Late
Len sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at the ceiling, “What time is it?” he asked the warm body clinging to his side, “Like… two.” It muttered, hot breath tickling Len’s left pectoral. “Late…” Captain Cold breathed, “It’s really fucking late….” His hand found its way to Mick’s fevered brow, “Bet we stink real bad.” He smirked - unable to appreciate their musky stench of their liaison from the hours he spent stewing in it. Mick mumbled and clung tighter to Len’s chest, seemingly trying to meld with the captain through skin contact alone, “Five more minutes…” he rumbled softly, earning a light chuckle from the other. Len rested his palm on his fiery lover’s back and closed his eyes, “Fine… Five more minutes.”