Tapendra must have finally sobered up enough to realize what he was doing. When he opened his eyes and met Darian's own, they were not heavy with lust as one might have hoped - instead Tappy took one look at him, instantly flushed a deep, deep red, and squirmed out from under him like a hyperactive eel. Darian watched, amused, as Tappy deadpanned his way through an excuse and then dove under the bed covers. He was a big man, and it took some doing to hide all of him so completely. It was adorable, but so silly. Darian would have to work that out of him eventually. He was not surprised, though - he'd been waiting for Tappy's survival instincts to kick in all evening.

Darian stood, swaying only slightly. "All right," he said easily, his words accompanied by little sounds rendered mysterious to Tappy under the coverlet: the rustle of shifting fabric, the clink and thud of metal as Darian's belt hit the carpet, the soft padding of his feet across the room and then back again, circling to the other side of the bed. "Sleep well, Tapendra."

The mattress shifted under his weight. Darian's head hit the pillow with an audible thump and then he was instantly, to all appearances, asleep.

The sun's rays had decided to come through the gap in the curtains and hit his eyes, apparently; when Tapendra opened them all he saw was a blinding light. He sat up with a groan, waiting for the dots to fade from his vision. Hist stomach was waking up, too; reminding him of how much he'd drunk the night before and how much it wanted to get back at him for it. The sun wasn't the only thing that'd woken him up, either, and the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the walls was something of a siren's call.

Of course, when the dots cleared...they turned out to be  preferable to what he saw in bed next to him. Darian, tousled hair lain across the pillow, his one exposed leg bare up to the thigh. Tapendra stared at him in unmasked horror, his stomach's twisting as the hangover kicked in utterly forgotten, the water sounds vanishing into the beating of his heart as he tried to think.

What had he done last night?

He made to get off the bed, backing away, and his legs promptly tangled in the blanket. With a quiet sort of yelp, he hit the floor on his hands and knees, the blanket following him; utterly ungraceful, but thankful for the shield.

Darian, face pressed into the pillow, did not wake when the sun began to sneak fingers of eye-searing light through the tall stately curtains. His hair, curling in all directions including some really excellent gravity-defying ones, made a fine, light-blocking shield when raked (at the earliest gray tinge of sunrise) over the eyes. No, he slept the sleep of the dead or drugged, and did not stir until Tapendra's little yelp and thump routine reached into his brain and flipped the little switch tagged wake up.

Predictably, Darian Morgan was a morning person.

He went instantly from sprawled and sleep-tousled to upright, sitting up like he was hinged in half and the hinges were all perfectly greased. Sheets pooling between his legs, cotton shirt creased, his hair was indeed insane but his expression was bright and  - if not exactly alert - at least as moderately curious as a cat who'd just spotted a mouse. A yawn and a stretch seemed the extent of his concessions to the late hour of their retirement before he unfolded gracefully out of bed and padded, bare-legged and utterly unselfconscious, to the chair where he'd laid his trousers the night before.

About halfway there he seemed to notice Tappy. "Oh, Tapendra," he said, picking up his trousers and slipping them back on with a quick roll of his hips. "Not to question the obvious, but whatever are you doing down there?"

Also predictably (but equally unfair), Darian did not seem to be affected by such trivial mortal affairs as hangovers.

Tapendra sputtered rather uselessly, his protests dying under the wash of relief that Darian had clothes on. Just...not as many layers as Tapendra wanted him to have on. It was one thing to sleep with - with - ugh! Ignan had at least had the cloak and his three piece suit on. And Ignan was different than...well, Darian.

The shirt and pair of briefs, frankly, wasn't enough. But, frankly, with a man like Darian Morgan? A full suit of armor wouldn't have been enough clothing. Especially when...when...

He stared at Darian uselessly, glaring. He wished he could remember the previous night; his memories were a mess, a disjointed jumble. They'd...gotten drunk. Yes - very, very drunk. And then they'd come back here, and...eaten fruit? He hoped that wasn't some sort of Freudian imagery his brain was making up to cover some sort of...of...thing. A happening. That wouldn't never have happened ever, even with alcohol.

"Naaaaa," he said, intelligently, and pulled the blanket off of him, throwing it back onto the bed as he frowned at Darian. He tried to stand, and succeeded after a few tries.

"You," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Darian. "You did something last night, didn't you? You - we - we didn't kiss, that was just a..." He trailed off, his finger's accusation failing utterly as he stared into space. "Nothing happened!" he said, apparently to the bed sheets, and it was said with so much confidence one almost couldn't hear the unspoken, "Right...?"

Darian puttered nonchalantly about while Tappy stared at him, performing the one-night-stand version of his morning routine which consisted of efficiently and quickly finding all of his clothes. He ignored Tapendra's spluttering while he threaded and hooked his belt, hunted down his socks, and counted to make certain he had each of his rings. Then he turned and gave Tappy a politely quizzical look, an eyebrow arching at the accusatory finger.

