[Maybe Steven feels a little bad that he insisted they go home from the pub when Mr. Forward Stranger decided to grab Marc's arse and suggest they go back to his.
And by insisted, he may have been screeching in Marc's head. Just a little, tiny bit? But to be fair, that was a scary prospect, even if it was Marc in the driver's set, so-to-speak. It's selfish and stupid -- Marc should get to live his life too. But Steven would know what's happening, and he's certainly never done more than kiss, let alone have a guy's hand getting much too friendly with his... bum.
And he didn't want to just disappear for the night, go off somewhere all by his lonesome when he's gotten used to this whole package deal, this whole co-conscience thing.
It's been so much less lonely.
And he's so grateful that Marc listened and brought them home with minimal scandalized memories for the Victorian duchess alive and well inside Steven Grant. It's a miracle though that they managed to remember to do the ankle cuff before they collapsed to bed. He wasn't too successful in getting Marc to not strip down to his undies and just collapse into bed, but... well, small victories and all that.
He didn't quite expect to wake up like this though, in his bed, in his flat, but with Marc right there next to him. They're a bit... awkwardly entangled and it's. Oh, it's very awkward.
Somehow he's at least in his preferred pajamas in bed. It feels too reminiscent of the asylum, but he's rather sure they're not dead. He hopes. Oh, he hopes very much. They hadn't had that much to drink, yeah?]
Marc?
[He's trying to squirm away, but there's a leg in between his and his arm might be caught under Marc. Apparently Steven somewhere along the way mistook Marc for a teddy bear, yeah? All soft and cuddly -- except he's not really that. Well, maybe cuddly. There's just not much soft about all those muscles.]
Marc-- mm, wake up, mate. My arm...
[It's somehow both numb and tingly and he just needs to move it a wee bit, please...]
maybe just sleep it off ; moonknighted
And by insisted, he may have been screeching in Marc's head. Just a little, tiny bit? But to be fair, that was a scary prospect, even if it was Marc in the driver's set, so-to-speak. It's selfish and stupid -- Marc should get to live his life too. But Steven would know what's happening, and he's certainly never done more than kiss, let alone have a guy's hand getting much too friendly with his... bum.
And he didn't want to just disappear for the night, go off somewhere all by his lonesome when he's gotten used to this whole package deal, this whole co-conscience thing.
It's been so much less lonely.
And he's so grateful that Marc listened and brought them home with minimal scandalized memories for the Victorian duchess alive and well inside Steven Grant. It's a miracle though that they managed to remember to do the ankle cuff before they collapsed to bed. He wasn't too successful in getting Marc to not strip down to his undies and just collapse into bed, but... well, small victories and all that.
He didn't quite expect to wake up like this though, in his bed, in his flat, but with Marc right there next to him. They're a bit... awkwardly entangled and it's. Oh, it's very awkward.
Somehow he's at least in his preferred pajamas in bed. It feels too reminiscent of the asylum, but he's rather sure they're not dead. He hopes. Oh, he hopes very much. They hadn't had that much to drink, yeah?]
Marc?
[He's trying to squirm away, but there's a leg in between his and his arm might be caught under Marc. Apparently Steven somewhere along the way mistook Marc for a teddy bear, yeah? All soft and cuddly -- except he's not really that. Well, maybe cuddly. There's just not much soft about all those muscles.]
Marc-- mm, wake up, mate. My arm...
[It's somehow both numb and tingly and he just needs to move it a wee bit, please...]