Dan is there and then he's gone in a flurry of sheets and duvet, falling straight out of the bed and onto the floor, which brings Marcus's head up off his pillow. He rubs the back of his knuckles against his eyes, trying to work out what's just happened, still half asleep, and that's when Trass jumps right up onto the bed and sprawls his weight on Marcus's back.
He grunts, the breath rushing out of him, because Trass isn't a small animal, and then tries to shove him off, all while edging toward the other side of the bed so he can see if Dan's hurt himself in the fall.
"Alright, love?" he asks.
Then he freezes. A hand goes to his throat. His fingers look different, though he can still see charcoal pushed deep into his cuticles and the creases of his knuckles. His throat feels different, long and slim and elegant, and without the slightest hint of the stubble that ought to be there. As Trass grumbles and tries to get comfortable in the bed, Marcus continues a slow, confused exploration, his fingers crawling up a strong jaw, still without stubble, and then over a pair of lips that decidedly do not feel like his own.
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He grunts, the breath rushing out of him, because Trass isn't a small animal, and then tries to shove him off, all while edging toward the other side of the bed so he can see if Dan's hurt himself in the fall.
"Alright, love?" he asks.
Then he freezes. A hand goes to his throat. His fingers look different, though he can still see charcoal pushed deep into his cuticles and the creases of his knuckles. His throat feels different, long and slim and elegant, and without the slightest hint of the stubble that ought to be there. As Trass grumbles and tries to get comfortable in the bed, Marcus continues a slow, confused exploration, his fingers crawling up a strong jaw, still without stubble, and then over a pair of lips that decidedly do not feel like his own.