Work Text:
Perry and Della peeked around the corner of the hallway toward #61.
"You're sure he's gone? No one else in the room?" Della whispered.
"Paul's man has been with him all day," Perry replied.
"How are we going to get in?"
Just then, a cleaning woman trundled her cart out of the adjacent room and unlocked #61.
Perry held Della up against him, out of sight, until the door swung could see him working the problem over in his mind, his brain working at a rapid pace as the rest of him remained entirely still.
"Do you have any lipstick?" he asked. Della rummaged through her purse and produced the gold tube.
"Going in drag?" Della asked.
"She won't ask questions of amorous honeymooners with other things on their mind. Smear some lipstick on my face and make it look like we've been necking in the elevator." He glanced around the corner again, making sure no one else was in the corridor.
Della raised her eyebrows but opened the tube and applied a thick, uneven coat.
Perry was still peeking around the corner when Della put her hand around his neck and pulled his lips to hers. She kissed his lips, cheeks, and neck vigorously for a moment, thoroughly smearing them both with lipstick.
Perry blinked and his brow curved upwards.
"I assumed you'd use your fingers," he whispered.
"Too messy. Besides, this looks more authentic," Della replied, running her fingers through his pompadour. He looked practically dazed and thoroughly kissed.
"Let's go," he whispered, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door. He swept her up in a tight embrace and leaned into the cracked door of room 61, executing a perfect distracted stumble into the room, kissing his way up her neck. "Could you finish later?" Perry murmured to the cleaning woman, putting his back to her and keeping Della out of her line of sight, just in case she could identify either of them. The woman nodded and made a hasty exit, closing the door firmly behind her.
Perry kept Della gathered against his chest and tilted her head up to his for a slow, intimate kiss. It was Della's turn, she was sure, to look practically dazed and thoroughly kissed.
"What was that for?" she asked.
"Had to keep up the charade just in case she forgot her mop," he excused.
"You look positively ridiculous with that on your face," Della said in non-reply. She pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket and began to wipe her lipstick off him.
"Let me assure you, Ms. Street, that you're sporting just as much lipstick and just as wide a satisfied smile as I am," he retorted.
Della blushed, hiding it by digging for her compact.
"I'd like to try that again sometime–without an audience," he murmured, tracing a finger down her jawline.
"I'm afraid I'll be working late with my boss tonight. But if you're willing to wait up…" she trailed off, looking coyly at him through her dark lashes.
"I'll wait as long as I have to," he replied. "I'll even have an extra cup of coffee if I get to feeling drowsy. Something tells me, though, that's unlikely," he added with a twinkle in his eye.
"Til tonight, then," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck for one final kiss before they got back to work.