(Untitled)

[roadmostbloody]

Morning.  The sounds of traffic, and of neighbours.  Of life, the city waking.  And the sun, shining summer-bright through uncurtained windows into a still most-unfurnished bedroom.  A broad, muscled form groans, and tries to hide his face against a smaller, curvier one's shoulder.

Wow.  That was a lot of wine last night, huh?

Comments

[greenasamber]

Too much. Enh. The smaller one squinches her face against the sunlight, and pulls up a blanket. Or tries to. Her arms don't reach quite as far as they should. "Mmmn?"

[roadmostbloody]

Ow. Noises. Right in his ear, even. "Nng." Blanket is an excellent plan. Or pillow. Or something. Unfortunately, his body is just as not-quite-right as hers is, and in the attempt to reach such a thing, he probably ends up clocking her in the head with an elbow. Whoops.

[greenasamber]

Ow! There is shoving, and burrowing under the quilts.

[roadmostbloody]

;_;!!! Why the shoving?? it's not like it was on purpose. He makes a sound rather like an insulted puppy -- and then like a kicked one, yelping as he loses his half-off-the-bed balance and goes tumbling to the floor.

[greenasamber]

She peers out, red-eyed and half-awake. "I'm never going to one of those things again." Agh, her voice is too high. More burrowing.

[roadmostbloody]

He sits there on the floor, half-wincing-half-pouting. 'Half' only because Osborns don't ever really pout. "Says --" Ow, ow. Voice way too loud. He tries whispering, with a too-dry throat. "Says you." On to more important things! "Why did you push me?"

[greenasamber]

Whispering's a good idea. Guh. Dehydrated. "You hit me in the head."

[roadmostbloody]

"I didn't mean to." Leaning against the bedframe, head on the mattress. Mmm, soft. Can he just go back to sleep like this?

[greenasamber]

Sleeeeepy. "Come back up here."

[roadmostbloody]

All the way up there? "But that means standing up." This is not a thing he feels up to doing quite yet, no.

[greenasamber]

Little mph of sympathy, and sleepy hair-petting. She vaguely remembers that that's supposed to be her (his?) hair. "Never found that ruby."

[roadmostbloody]

Ooh. Hair. He leans back into that, humming and letting his eyes slip the rest of the way shut. "Mmmn." Translation: No, we didn't. Maybe we can worry about it later?

[greenasamber]

But... Mmfh, fine. There are more important concerns. Like getting that sun out of her face and going back to sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

[roadmostbloody]

Yeah. That sounds... good. And -- agh, okay, downside to trying to rest while leaned against the bedframe? The poking into your ribs. With much sub-verbal grousing, he drags himself unsteadily upright and pulls himself back into the bed, beside her. And (a bit more carefully this time) he gropes for the blanket again.

[greenasamber]

She makes a happy noise when he moves between her and the window. Just stay there? Or no... no. Cuddle? That way she gets light-blocking and snuggle.

[roadmostbloody]

Cuddling is acceptable. And blanket! Blanket over both their heads, for even more light-blocking goodness. And a sleepy, mumbly something as he curls around her again.