Author's Notes:

Thanks for the comments. This is as close to stream-of-consciousness as I get. It's not a matter of "engage fingers, disengage forebrain." Roger Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber was evidently written stream-of-consciousness, but it still had a fairly strong plot.

The actual writing had a few false starts, including a whole Ctrl-A, Ctrl-X (in non g33k-sp33k, "nuke the site from orbit") respin.

The exercise for me was more "sit down and write something. Anything. Just write." This one will be slightly more constrained, as I'm trying to build on what's there already, and the next one will narrow further, etc.

On the other hand, I'm starting to get a glimmer of the idea, the pieces. Let's see if I can keep up the pace.

(Those of you who haven't yet started, start with Callan and Sian 1)



Callan nodded, the stubble on his chin scraping her neck lightly. She tensed, then lolled her head on the pillow. A breath escaped from above her pursed lips.

"I've been told that before, yes." The words came out slowly, heavy with thought.

Sian squirmed and turned to face him. "I bet you've been told not to talk about other girls, too." Her smile hid her intent.

Callan let his eyes narrow to match hers. "I didn't talk about anyone in particular." His voice dropped low in tone and volume.

She nodded, succumbing to his Will. "I was only kidding." Her smile went soft, as did her eyes, and her mouth parted.

He lowered his lips to commune with hers.

===

They broke their fast long after the sun cleared the horizon. The air hung rich with the smell of breakfast meats, the sharp tang of juices mixed with the earthiness of a brace of coffees.

Sian caught Callan sneaking a glance at her as he cut his ham steak, and grinned. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever leer at me."

He set down the silverware deliberately, silently, then straightened. "How many times did we make love last night, dear?"

The bedsheet granting her modesty dropped almost free before her hand slapped it back to her chest. "You don't ask that! It completely ruins the mood."

He nodded, eyes never leaving her. "Almost as much as, 'was it good for you,' right?"

"Right!" She nodded once quickly, then broke her gaze and looked down. Staring at a wedge of pineapple, she nodded again slowly. "It was," she said softly. "Very much."

He picked up the coffee and sipped it. The cup warmed his hand and he welcomed the glow as a chill ghosted through the room. "So, how many times?"

Sian whispered, "I lost count after five."

His hand coaxed a slow whorl from the umber liquid. "It was eight, dear."

===

The car glided beside the fire hydrant. Callan looked up and down the street, then at her building. "You really shouldn't tell me where you live. That bus stop back there would have been close enough."

She snorted. "If you weren't parked in a red, I'd show you my apartment."

He smiled. "So soon? This is only the first date."

"It's not like every guy gets the tour." She parried smiles with him, then smirked. "Most don't even get my phone number."

"Well, by that account, I'm none better."

She held out her hand. "Got a mobile?"

He shifted it to her and she tapped the keypad. In a second, her pursette trilled out a tune. She handed it back. "There, that was easy."

"Are you always so direct?"

"After a good night's rest. Or just a good night, at any rate. I can't see how you're still up. Most guys after two or three... What are you smiling at?"

"Isn't talking about prior trysts on par with keeping count and comparing satisfaction?" His eyes sparkled, drawing her in.

"Darn it. Yes. But... I do have a point here -- most guys are just out of it after two or three --"

"As are most women, dear."

"Hey! I thought we weren't going to compare!"

"I didn't mean to, was merely agreeing that last night was unusual."

"Okay, other women aside, because I don't care. What's your secret?"

"Hm?"

"Last night. Being so chipper. Not being sore."

"Sore?"

She slipped her hand down and cupped his pride. "Down here. Does this hurt at all?"

"Hurt? At this rate, I'm going to have to find longer parking spot."

She gave him a quick squeeze. "Down, tiger. I have to finish my shift. Dinner at 6?"

"Very well. Pick you up here?"

"I work at First Federal downtown. Do you know where that is?"

"I'll find out." He tapped the dash. "This car is smarter than I am."

Her laughter raced up and down the scale. She exited, then bowed, oblivious or ignoring the scoop of her short dress daring his eyes. "It must be a genius, then." She winked. "We'll talk about your secret after dinner. It had better not be a pill."

He winked back. "Nothing of the sort, I swear. Scout's honour."