Written awhile ago, and posted for shinobi and Katie, because they are just that awesome. Absolute mindless fluff.

***

“Miiiiiiike.”

You wake at the first sound of his voice, as always, but you stay perfectly still anyway, feigning slumber. You keep your breaths long and deep and even.

“Miiiike. Mike Shinoooooohda.” Chester’s voice drawls your name, and you have to suppress a smile at the whimsical, whiney tone that he’s adopted this morning.

“Miiiiiiikey. Mikey, come on, wake up.” One finger moves to slowly tickle at your nose, but you still don’t move because this is how it goes; next he will run that finger around the shell of your ear and call you a motherfucker and you will still lie perfectly quiet. You lie still because this is the routine. Because you both love these stolen moments each day.

“Miiiiike. Wake up, you motherfucker.” His voice is husky, murmuring affectionately to you. The finger travels to your ear, predictably, and you have to forcibly stop a shiver from running up your spine.

“Mike, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to go through your laptop until I find your porn.” You give a mental snort. That’s a wholly empty threat; Chester wouldn’t have a clue where to look. He only learned how to look up his internet history last month. And you hide your porn well. You have to, in this band of resourceful pranksters.

You can feel the mattress of your bunk dip as Chester sits, running a finger idly around your face. The finger circles your cheeks, runs over your lips, and strokes at your eyelids. It runs down your neck, teasingly, and tickles at your collarbone. This is your undoing, each morning; you can never help squirming under his touch as his finger slowly circles at the base of your throat and over the bones of your clavicle.

You move lithely into a long, langorous stretch, rubbing absently at your chest and giving a theatrical yawn. You open your eyes to find Chester staring at you warmly, an amused smile flirting softly around his mouth. This is when you usually spend a few moments in silence with each other each morning. Sometimes you have silent conversations, communicating through familiar expressions and gestures who’s being annoying today and what’s been going on and how each of you are feeling. Sometimes he just sits, and watches you blink and yawn and wake up. Sometimes he brings you coffee. And sometimes, when you’re feeling particularly silly, you grab him around the waist and pull him under the covers with you, tickling him back until he yells.

This is a silly day.

He’s not expecting it; his eyes are closed as he yawns, and the surprised expression on his face delights you as you playfully haul him under the covers and squirm until you’re comfortable. You’re both squished - these bunks aren’t made for two people - but neither of you care.

Your knees curl up to touch each other, and his breath is warm on your face. You sigh contentedly and nestle back into the warmth of your bunk. You’re almost back to sleep when he shifts suddenly.

“Mike.” He whispers. “Mike, come on, you can’t go back to sleep.”

“Can so.” You murmur. You don’t open your eyes but you can tell that he’s smiling at you again.

“You have to get up, Mike, we have an interview at one.” But his actions contradict his words as he burrows farther into the familiar warmth and scent of the sheets.

“That’s what I thought.” You say sleepily, and stretch out, burying your face into his shoulder, an arm draping over his thin body.

“Bitch.” He says affectionately, one hand coming to rest on your ribs.

“I know. Can I sleep now?”

He chuckles softly, the warm sound reverberating softly in the small space. He shifts one thigh against yours lazily in a smooth, sliding motion.

“Yeah,” he says to you with a small, peaceful sigh, “You can sleep now.”