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He was warm. That was the first thing Grian noticed as he began to wake up: the warmth of the soft pile of blankets and pillows he was lying in.
Letting out quiet, contented chirps, he nestled his face further into the softness around him, more than happy to lie in bed all day and put off any unfinished projects for a later date. He let time pass slowly through his mind, drowsy and unbothered by the faint sounds of morning on the other side of the thick blackout curtains. It wasn’t until a few moments later that a previously unnoticed gentle sensation at his back pulled him further into wakefulness.
Shifting around, he began to realize that the pillows he was lying on and the blankets he was tangled in were not solely fabric, but that there was another person wrapped up with him as well.
A little confused, he pushed himself up some and blinked the tiredness from his eyes. The soothing movement of a hand between his wings stopped, and it wasn’t until he processed the face of the man under him that his mind fully caught up to him.
He was in Mumbo’s house—that explained the heavy curtains blocking out the sun—and he was in Mumbo’s bed—that explained the Mumbo he was currently on top of.
Satisfied with his expert analysis of the situation, he dropped himself back down (which got an “oomph” in response) and settled again by burying his face back into the other man's neck.
He now remembered the following night clearly: coming over for dinner, the sudden April shower that made traveling abysmal, the offer to stay over until it passed, turning the bed into a far superior nest as opposed to the once properly laid blankets, and their first time falling asleep together since they’d started dating.
Everything was fine. He was safe and comfortable, if not a little embarrassed.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” Mumbo’s voice was still thick with sleep, and Grian hid his face further.
“Mhm, yeah yeah, g’morning,” he muttered.
The warmth he was feeling now was quite different from before; it was pooling in his cheeks, and he figured the best course of action would be to run and hide.
If he had any plan to actually do so, they were foiled instantly as Mumbo wrapped an arm around him again. He continued rubbing small circles just between the base muscles of his wings, smoothing out any wrinkles in the taken-from-Mumbo’s-wardrobe sleep shirt he was wearing (and was likely to wear again since he had been allowed to cut holes in it). He was being careful not to displace any of the small feathers along his spine, and every movement seemed uncertain, as if he were waiting to be told to stop at any moment.
Grian didn’t tell him to stop, and he didn’t plan to. It was making him sleepy, and he wasn’t against the idea of dozing off again and wasting the entire morning. He was content for them to just stay there like that, pressed against each other and secluded from the world. Despite avians not having the best sense of smell, being tucked up so closely to him, Grian could clearly make out the scent of Mumbo’s soap. And despite vampires having nearly nonexistent heartbeats, Grian could hear the sound of Mumbo’s thumping faintly beneath his ribs every so often. Everything about it was comfortable.
It was then that a hesitant kiss was placed against his head. Cozy and warm, and being held by his best friend, Grian couldn’t help the trill that escaped him. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when Mumbo started chuckling at him, his feathers fluffed in what he knew was a far from composed manner.
He curled in on himself some—which only pulled him closer to Mumbo, so maybe not the smartest thing to do—and lifting one of his headwings, he lightly smacked Mumbo in the face.
“Oh, shush.”
Mumbo began laughing fully at that, the sound vibrating through his chest into Grian’s.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.”
Grian swatted at him more, but his giggling was surely giving away the butterflies currently waging war in his stomach. Gods, he wished they would stop.
As the laughing died down, Grian gave one more smack to Mumbo’s face just for good measure. Mumbo didn’t say anything, and Grian smiled, imagining the eye-roll that he was being given. He began a mental list of all the benefits of waking up next to Mumbo. At the top of the list was the very simple fact that it was with Mumbo, and therefore it was good. Second was, without a doubt, that he could begin annoying him before he was even fully awake.
“Pesky,” Mumbo whispered.
Grian could hear his smile.
The butterflies continued their war.
Mumbo’s arms wrapped around Grian’s waist, and he somehow found a way to pull him even closer to him. Grian wondered if he could feel the way his heart was pounding. He figured that if he could feel Mumbo’s, however faint, Mumbo could probably feel his just fine. Still, he chose to pretend like he was completely unfazed about everything happening.
This might have worked, but Mumbo clearly didn’t want to play along with his nonchalance.
“You’re warm,” he mumbled into Grian’s hair.
“Hm, am I?”
He knew he was. His face was burning up.
“Yeah… It’s nice…” He sounded so perfect while dragging his words out sleepily.
“It’s nice, to not be cold, y’know?” He added.
Grian tucked his wings around them just a little tighter.
“Were you cold?”
Mumbo chuckled at this.
“I'm always cold, Grian. Or, I was. I'm not right now.”
Smiling, Grian nuzzled his face against Mumbo’s neck, getting a satisfying muffled sound of surprise in response.
“Hmm, I guess we’ll just have to stay in bed all day then, so that I can keep you warm,” he said as he brought the hand he wasn’t currently laying on up to play with Mumbo’s hair.
With more slightly nervous laughter, Mumbo went back to massaging the tired muscles of where his wings were usually held up and spoke with deep fondness.
“I guess we will.”