Magnus Bane's Loft, New York, Tuesday Morning

[seveninchmotto]

Isabelle woke up - for once - a little bit later than usual. Maybe it was down to exhaustion. The Angel knew the dark under her eyes had not gone anywhere over the last couple of weeks.

Still, now that she was up, she pushed herself upright without wasting any time laying down. She stretched her arms, then looked over at Flick.

[ooc: NFB, for

Comments

[flickofawrist]

Flick was not as quick to wake up. He was on his side, facing her, breathing deeply and looking totally masculine and secure under the blanket with the heart pattern.

It was warm, at least.

[seveninchmotto]

It was the only way to look in this apartment, really.

Isabelle reached out to lightly brush her fingertips against his cheek.

[flickofawrist]

Flick moved a bit, shifting and stretching slightly before trying to roll closer to her and press himself against her skin.

[seveninchmotto]

"Morning, sleepyhead," Isabelle murmured, in a gentle effort to coax him out into the land of the awake. Her fingers moved over his cheek and to his neck.