Oz let out a soft huff of amusement. He had fond memories of the situation with the weather adapting coat — not of getting himself stuck in it, obviously, but of the lengths she'd gone through to extract him from it. That had been early in their relationship, before they had even been engaged, but they had already sort of belonged to each other; Oz doubted, looking back on it, that Thomasina was quite so exacting with the patients she was not wildly attracted to. He was charmed that she had crafted an insult that was well-aimed and accurate and managed to bring back pleasant memories. That was no mean feat. He was even more charmed that she'd apparently thought through a variety of these, based on different outcomes of the election. It made her lazier jabs this morning quite forgivable.

"You'd have been better off married to a traditionalist," he countered playfully, as he caressed her through her dressing gown. "The only men who could be happily married to you are the ones who never listen to a word that leaves their wives' mouths." He slid his thigh over, moving into her fingertips. At this point he was half stradling her, and their clothing was going to become problematic sooner rather than later. Thankfully house coats were easily removed.

Oz propped himself up on his other elbow, still using his right hand to massage her breast, then leaned down to hungrily kiss her neck. After a moment he popped his head up and considered her with a grin. "What would you have said if Whitledge had won? It would have been hard to top that," he said with a chuckle. "As insults go."

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