"Douglas, you are fifty minutes late," Martin chides when his first officer finally shows up in the portacabin.
"Well, I wouldn't call it late," Douglas replies smoothly. "After all, I've been at the airport since seven."
"Doing what, exactly? Surely it didn't take you almost one hour to make your way from the car park to here?"
"Of course it did. Today is International Kissing Day; the celebration slowed me down a tad."
When Douglas purses his lips to mimic a kiss, Martin groans. "Oh god, tell me you're not walking around 'celebrating' with every woman unlucky enough to come across you."
"Close," Douglas says. "You got a few details wrong, though. Say, Martin, have you celebrated International Kissing Day yet?"
"Me? No, of course not!"
"Well, you should."
Douglas moves in, suddenly standing much too close for Martin's comfort.
"Douglas...?" Martin croaks, but before he can think about stepping away, Douglas plants a kiss on his lips. A kiss which is purely chaste and definitely not developing into something more wet, more hot, more demanding.
When they finally break apart, Martin feels warm and fuzzy and... quite good, actually.
"Happy International Kissing Day, Martin," Douglas says smugly.