Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven - Saturday Morning
So like, Jamie had never had rules for casual shit. Not with friends, where you rolled the fuck over and went to sleep knowing you'd wake up and shit would be the way shit was. Friends, other than like, the way your hand worked in the dark. But rolling over and going back the fuck to sleep wasn't the same as Seven breathing steadily against the back of his neck, clamping him back against his chest until the heat kind of settled muggily in the sheets, the sweat crystalizing on his shoulders, on the nape of his neck under the gust of the guy. It wasn't the same, like, when the guy slid his arm from hip to waist, like as casual as it wasn't, tbh and Jamie could have like, let it rise like smoke but he didn't, right then.
He slip-slid. Sleep was like, warm and heavy and fit in all the cracks and empty spaces in the bed. "OK," Jamie said, to the idea of like, cheaper and faster. Because yeah catching a ride probably counted in the friend column, right? It counted more than not catching the ride did. It was like, calculations and calculations as Jamie like, punched the pillow under his head with the side of his wrist and plummeted sharply, quietly into sleep as easily as he'd been roused. Like, yeah stuff itched. Yeah the sheets were fucking disgusting, but like, he slept.
For how long, he didn't know. When Jamie came awake next, his eyes peeled open easy, like enough sleep fucking finally, and the fuck had kind of like, cleared his head a little? He eased out of the bed, grimacing as the like, sheets stuck like tissue paper to where come had dried sticky and white to his thighs, his balls, his stomach and padded into the like, bathroom Seven had submerged himself in on entry. He showered long. Like, hot water heavy and plentiful and pounding and Jamie wasn't like, going to DROWN himself in there but he washed until his skin was stinging red and clean and when he left, it was like, clean enough to climb into his jeans - quietly, because the guy in the bed was still out, mostly.
And that felt weird? Like, watching the guy sacked out, Seven in the unarguable, impressive surroundings of the room, casually asleep and chill. So like, okay, done. He scribbled a note on hotel stationery, the kind with a letter head and everything and he left it like, by the door where the guy would see. And Jamie booked it. Not uber, not a bus. A drive-by the class, and then like, circular back home, where Mars was. Normal shit, and he didn't think of it as like, processing, but.