Jamie had the tendency to catch Ares with his pants down - most of the time, literally. He'd been snoozing on his couch in the most luxurious, envy-inducing bathrobe that didn't necessarily cover all the parts of his body that needed to be covered when the young god waltzed into the penthouse as if he owned the place and started harping on and on about... well, about whatever.
That didn't matter since they both ended up pantless, shirtless and careless, tangle of limbs collapsing on the bed. Rough enough to bruise, hard enough to make the pain feel good, Jamie started talking again when they were done but that, too, faded out into blissful silence.
He heard Jamie the first time - apparently many gods of warfare were light sleepers - but refused to react to it. Only the second 'hey' earned Jamie a disgruntled groan and an even more blatant refusal to get up, curling up in bed beneath thin sheets.