Re: log; marina & russ
Russ came startled out of sleep like surfacing from beneath deep water, with difficulty and with sleep slung around his neck like a noose to tighten if any slack was lost. He was suddenly, viscerally aware that his arm had long gone dead with the numb, sodden feeling of the limb no longer belonging to him and the warm dead-weight of the little boy spreadeagled across his upper body, one sticky hand notched in the space between his shirt and undershirt, thumb angled against his collarbone. He looked blearily for the interruption, belatedly lifting one hand across Nathan's back to keep him from moving and waking. Lesson had been fucking learned, the kid was easier when he was out.
The bloodshot blue gaze settled on Marina and the blond eyebrows knit, the scowl was instantaneous. Russ didn't even need to look at the fucking clock, the drop in temperature and the boneless sprawl of the boy said late clear as the dark beyond the slatted blinds at the window. It was a look that was both invaded and sleepily furious, and Russ rolled onto his feet, heels then toes and stood, the unpleasant sting of asleep limbs waking as he did so. In all of this, Nathan slept on.
"You got any fucking idea what two hours is?" It was an odd sound, gravel-dark and venomous, but an attempt to pitch it low enough not to wake the boy. Russ didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing for the most part except 'do not wake Nathan' was clear after the hour or so spent suffering his tantrum.