatised, and knowing that we’d got everything in from the car for tomorrow would make me feel better.” Humour danced in his dark eyes, and he struggled to keep a straight face as he added, “If you loved me, you’d go and get them now.”
“Don’t push it.”