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Douglas removed his shirt and knelt in front of Martin.
"Ready for your next lesson, mon Capitaine?"
"Nngh. I mean, erm, oui, mon, er, numéro un."
"Oui... Ou 'premier officier', pour les connaisseurs."
"Ah. I-I knew that. Um... Je sais le, premier officier."
"Hmm." Douglas' hands paused on the buttons of Martin's trousers.
"Non, non! Je le sais."
"C'est mieux. Si je ne me trompe pas tu voulais me poser une question?"
"Oui, oh, oui." Martin drew a deep breath and composed himself. "Qu'est-ce-qu'il y a au menu ce soir, mon cher Douglas?"
"Excellent, Martin."
"I rehearsed it all morning," Martin burst out, breaking character, because he was damn proud of it, and because Douglas' praise, Douglas saying his name with a French accent while slowly removing Martin's trousers, made it impossible to remember any of the other stuff he'd rehearsed.
"Très bien," Douglas continued to pour aural honey into Martin's ears. "Moi, j'aimerais du Capitaine au chocolat," he murmured, rummaging under the bed and pulling out a jar of chocolate cream. "Si le Capitaine est d'accord avec ce plan, naturellement."
So it was chocolate, not honey, Martin thought, somewhat dizzily. Douglas' voice. Oh wait, he was waiting for Martin's reply.
"Oh oui, oui, maintenant, s'il te plaît, plus vite, oui!" Martin said hastily, using all his remaining words at once.
It was a good idea, because after that Douglas' mouth became too busy, and Martin's brain too fried, for any of them to speak.