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An eyebrow shot up and there might have been a muffled giggle. "Oh, I'm always packing, hotcakes." His folded pants were decimated and he winced, resisting the urge to get back up and refold them. "Harley, I don't think you would know how to be not-fun." He grinned. Despite his protests and blushes, he was having fun. soemtimes it was nice to jsut be silly.

"Smut robot, smut ro..bot," he said as she patted his head, his voice appropriately robotic, complete with robot arm movements. With a resigned noise, he picked up the book. And set it back down, got up and went to fold his pants. Not that wrinkles bothered him, but... When he was in someone else's room, Horace's tidy-o-meter shot up by tenfold. He shot an arch look at Harley - don't you laugh, young lady. Satisfied with the reslut, he moved back to the bed, flopping so hard it the bed squeaked.

With a thoughtful hum, he picked up the book and flipped through it. "You know, the girl in this is a redhead, too. I don't think you dress up like maids or anything, though." Blue eyes raked her up and down. Nope, not maid-like. Maybe brash was a good word. Sighing, he began to read. And yes, it was very, very steamy.

Harley was still laughing, unable to stop now faced with a smut robot in glowy boxers. The pat on his had continued once more, and then migrated to his cheek for a quick one-two tap. "I like you, you can call me Hattie!" She announced as if it were some great achievement. It wasn't.

Now if only she knew his name beyond Not-Dylon.

Horace earned himself a wide-eyed look of innocence as gave her that look, and she even went as far as pressing her lips into a thin line, as to avoid the whole thing at all. He flopped on the bed, and Harley broke her vow of innocent silence for a small yelp and a giggle.

"I can be a maid! I just...I'm really shitty at cleaning...and maintenance...and I can't sew..." But she tried to look innocent about it all, and hoped he wouldn't look at the discarded pile of clothing that had not in the slightest been looked after. They just stayed where they fell, really. Thankfully he started reading again, and she leaned down like she had before, over her crossed legs with her chin in her hands, elbows on the mattress, and blue eyes focused on her newest of best friends.

She didn't even hear the initial creak of the door, as she was too busy blushing at the rather steamy words tumbling out of Not-Dylon's mouth. It was actual Dylon's entry that caught her attention, and first she let out a rather loud cry of surprise, flailing a bit to sit properly.

Oh. It was Dylon.

Cool!

"...H-hey! WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?" She cried, shaking off her surprise with laughter, and when he started to strip too, she cheered. "It's no pants day EVERY DAY!" Arms were in the air, stretched high, and blue eyes were narrowed with mirth.

"Yeees, come join us!" She pat the bed beside her. "Smut-bot here is reading a pretty steamy book! It's all the good part."

"Sorry, sweetpea! I was busy with work. Had no idea I'd have company." And oh how welcome it was! He could get on board with No Pants WEEK, let alone day.

"Don't get your boxers in a bunch, Smut Lord." Dylon grinned, giving a strut and pose in his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. "Why thank you. I dare to love fancy." He leapt onto the bed with them, with what little room there would be left.

"Don't mind if I do~. So is it open mic night? Smutty poetry readings?"

There was simply far too much laughter to stay sulky and embarrassed. Horace shuffled over to free up some room. It wasn't a king bed, after all, although it likely had a lot of use. Suddenly, he hoped Dylon washed his sheets regularly.

"Oh wow are you Professor Hattie now?" But he let go of the book without resistance and grinned at Dylon. "We are reading fine literature, Casanova. You must do sound effects, too." Not that Horace had, beyond altering his voice to match the mood, but... He imagined Dylon going 'slchk slchk' and chuckled. Then a weird thought struck him.

Horace turned accusing eyes on Harley. "Do you even remember my name?"

Harley was grinning away between the two men and the shared smut book, more than happy to listen to ol' Casanova pick up where Not-Dylon had left off. Her chin was back on her hands, but this time her elbows were on her legs, and she was about to close her big blue eyes when Not-Dylon asked her a pretty serious question. The most innocent stare she could muster was turned towards him, though all she really ended up with was a look that clearly said busted.

"Not even slightly." She admitted, at least trying to look sheepish about it, but really only looking guilty. "When you told me, I was wondering if I should put my clothes back on, so I missed it." At the very least she was being completely honest about it, including the gesture towards Dylon. "I was hoping he'd say your name when he came home."

"Forgive me? Maybe? Please?"

"Harley you're such a meanie." Dylon mocked, pulling her by the ear. "His name is...." He pretended he needed to think about it, humming and hawing and looking to Horace as if he needed help.

"Horace! His name is Horace." A flashed grin was passed his way.

He was punished for his dramatization with a pillow attack. Dylon mocked a hero's death and flopped backwards onto the bed.

Snorting at Dylon, Horace laid one hand on his bare chest. "Alas, poor Dylon, I knew him well," he intoned dramatically. To Harley, however, he shot a dirty look and muttered something that sounded suspisciously like 'a**? my a**'. But at least it wasn't 'Whore a**'.

Shuffling into some fort of a sitting position, Horace leaned forward and grasped Harley's hands. He looked deeply into her eyes. "Harley," he released one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear in an exaggerated gesture. Horace's voice was serious and his face stoic. "-if you promise to remember my name, we can do whatever you want." Then he poked her in the shoulder. And, for good measure, he jabbed Dylon in the ribs too.

"Where did you find her?" He asked, grinning, as if Harley was a puppy or a small kitten that had followed Dylon home.

"Dylon's d---oh." She paused to stare at the still (breathing) body of her friend as if seeing it for the first time, and briefly considered some CPR to revive him. But then, as it were, Horace's hands had taken up both of hers, and that gave her something new to look at; namely the over-acting bullshit that had taken over her newest friend's face. He looked like he was one of the stars on those daytime shows she used to put on for background noise when she got lonely, and it was very difficult for her to keep a straight face. Especially when he brushed her hair behind her ear.

But oh, did she try.

The shoulder poke helped, but she was already interrupting their little conversation.

"-Whatever I want?" She repeated, placing heavy emphasis on the word in an attempt to over act just as much as he was. Her hands freed themselves from his, and instead cupped the sides of his face, brushing her thumb gently against his cheek. "Then-" She snickered for a moment, forcing herself to pause. She sucked in the corners of her mouth as she tried to get her facial features under control, her lips pressing into a thin line until she could resume a fairly passable poker face. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep the mirth from her eyes. But oh did she try.

"Then-" She tried again, with much better success. "-lay some on me, brown sugar." Her shoulders shifted dramatically for a moment as she choked on a small laugh, but it was only for a split second. Before she could actually laugh she pulled Horace in for a deep kiss, stifling herself with his lips.