Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven - Saturday Morning
Jamie didn't care about the reminder. Right now, he didn't care about Holly, or Tommy or anyone because he was drifting just below consciousness and he didn't like, want to break surface. Jamie had gone like, YEARS without enough sleep. Dawn class and late night performance, and sleep had been squeezed out of the interim, until he lived on black coffee drunk from to-go cups en route on a subway or a bus or whatever. He didn't have to get up and GO anywhere or his phone would have trilled from across the room, where he'd abandoned it in his pants. Mars didn't like, require a check-in and Jamie was way comfortable, enough not to think about shit.
He felt the guy stir, roll back until the wing of his shoulder came down, the warmth of heat burgeoning back into the space between them. Jamie made another sound of assent, quiet satisfaction in the back of his throat and allowed the arm flung toward the nightstand to stay where it landed, dropped over the guy's mid-section, draped somewhere between belly and thigh. His cheek was creased from the pillow, his dick was half-hard, which was biology and the depths of a dream he'd been stirred out of, and his hair was like, mussed, in a sweep of blond that stood half on end and half swept across his face. It wasn't a look, it wasn't even like, ALMOST a look and Jamie's murmur was incoherent as he rolled over to the other side.
"Not waking." Like, he was fucking adamant, even fuzzy-tongued and still stubbornly under.