"I'm always right," she corrects - snatching another quick kiss before she sits up, legs tossed carelessly over his lap.

"I'll pack, I suppose - you, on the other hand, will lie there like properly recovering royalty. I'd give you a bell to ring, but I do not think that I would put up with that for very long."

Or at all. (Either way.)

"Revel in my temporary domesticity, dear," she drawls, sliding off the edge of the bed and uselessly straightening his collar. "You can never be certain if it will be coming back."