With the sudden sound of curtains being forced apart, Adams jolted awake only to be blinded by the sudden flash of light filling the room. He winced, instinctively covering his eyes with his hands before he could even register where he was. His head throbbed behind his eyes and his throat burned from dehydration. He slowly took his hand away from his eyes, blinking into the harsh light. His vision was still dark and vaguely fuzzy, but he could make out the silhouette of a man standing over him, only recognizable by the idiotic shape of his curly hair.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” the man over him drawled in that obnoxiously sharp English accent. Adams closed his eyes again, burying his face in his arms. The man over him leaned down and pulled a sticky note off of Adams’ cheek, scoffing as he did so, and pressed it down to his desk, squeezing his shoulder with a firm grip. “I said good morning.” Adams finally opened one eye and slowly picked his head up from his desk, fixing the man over him with an exhausted glare. His eyes and throat still burned, and he was still vaguely disoriented, but the feeling of contempt was unmistakable.
“Good morning, Dickinson, you abominable prick,” he said monotonously, only barely making eye contact. Dickinson’s eyebrows raised and he looked him over, eyes scanning his rumpled clothing and the dark circles under his eyes. His fingertips lazily traced the rim of a half-empty mug of coffee.
“Your hair’s a mess,” Dickinson stated, without any tangible inflection, “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” Dickinson’s eyes fixed on his and he leaned forward, until their faces were only about a foot apart. “Did you spend the night here again, you naughty boy?” His lips twitched upwards in a sneer and Adams finally possessed the consciousness to feel embarrassed. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink and his head jerked away from the annoyingly alluring sneer. Adams’ eyes dropped to his desk and scowled. Legal documents were strewn about, but his usually type-like, immaculate handwriting was all smudged, likely from having slept on it. Dickinson seemed to notice this too, judging from a sharp laugh, and Adams barely had time to react before the taller man licked his thumb and wiped a smudge of ink from Adams’ cheek. John gave a startled gasp, jumping up from his seat, only to fall backwards onto the floor. Pain shot up from his tailbone and he gave a pained hiss as he hit the floor, only causing Dickinson to laugh more.
“Oh fuck off, you insufferable twat!” Adams barked, as Dickinson extended a hand to help him up. Eyebrows furrowed over his blazingly pale eyes, John grabbed the hand extended to him and jerked him down with one forceful motion. Dickinson gave a satisfying scream and both men grunted in pain as John crashed into John, straddling his hips with his thighs. A deep, painful silence ensued as both men sat fuming. To react suddenly, Adams thought, would only further exacerbate the issue. But damn, was Dickinson fucking heavy. The two sat, their eyes locked on each other’s for an inordinate amount of time until Dickinson’s hand moved to Adams’ chest, trailing down to his stomach, then his hips, as John squirmed beneath him. “Dickinson-”
“Don’t be such a silly little boy,” Dickinson growled under his breath, and Adams felt a cold shiver up his spine.
“I did not intend-” Adams was cut off by another sharp laugh from Dickinson, which only frustrated him further.
“And yet here we are, hm?” Another shiver down Adams’ spine made him want to yell, but he didn’t, and he just continued to stare into the lazily half-lidded eyes of the man on top of him. Dickinson stared him down, not breaking eye contact as he finished his task from before, his tongue trailing over the pad of his thumb before gently, yet firmly, wiping the smudge of ink from Adams’ cheek. A burning sensation in Adams’ chest reminded him to breathe, only he barely got the chance before Dickinson leaned down, capturing his lips in his own and forcing his shoulders to the wall behind him. Adams’ eyes fluttered shut and he gave a slight, insincere moan of complaint. Dickinson’s arms slid down to his biceps, then his chest, then his waist, where he pulled him in close, until John could feel John’s tongue against his teeth.
Eventually, Adams gasped, his lungs and his lips aching as he stared up at the smug eyes of the man above him. Dickinson’s hand returned to Adams’ cheek and he made a noise of concern, his thumb stroking against the dark circles below John’s eyes.
“Look at you,” he muttered, “You’re exhausted.” He straightened up slightly, fixing Adams with a look that stated he wouldn’t be taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Come over to my place. You need to rest.”
Adams raised one eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt you’ll be letting me do that.”