A Morning Question in a Small Bedroom at DaggerMouth at an Undisclosed Date

By Kay

Disclaimer: La la la, can't hear you.

Author's Note: Established Christopher/Jalil SLASH and implied foreplay or... something. Gropage? Erm. Well. Takes place post!series, no real connecion to anything so mostly an AU drabble of sorts. I just wanted fluff. (ashamed) I KNOW, I'M WEAK.

A world of love to all those who read, as always, after all this time.

"If you close your eyes, can you delude yourself into believing I'm Etain?"

Christopher, who is attempting to make a mottled purple trail of bite-marks down Jalil's shoulder, doesn't even pull back. "Little difficult," he says, voice muffled. "Distinct lack of cleavage. And you don't smell like flowers."

Jalil makes a noncommittal sound, winding his fingers through Christopher's hair. "I certainly hope not."

"Not as pretty, either."

"Flattering."

Christopher laughs almost soundlessly against Jalil's collarbone, nuzzling the sharp ridge of skin. He tries to tangle their legs together, too, but Jalil prods him sharply in the shin with his cold toes and Christopher knows when to back off and when to push. "You're nothing like her," he says instead. "Sun and moon. Fuckin' water and fire. Sushi and cheeseburger."

"I really hope I'm the sushi," Jalil says in distaste.

"You're not very good for me, though."

"Liar." Snorting, Jalil trails a touch down Christopher's chest. He's still sleepy—too tired to do anything but drowse idly and let the blond have his way, but sluggishly waking up, rubbing the morning sun out of his eyes.

Really, the day starts too early.

"Why the stupid question?" Christopher wants to know. He peers suspiciously at Jalil suddenly; his teeth bare, threatening. "This isn't some freaky, needy chick thing, right? You're not the 'other woman,' if that's what you're asking."

"Asshole. I'm not a chick. And I'm definitely not the other woman."

"You sound like the other woman."

"You sound like a dumbass."

"I'm serious," Christopher says, eyes dark with something akin to concern—if Jalil hadn't already known better. It's a trick of the light. "Don't pull any of this replacement bullshit, or start whining about how you're still the second hat on the rack. I'll dump your ass faster than David jumps at the chance to skewer alien brains."

"You have such a way with words." Jalil considers himself. "I don't whine. I don't give a damn about anything like that. I was just curious."

"What, like really?"

"I woke up and wondered," Jalil says, and now he wraps his legs around Christopher's warmer limbs, hitching up the white tunic he'd worn to bed the night before. Christopher greedily takes advantage and dips his hands under it. If he can't concentrate on what comes out of his mouth from here on out, it's not Jalil's fault. "Sometimes you look like you're confused about something. Just for a second. It's weird."

"Not thinking about her," Christopher mutters. One of his hands rests on Jalil's bare hip like a brand, just cradling it. Making funny spirals with his fingertips. "You just think too much."

He closes his eyes rather than look at the ceiling. "Really? That's good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"It'd be mean," Christopher says abruptly, his fingers stilling in the slow, odd circles he'd started to trace over Jalil's skin. "You know. If I thought about her when…"

"Huh."

"She doesn't deserve that. And I couldn't. I mean, not with… and you wouldn't, either. Even if you are a bastard sometimes."

"I think I'm touched," Jalil laughs. They're both surprised it's not as bitter as it could be, but Jalil recovers first and adds, "I wouldn't care."

Christopher snorts. "Liar," he says, and before Jalil can get a word in edgewise, a mouth has captured his own and taken over. The world shifts a little—just a little. When he can breathe again and gather his bearings, Jalil bites the blond's shoulder in retaliation for the clear dismissal. They're both taking too many liberties these days. It should stop soon.

However, he amends, "Maybe I would."

"Huh?"

"Care," Jalil clarifies, and kisses the man again before he can laugh—or worse, find the words to say what Jalil is still struggling to keep, close and warm, to himself.

The End