|Arcturus Clinton Warrington, III (mynameisclint) wrote in impetuousrpg,|
@ 2011-10-05 07:58:00
|Entry tags:||char: clint warrington, char: daphne greengrass|
Who: Daphne and Clint
When: Early Wed Morning
What: Cuddly Fluff
Where: Their house
Rating: Sexy things kind of
Status: In progress
He could hear the rain against the window as he laid in bed next to his wife. Sometimes, Clint couldn't believe this was what his life had come to. It wasn't that he hated it. But, he honestly thought he'd be a bit more adjusted by now. However, he didn't think he was doing so bad. Glancing at the clock, which read an annoying six am, Clint rolled over, realizing he could sleep for another a few more minutes before practice. He was tired and a bit hungover. Most of his evenings were spent with Marcus and involved drinking too much whiskey, or, just enough to give him a headache the next morning, and watching the nanny play with Sam. Really, they'd become disgustingly pathetic. Sliding his arms around Daphne, he pulled her close, spooning behind her. She was so fucking adorable when she slept. She made sleepy little noise and he smiled against her hair. He fucking loved the shite out of this witch and it was annoying as fuck because he was pretty sure that's not what he wanted to be doing.
Sighing, he dropped a kiss on her cheek, knowing he'd probably wake her but feeling a bit selfish in that regard. He wanted her up with him and he really needed some fucking coffee. Things had been strained for him lately. His mother was going on about meeting his father's bastard child and his father wouldn't even recognize that their family was heading towards some sort of ridiculous crisis and it was all because of fucking Katie Bell. Not that he should really blame her. It's not her fault their- his father was a fucking dumb fuck and her mother was a whore but she was available and it was easy to put the blame on her. Fucking hell. He didn't have time for this shite. First match of the season was coming up and he didn't want to be distracted. Rolling over Portree was the highlight of his week and hell if he wanted to fuck that shite up.
Frustrated and annoyed, not a good way to wake up, Clint pulled away from Daphne and stared at the ceiling. His head was fucking pounding. Over and over. It was like a goddamned drummer had moved in and made residence behind his temple. It was going to be a shite day at practice and if the journals had anything to add to it, Flint was going to be pissy as fuck because Bell was being a giant twat. What was so hard for birds to realize that they really just needed to put out for their boyfriends so that the world didn't suffer?