These days, Puck reflects, sleeping with Oberon is a lot like taking care of your senile grandmother: There are a million things you'd rather do, but you stick around on a Friday night anyway because you'd feel way culpable if you got the call saying the old bat had taken a dive down the stairs.
Also, the sex is pretty good.
"Robin."
Rough fingers trail clumsily across his cheek.
"Yup," he says, striking a near-perfect balance between perkiness and boredom. "Right here."
The arm around his waist tightens possessively, as if the big guy's finally realized that he's not just a teddy bear. Though possibly, at this stage of wakefulness, that's giving him too much credit.
"How now, fairy," and Oberon's fingers find the curve of his neck, the hollow, and Puck's kind of hoping he won't want to kiss him because frankly, the guy hasn't bathed in a week and Puck's already done his fair share of putting out if you know what he means, "ere cock-crow, and already wouldst be free of me"
He said 'cock,' Puck thinks automatically, but what he says is, "Me? Not going anywhere."
A slight pause.
"Besides, I bet Denny's is the only place open."
He stretches against Oberon's side, dislodging the inadequate (and somewhat soiled) sheets. "If you want, I can rustle up a Lumberjack Special."
Oberon shakes his head, lips and ever-present stubble grazing Puck's ear.
"Stay thee awhile."
His breath is warm and close, and his body is warm and close, and okay, maybe it's not such a bad idea to sleep in today. Puck shifts against him and pulls up the covers; Oberon slides a foot between his calves.
The smell isn't too bad if you're sufficiently distracted.
"Hey, hey-- watch the hair," Puck protests softly, but his heart isn't in it. He brushes dark curls back from Oberon's brow, not really surprised to find his hair in a messier state than his own.
"What would you do without me?" he murmurs.