[ There should be a flicker, Hawke thinks, of embarrassment for the very obvious way they're slipping out of the bar and back into the lobby. Yet, Hawke can't find it in herself to feel shame because she thinks about what the rest of the night will bring, of how badly she wants it. Her body warms at the thought. Rocky is... interesting and enthusiastic and nothing like anything else she's had in her bed. This will either go incredibly right or incredibly wrong -- but either way, she hopes to get off regardless.

When they step into the elevator and are alone completely, Hawke will slide her arms around his waist under his jacket and press flush against him. The dress won't leave too much to the imagination at that and she'll move to keep her feet between his. A thoughtful hum follows as her hands wander up his back to feel what she can. It's a nice thing, being able to touch. ]

And you're not one of those, are you? I didn't think you were. Not that I'd be opposed, but I'd like to be prepared.

[ Though she is decidedly wondering about what a "fuckbot" might entail. What could possibly be-- Oh wait, that wasn't even what they were talking about. ]

Ah, oh. Right. I suppose we'll see your room when we get there? I'd prefer a bed, if I'm honest, so I'd really like you to have one.