A high-pitched shriek was what roused him from sleep.
Strange, Ling thought, because Ed tended towards low, throaty moans during sex.
He opened his eyes and rolled over lazily, just in time to get a glimpse of Ed's – tight, fantastic – ass as he rolled out of bed and began tearing his hair.
"What! Have you done! To me!" he was shouting, much too loudly for Ling's headache. "This is all your fault! How many times have I told you! I'm not – I don't – I can't believe you did this! I can't believe I didn't break your face! I should break your face!"
His rage did nothing to break through Ling's shield of satiated exhaustion. "You know," he pointed out, his eyes drooping closed again. The bed was so comfortable, and he was so tired. "If anyone should be angry, it should be me."
Ed's fury was inarticulate. "You – You, you - should – I – what the hell?!"
He was going to fall asleep again. "All those months I tried flirting and expensive gifts and all it took was some cheap tavern swill. How inefficient. You could have told me."
The bed sank as Ed leaned forward and braced himself on his forearms, the better to bellow in Ling's face. "I told you! I'm not like that! Why! Do you persist! In thinking so!"
Ling finally bothered to crack an eye open. Tilting his head, his eyes traveled down Ed's midsection. "You're hard again," he remarked in a mild tone.
Ed straightened, blushing scarlet red. "It's morning!" he snarled, stomping from the room and slamming the door so hard the hinges nearly cracked.
Ling sighed and rolled over, snuggling back under the covers. Alcohol. He was going to remember that one.