This story started here.
Pete got to his feet, clutching his worn quilt around him, and shuffled across the apartment to starling's sleeping bag. There was a bit of real estate available on the pad where she slept, so he lay down there, the quilt wrapped around him.
After a moment, when she didn't react, he slipped his arm around her. Her hand snaked out of the sleeping bag, and she twined her fingers through his and squeezed.
Meaning, very clearly: "I love you, and I'm glad you're with me, but don't start moving that hand around because I'm not in the mood for sex."
Which was fine with Pete. He held her close and was nearly asleep when he felt someone lying down behind him.
He heard a quiet bark as Daphne settled herself, though he had no idea how she had managed to squeeze herself onto the pad with them.
Daphne had a very active sex life, and her sudden appearance in search of cuddling could either mean that she had slept alone, or it could mean that tonight's partner had been more into sex than post-coital closeness.
"Hey, wow," said an unfamiliar male voice. "Can I get in on this?"
Pete could feel Daphne sag, a sure sign that this guy was a loser and she'd been hoping he wouldn't wake up. Pete then felt starling shift and he moved his arm as she unzipped the sleeping bag. He wished he was wearing his glasses as she stood up slowly, her naked body lean and scarred, her revolver in her hand.
"Get in on what?" she asked calmly.
Daphne looked around as the door slammed.
"A bit cold outside to be running around in just a pair of boxer shorts," Pete observed as starling put down her gun and went into the bathroom.
"Serves him right," Daphne said. "Jerk." She put her arm around him and snuggled close.