12-

 

 

Locke had never been a morning person. Not when he was in the military, not when he’d been living in Ivis, and certainly not now. He figured they had a relationship of mutual dislike- one of the reasons he was a professional thief- and they both did their best to avoid each other.

 

So, it made sense that he was rather confused to see not just any sunlight seeping through his blinds, but MORNING sunlight, the angry type that comes at six am, where even the sun’s pissed off about being up already and wants everyone to know it.

 

And when he realized he was cuddled up NAKED with a certain blue-haired, slutty best friend, limbs and bodies pressed as close together as humanly possible (and maybe a little more…), his confusion just seemed to grow exponentially.

 

For one, Locke was wearing a COLLAR. Not a chain-and-metal one, because fuck, he’d have blown up the city if he’d been wearing one, but a black band around his scar. He could feel it hadn’t done much good against any sort of neck sucking (and oh SHIT, he didn’t want to feel THAT, too…). But then again, he had to take into account it was Sage, and the man could probably manage to suck the neck of a fully maned lion.

 

And…holy fuck, what had Aelar done?! There was something blue on his face. He could see it just at the base of his eye, and it was annoying as fuck, and-

 

Sage let out a strange half-moan, half-sighing sound and tried to nuzzle closer, an almost painfully blissful expression on his face. It was probably bad of him, but Locke was proud to notice Sage looked just as abused as Locke felt.

 

That reminded him. He was going to KILL Aelar for this, the horny bastard. Preferably with some sort of grinding machine so the asshole could deal with the LOVELY “morning after” feeling Locke got the privilege of experiencing every time Aelar decided to go have fun.

 

With Sage.

 

Oh, fuck. Why couldn’t he just go pick up some random stranger? Not SAGE again!

 

The bane of his thoughts let out a protesting groan, and Locke froze, not realizing he’d been quickly sliding away from the man in bed with him.

 

Shit. THE MAN IN BED WITH HIM.

 

He would fucking MURDER Aelar. And it would be slow, and painful, and incredibly fun to watch too.

 

“Hmnnngh… ‘Lar…sto’it,” Sage garbled out, and Locke managed to stop squeezing the man’s shoulders in a death grip. Barely.

 

If Locke had frozen before, he turned into a fucking GLACIER this time.

 

“AELAR? WE NEED TO TALK,” Locke growled out through clenched teeth, and sleepy purple eyes blinked up at him.

 

“Oh,” Sage yawned. “Hi, Locke.”

 

“Hi, Sage,” Locke drawled sarcastically, rolling his maroon eyes and trying not to punch the man in the face like last time. “Wonderful weather last night, eh?”

 

“Wouldn’t know,” Sage yawned again, and grinned lecherously at him. “Too busy shagging your split personality to notice.”

 

Locke gave in to sweet temptation, and his fist slammed into the other man’s nose. Sage fell out of the bed, naked limbs managing to pull the blanket off the bed (leaving the sheet, thankfully) as he tumbled to the floor with one hand clutching at the spray of blood.

 

“You ALWAYS do that!” Sage snapped. “STOP IT!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, by all means, PLEASE, USE MY BODY AS A FUCK TOY!” Locke shrieked, and bashed the pillow against Sage’s head. It wasn’t a brick, but it would do well enough for now. “YOU BASTARD!”

 

“I do NOT have fuck toys,” Sage snapped, wrenching the pillow from Locke’s grip and glaring purple daggers at him. “And stop screaming at me! I can guarantee I hurt a hell of a lot more than you right now!”

 

“I don’t want to hear ANYTHING about what happened last night, got it? EVER. It stays out of my mind, out of my memory, and above all else, out of ME, understand?” Locke glared back.

 

Sage rolled his eyes. “Yes, Lord Morningside,” he sighed dramatically. “Of course, I will keep Aelar and I’s sordid love affair away from your delicate, fragile psyche that can shatter at the mere mention of S-E-X.”

 

“Damn right, you f- wait. HE TOLD YOU?”

 

“What, you thought I didn’t know in the first place?” Sage snorted. “Please, Sweet. Give my brain SOME credit. We don’t all let our deductive reasoning waste away.” He paused. “He did confirm it for me, though.”

 

“Great,” Locke growled, sprawling on the bed and tossing an arm over his eyes. “This is just absolutely fucking spectacular. Now all I need is for Dante to walk in on some mindfuck orgy.”

 

“Sounds fun,” Sage grinned.

 

Locke threw his knife at him, and tried to ignore how considerate of Aelar it had been to keep the thing in its usual place.

 

“Get dressed, and get the fuck out of my apartment,” Locke stated, returning to his previous position in bed.

 

“I’m afraid most of my clothing is rather…indecent for a morning excursion right now,” Sage grinned at him.

 

“Then make a toga,” Locke snapped.

 

Sage shrugged, and began scrounging through the pile of clothing near the kitchen table. Grabbing a pair of pants with the buttons popped off, a shirt that was torn straight down the middle, and his miraculously intact coat, Sage jumped up and grabbed his boxers off the lamp and strolled into the bathroom, grabbing one of his boots off the counter as he went, and humming some song Locke couldn’t remember as he shut the door behind him.

 

When he reemerged, the shirt was ripped further and appeared to have become a makeshift sash. The fabric was obviously keeping his pants up, and Sage didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed of the numerous bite marks (BITE MARKS) across his chest and neck.

 

Locke was staring, and they both knew it. Sage grinned at him, and winked. “I have to say, Locke, the man in your head is a wonder in bed,” he sighed nostalgically, then snapped. “Oh, right! Aelar said to remind you to wash your face. He put on some blue face paint, and it got kind of…blurred when I discovered it tasted like blueberries. It should just rub right off with soap.”

 

With an enormous smile, Sage headed for the door, only to return to the pile of clothing and grab it all, then head for the dresser and set it in the Drawer-Locke-Ignores-For-No-Reason with almost comical care. His task completed, the blue-haired man smiled at Locke and walked out the door, coat swishing behind him.

 

Groaning, Locke threw the sheets over his head, and HATED. It didn’t matter what, he just needed to hate for a while. Then he didn’t have to feel anything else.