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Careful circles were traced on the back of the man below him, intended to drown him in a state of peaceful bliss—keeping him asleep in bed, in Feinberg's welcoming arms, for longer. The green alien mumbled softly in his sleep. Mindlessly unaware to the caution his partner was putting forward to keep it as such.
Feinberg, as usual, was giving into the feline instincts biting at his being, holding him in a state of possessiveness over his partner, Boosfer.
The prior night, Boosfer had gone out with the color crew for a video—one they swore would be edited and posted despite usually getting shoved on one of the seperated channels instead. Afterwards, the group had gone out for dinner.
It had been eight at night when Feinberg had heard the front door open; the usual voice wishing Baablu a quick goodbye.
He had been in the middle streaming himself watching Ludwig play MCSR, and didn't approach Boosfer until nine, where he found the man curled up in the middle of the bed; the room light was off, and the only proper light source was the TV playing an episode of Hell's Kitchen. Boosfer's face was lit up with a soft glow, as he fell asleep with his head laying on a pillow, aiming towards the TV. It looked like a positon that only Fein would find comfortable, but as he took a wift of the smell assaulting his nose; the sleeping position made sense.
The room reeked of alcohol. Bitter with an undertone of roasted nuts, close to the smell of coffee. And in the same breath, caught an overpowering smell of strawberries and lemons with an distant hint of another fruit Fein could barely make out through the rum. It was incredibly tropical, unusual for Boosfer when it comes to his usual choice of drink.
Fein cared less that Boosfer would drink; he is an adult. What he disliked was how overpowering the smell was for his senses, and how it would cover everything. Boosfer's smell, Feinberg's own, all of the color crew's. Everything.
It is obnoxious everytime, and he never found himself growing use to it.
It was bad enough to the point he wanted to wake Boosfer up and force him to shower the stench off, but he missed that opportunity the second Boosfer had laid down for the night. Unfortunate, he would need to sleep next to that for the night.
Feinberg bit back a groan as he approached Boosfer's nightstand, where the TV remote had been set at.
As he squinted at the remote, trying to find the volume button; he heard a chuckle to his side, and quickly turned his head over to see Boosfer propped up on one of his right arm, head looking over his left shoulder, watching Fein.
"You look like a grandpa!" The tipsy Boosfer had announced, voice overwhelmed by a slight slur, emphasized by his accent. It was fortunate he wasn't straight drunk; Feinberg might've had a seizure from the smell of alcohol if he was.
"I'm 26." Fein argued and rolled his eyes.
"Well, duh, that's why I said you look like one." Boosfer responded with a less than amused tone, collapsing back onto the pillow, causing his last few words to be muffled.
Feinberg simply sighed in response.
He placed the remote back on the nightstand, shaking his head lightly; the smell of the alcohol was making him woozy. The stomach churning, bile rising to the back of his throat but never breeching it, type of nausea.
With Boosfer wide awake, he intended to force him to shower with the far nicer smelling shampoo he used. So, he crawled onto the pearl white sheets, and moved towards where Boosfer laid; his left arm sneaking itself over the alien's waist and falling limp over it, while the other arm was used as a pillow for his head.
His fluffy tail found its way over Boosfer's feet, and Fein found himself pressing his forehead against Boosfer's shoulder—wincing at the even stronger smell of alcohol that assaulted him, slightly hissing under his breath.
"Can you shower? You reek of alcohol." Fein whispered into Boosfer's shoulder as he moved his hand so that it was wedged between the bed and Boosfer's side; Fein lightly squeezing to gain his attention incase he didn't hear him.
Boosfer laughed, assumed at his suffering like the asshole he is, and pryed Fein's hand back out. Instead, interlocking their fingers as he spoke, "I can. The alcohol made me sweaty, anyway."
"How much did you drink?"
The alien hummed and let go of Fein's hand, choosing to slowly trail up and down his arm. "One, nearly two beers."
Fein took in another breath. Being so close to Boosfer, he could barely smell the beer, but that tropical smell was greater now. And he could even smell the other fruit that sat in an undistinct manner before—Mango. Another ingredient Boosfer wouldn't drink.
"You smell like fruit." Fein remarked, tightening his grip on Boosfer and snaking a hand up his shirt—a damp shirt. Must he add.
"Ah, blame Qndres for that. Spilt his... Eh, some tropical named drink..." Boosfer mumbled nonsense under his breath, "Then played a game of 'who can I hug quickest so I'm not the only wet one here.'"
Fein snorted, "Explains why it's overwhelming the beer."
"Yeah, I don't drink flirtatious drinks meant for talking tea with your ladies friends."
"Oh? You prefer the manly version where you chug four beers and talk about your dick sizes?" Fein pushed himself off of Boosfer, now sitting up; the retched smell of rum was beginning to overwhelm his senses.
Boosfer copied his movements, but taking a step further and moving to the end of the bed as he spoke, "Hell yeah."
And Boosfer had left with quiet laughter as he went to shower, leaving Fein in bed for the next thirty minutes.
He had returned with no headband—showcasing the purple gem on his head to represent him and Wemmbu's brotherhood—A simply back T-shirt and plaid green pajama pants. His eyes were glowing a soft light even without the TV on, and Fein would personally describe it as angelic, despite being little to nothing against the way an angels full body would glow in the dark. Baablu being an example.
Boosfer had settled in bed with a soft, polite scent of vanilla with distant hints of citrus due to his skin's barrier natural smell used to deter predators—far more prominent when he is panicked. The alien had worked his way under the duvet and over to Fein swiftly, just to instantly be caught in a hug without even hearing the shuffle of sheets.
Instinctively, Feinberg had taken a deep breath, absorbing the smell as if he couldn't walk to the nearest marketplace and buy the exact smell of vanilla. But he couldn't buy vanilla with such a distant hint of citrus, only hybrids with strong senses of smell could pick it up, alongside that distinct underlying aroma that came with freshly showered skin. It was a scent that on paper sounded odd, perhaps even horrible, but when in your arms, was kind of calm mustered from the limpness in your limbs as your heart rate settled into a resting pace.
Maybe, he is just excited Boosfer is rid of the horrid mixture layering his body prior.
As he holds Boosfer now, the sun has risen. Already peering through the sheer curtains while holding an orange hue that represented the sky's color slipping into a kind blue that settles anguish. His alarm had gone off earlier, but he had turned it off and ignored it, choosing to continue to settle in the domestic scenario he laid in.
By now, his own scent was prominent on Boosfer's figure, calming his earlier feline instincts that Boosfer wasn't "marked" as his.
He purred into the air as the thought crossed his mind, which only grew in strength when Boosfer snuggled his head farther into Fein's chest.
Then laughter sent a chill up his spine as his chest experienced small shakes.
"Wait—keep purring... I didn't mean to interrupt!" Boosfer slurred out, tiredness still evident in his voice; his words coming out almost completely Incoherent. And you'd think he was half-asleep, but then Boosfer slipped a hand into his hair and began to rub in-between his ears.
Which Feinberg instantly hit away, despite his burning urge to lean into it.
"My alarm went off a while ago."
"Awh, how sweet of you to stay longer for me!"
Fein laughed, "I know."
The cat hitched a hand under Boosfer's chin, gently propping his head up enough to where he could press a quick, soft kiss to his lips.
"Don't sleep through your alarm. Doubt Wemmbu would appreciate if you miss the meet-up you planned." Feinberg commented to Boosfer as he moved out of the man's grasp.
Boosfer grunted and flipped over so his back was facing Feinberg, "I won't."