[Waking up in Quentin's bed had been a shock in and of itself, but doing so in the nude and by himself was simply the cherry on top at this point.
He drew one hand up to his head, scrubbing over his face then lingering to absently rub his right temple, the hazy memories of the night before slowly coming back. Wait, had he and Quentin actually--? Being naked didn't necessarily mean sex had happened, though he scrambled to his feet anyway, clutching the sheet around his waist while hunting for the nearest thing he could use to check himself out, which just so happened to be the window. He stopped halfway past it, turned to face his reflection and slapped a hand over his mouth.
Holy shit.
The sides of his neck, down to his collarbone are littered with small bite-marks and bruises, things that had obviously been made by another person. He sunk his teeth into his knuckle then tossed his cover back onto the bed, rushing around to gather his discarded clothes to get re-dressed. He was a bit achy and wanted a shower, but after sneaking a peek at his phone, the display reminded him that it's lunchtime and that sounds a little more satisfying to him.
So, with his leggings and pullover back in place, he yanked the hood over his head (a poor attempt at hiding his mottled neck) and hurried his way down to the dining hall to collect food. Something simple such as fruit and yogurt with granola, considering the slight queasiness he'd been feeling. He spared a glance around the hall after getting in, chewing at his lower lip in an almost frantic manner before moving to drop himself into a seat where there were far less people than normal.
He hadn't spotted the telepath, except maybe - just maybe - that was a good thing, for the moment.]
that awkward morning after [@futurephoenix]
He drew one hand up to his head, scrubbing over his face then lingering to absently rub his right temple, the hazy memories of the night before slowly coming back. Wait, had he and Quentin actually--? Being naked didn't necessarily mean sex had happened, though he scrambled to his feet anyway, clutching the sheet around his waist while hunting for the nearest thing he could use to check himself out, which just so happened to be the window. He stopped halfway past it, turned to face his reflection and slapped a hand over his mouth.
Holy shit.
The sides of his neck, down to his collarbone are littered with small bite-marks and bruises, things that had obviously been made by another person. He sunk his teeth into his knuckle then tossed his cover back onto the bed, rushing around to gather his discarded clothes to get re-dressed. He was a bit achy and wanted a shower, but after sneaking a peek at his phone, the display reminded him that it's lunchtime and that sounds a little more satisfying to him.
So, with his leggings and pullover back in place, he yanked the hood over his head (a poor attempt at hiding his mottled neck) and hurried his way down to the dining hall to collect food. Something simple such as fruit and yogurt with granola, considering the slight queasiness he'd been feeling. He spared a glance around the hall after getting in, chewing at his lower lip in an almost frantic manner before moving to drop himself into a seat where there were far less people than normal.
He hadn't spotted the telepath, except maybe - just maybe - that was a good thing, for the moment.]