(no subject)
Life is crazy...working 45 hr weeks when i'm used to 20. Trying to keep writing but all my characters want to be as sleepy as I am. Which isnt a bad thing to write. Once. When they all want to be written that way, it becomes a problem.
So on that note, here's a little more of the Sean/Martial-art-instructor universe. Still no promises that it'll ever amount to anything.
RPS Sean/Karate-guy
Fiction! Every word of it!
Rating: Almost a G. Again. Sorry.
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"Just how little sleep have you had this week?"
Sean startles up from the boneless sprawl he'd ended up in on Dave's couch. The wine in his glass sloshes, threatening to spill before Dave's large hands cover his, steadying him. He realizes in a shame-filled instant that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation and isn’t that a great way to make someone feel appreciated on a first date.
Dark eyes study him and he feels like Dave can see through the Preparation H that hides the bags under Sean's eyes and the Visine to get the red out, and the "find more energy by acting like you have energy" trick that has helped him make it through more hours of filming than he'd like to admit.
An eyebrow quirks and he realizes the question wasn’t rhetorical.
"Less than enough. Sorry I fell asleep on you." He won't make excuses, won't talk about shooting schedules, studio events, commute time and late-night forms practice. He sure won't blame the glass and a half of wine.
Dave chuckles. "Don't apologize. I'm glad you're comfortable enough to fall asleep here."
Sean swallows the last of the wine and sets the glass on the coffee table.
"Can we do this again sometime? I really was having a nice time before I lost consciousness."
"I'd like that." Dave takes the glasses into the kitchen. His home is all neutral colors and Asian-flavored minimalism, built over the bones of seventies architecture. Somehow it works.
Sean's still gathering the strength to stand up when Dave comes back to the couch.
"You know you're welcome to crash," Dave offers.
His eyes aren’t saying Hey baby, spend the night; it's more like Whoa, dude, you don't look so good.
Sean's not sure if he's comforted or offended.
"I really shouldn't impose..." The couch is tempting though, with its fluffy cushions wrapped in soft denim-textured fabric.
Dave gets a comforter and pillow out of a trunk.
"What time do you have to be up in the morning?" he asks, like Sean's staying is a foregone conclusion. And really, having someone else decide it for him makes it easier to do what he wants to do.
"Five."
That gets him another eyebrow, but no comment. Sean fumbles with the laces on his shoes until Dave crouches down and unties them for him.
He doesn’t remember lying down but the dryer-sheet freshness of the pillowcase is soothing and the comforter is cool and smooth when Dave lays it over him. Sean wonders, in a vague sort of way, where his shoes went.
For a man so broad and hard, Dave's kiss to Sean's temple is unbelievably gentle. Sleep is already claiming him, but he feels the man pause, and just inhale his scent. Somehow it makes it better to think that Dave wants him and still tucks him into bed, alone.
"Sleep tight, Sean." The whisper is soft and so close it stirs his hair. "I'll see you in the morning."