Work Text:
He wakes, gradually at first, but when he realizes his head is pillowed on someone else's chest, alertness comes quickly. His body aches, muscles stretching, ass twinging. He doesn't have a headache.
He's warm, comfortable, soothed. He isn't nauseated.
He remembers everything of the night before, the sweat, harsh breaths, shared words. He remembers the lights going off, but he didn't black out.
There're no tell-tale bottles or glasses in his line of sight, no up-ended furniture or over-turned lamps.
"Well," he says, tilting his head to look into wary eyes. "I guess we can't blame the booze anymore."