Can You Tell Me That You Could Pass Up On This Gorgeous Man Reclined On A Sofa? Pshaw!

Can you tell me that you could pass up on this gorgeous man reclined on a sofa? Pshaw!

As @historysquib calls them, a Palate Cleanser fic:

Margo entered her office and shut the door softly behind her. Turning, she slumped against the door briefly and released a sigh. It had been the most tiresome of evenings. Three hours building support for a new proposal by the recently defected Sergei had been needlessly tedious. Margo was well practiced at moving political levers, but new Russian defectors had a break-in period for trust building in the wider political sphere that could not be abridged.

She turned to her drinks cabinet and turned on the lamp above it. She considered how many fingers of brandy that loss of time was worth, before finally settling on a light pour–any more would turn her out like a light as tired as she was. Margo pondered what she would ideally need to relax: a stiff drink or… Her thoughts trailed away and found their home on her sofa.

On her sofa Sergei reclined with a hand thrown back behind his head. The other hand was draped across his chest and trapped a creased report that threatened to slide to the floor. His relaxed countenance flooded her heart with warmth as she crossed the room towards him. She flicked on the lamp at the side table behind his head and observed his slumber. He looked markedly improved from his Lefortovo stay. His hair had grown back in, disheveled from his repose on what she knew wasn’t the most comfortable of couches. He seemed to be managing his traumatic stint in jail by leaving his frail self behind with wild hair, wilder beard and a filling out of his frame. It was an improvement of his physical health and image that she made no secret of liking.

Taking a seat near him on the coffee table, she set aside her brandy and removed the report from his grasp. Briefly scanning the report, she replaced it with her hand, she called to him softly, “Sergei.”

Sergei mumbled some indiscernible Russian in response and shifted slightly. Margo shook his hand lightly and called to him again. He blinked awake and smiled at her.

“Did you need your Soviet expert?” Sergei groggily asked.

Margo leant forward, “Something like that,” she drawled before placing a soft kiss on his smirking lips. Sergei responded slowly, kissing her softly in return. His hand came up to caress her face before sliding into her hair. Margo pressed a light kiss to his lips before she eased back to her seat beside him. She glanced at the time on her wrist and looked at him shrewdly.

“Were you waiting for me or for the resolution on your proposal?”

He grinned at her and levered himself up, leaning towards her to plant a kiss on her cheek before whispering into her ear, “Both, naturally.”

He drifted more kisses down her neck before she halted him, both hands clasping his head and redirecting him up to face her.

“Sergei,” she chided, eyes semi-serious. She was tired and needed to go to bed. The sooner she could maneuver him out of her office the better. She would get no rest otherwise. “I need to go to bed and you need to go home.”

“Ah, but home is where you are, Margo,” he replied quickly. “I cannot sleep without you.” He made to continue his onslaught of her neck, but was forestalled by Margo’s halfhearted evasion.

She snorted and shook her head, “And just now?” She gestured to the sofa.

"A convenient rest of the eyes,” Sergei rejoined. Margo raised her eyebrows. “It may have gotten away from me,” he amended with a shrug. He pursed his lips before smiling that absolutely obnoxious, and in no-way devastating, grin at her.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded in response. “I'm off to bed.” She took off her shoes and bent to retrieve them. Sighing gratefully at their removal.

"Do you need help finding your way there? Perhaps an expert on navigation could help?” Sergei murmured with no small amount of cheek. “Perhaps another Soviet first?”

Sergei stood up and took her shoes in one hand and her hand in the other, pulling her to her feet.

“A Soviet first?” Margo questioned, exasperated.

“Exploring the bedroom of the NASA director, a first for all man-”

Margo interrupted him with a slap to the back of the head.

“Ah, woman!” Sergei cried in mock pain.

Margo walked briskly forward, leaving Sergei behind. She hesitated at the office door while Sergei stood rubbing the back of his head. The smile on his face sent shivers up her spine. She couldn't and wouldn't send him away no matter what she threatened and he knew it.

“Perhaps you are right. A Soviet first,” she said with some emphasis. At that she turned the lock on her office door and briefly stopped at the threshold of her bedroom, “You coming?” She called behind her.

Sergei followed diligently, carrying her shoes.

Good news, he ran away from the KGB, he's fine now