"We were pretty drunk, Tapendra. I'm afraid I don't remember anything after coming to the room." A beat, as one could practically see Darian absorbing this information, this adamant "Nothing happened!", the  denial of a kiss. His lips curved into a smile and he laughed, pausing in his morning ministrations to face Tappy, to shift his body language, into something which implied that this was a matter more interesting than finding his other boot. A curl dangled in front of his amused stare; his tone turned teasing, hushed with scandal. "You didn't take advantage of me, did you, Tapendra?"

He pressed an idle hand against his shirtfront, the fabric of which had slowly, magically, been losing its sleep-marked creases starting from the time when he'd sat up. He tugged at it, and the rest of the wrinkles flowed out. Already he looked crisp again, not at all like he'd slept in his clothes: Darian moved quick. 

Tapendra stared, mouth agape, his pointing finger frozen in place where he'd been drawing it back, so he was stuck pointing at his own shocked expression. His bright blue eyes bulged, his nostrils flared and his lower lip even wibbled a bit. He didn't know if he should laugh, or hit Darian with something, or both. He was obviously being mocked in the most terrible fashion - he'd never do anything to someone - something - like Morgan! Ever!

He might catch something. If sexual liberation was a disease (and sometimes, Tapendra wondered if it was) Darian was certainly a carrier.

"Nnngh," Tapendra said, closing his mouth just enough that only his teeth were showing.

"Phhh," he added, as he let out an angry hiss of breath.

Then, finally, he managed to pull himself together enough to sputter. "Don't be - don't be - what," his last word felt flat, and his arm thumped back to his side, his stance solid and still. "It would be entirely impossible to take advantage of you, Mister Morgan," he said, icily. "Go - go take - take advantage of yourself! You're the only one who could manage it, I suspect!"

Somehow that had sounded better in his head, but he didn't much care; his red hair was wild round his head and it combined with his expression to make him appear the human version of a puffed-up cat. It was entirely accurate.

For several long moments, Tapendra did nothing but gape at him. Darian, who'd expected a more immediate reaction, took this opportunity to cast a charm at his hair that made it transform from its current bedswept state into graceful Renaissance waves. A stream of nonsense sounds began to leak from the other man's lips; Darian made certain he was not having a stroke, and then cast another spell to freshen up his face. He wished he had a mirror, but whatever Tappy was building up to looked entertaining - he didn't dare step into the bathroom and miss the show.

 "It would be entirely impossible to take advantage of you, Mister Morgan! Go - go take - take advantage of yourself! You're the only one who could manage it, I suspect!"

Darian peered at him critically, taking in the hissing, spitting spectacle that was an offended Tappy... and bit his lip to hold in laughter. Laughter was not very sensitive, and clearly Tapendra was feeling fragile. "Are you always this disagreeable in the morning?" he asked with a sniff instead. "Don't fret, Tapendra, your chastity is safe  from me. I'm due to work in ten minutes."

Tapendra growled, his hands hitting the top of the bed as he leaned forward, glaring at Darian. "No, I'm not!" he protested, in a way that completely undermined any threat his stance might have held. "I'm usually perfectly fine in the mornings! I'm downright peppy!"

He gaped again, though, at Darian's next words; the stuttering returned, and in the end he sputtered his way into grabbing one of the over-decorated throw pillows, holding it up like a shield.

"I hate you!" he said, in a way so insecurely childish he instantly regretted it and felt incredibly stupid. It was too late, though, as he promptly and automatically followed it with a searing, biting ultimatum, throwing the pillow at Darian's head as he uttered it.

"You," he said, nostrils flaring again, "are a bad man!" he announced, and promptly took off for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Yes, I see that now," he said, eyeing the way Tappy was fuming and clutching a decorative pillow to his chest. "Apparently all it takes is a bit of flirting to make you downright feisty."

The second time Tappy spluttered at him, Darian winked. The effect on Tapendra - that or his continued presence - was remarkable, in the sense that during his time Darian had faced threats, beatings, angry husbands, angry wives, flying shoes, some really imaginative curses, and once (memorably) an enchanted piano, and so Tappy's childish insults were more likely to make him coo than feel the slightest trace of shame. He couldn't help it - Tapendra smoldered so adorably. Darian ducked the pillow, grinning.

"You are a BAD MAN!"

Fed an easy line like that, he was half-tempted to send something naughty after Tapendra's retreating backside... but no, he wanted Tappy to still talk to him later, and siccing his infamous cheek-tweaking charm on the man did not seem the ideal way to achieve this. Now Darian pulled on his boots, now he took one last, lingering glance around the bottle-riddled room with its empty plates and mussed bedcovers. He smiled to himself, fingers playing against his own smirking lips.

"Pleasure drinking with you!" he called to the closed bathroom door. "We ought to do it again some time!" And with the warm satisfaction of a bad job well done, he left.