“Smith…Smith, your phone’s buzzing.” Trott pushes on his shoulder, shaking him lightly awake.
Smith groans into the pillow.
“Smith, it’s 7:30,” Trott whines.
“What?” Smith pushes himself up on an arm, reaching across Trott and snatching his buzzing phone from off the side table. “Oh, fuck!”
Ross snuffles in his sleep and Trott grumbles in half-awake protest as Smith jostles them both in his attempt to shove his way out of bed. “Fuck!” he hisses again, scrambling from their twice-worn laundry pile on the floor in search of nice clothes that look halfway decent. “Fuck, I’m late for church!”
Rating: Mature
CW: Religion, Collars, sexual innuendos
If I need to tag something else, let me know.
ghostofgatsby 