Avery was laying on his stomach lazily, facing the end of the bed and looking through his homework. He kicked his feet slowly until Jack, who was sitting up at the the head of the bed, caught one of his feet. "Give me my foot," Avery told his papers, and wiggled his toes at their captor.
"Nah,"Jack said, and his foot nudged Avery from under the blankets. "You gave it to me."
"Jack, why haven't you started your work yet?"
"Oh," Jack said, stretching and then giving Avery's foot that was his a wiggle, "I reckon on having thirty six hours left, plus Monday morning. You know if I do it too soon the beaks'll catch on and they'll just change it. It's a deal they have with the government. They hate the Welsh."
Avery wrote his name out and put the paper on the floor, next to a half-pack of cigarettes (quite literally, as Jack had taken scissors to it to save precious nicotine tangled in a crumpled pack) and a drawing of Oliver shooting a gun at Jack's head, who was seemingly protected by a large ink square. Also, in the square, Avery was doing inappropriate things. Avery slid that paper under the bed. "Jack, that makes no sense."
"This is the way of the government," Jack said, and then let Avery's foot go.
"I thought that was yours."
"You are all mine."
"Can I keep my mouth?"
"On loan, maybe. Why?"
"Kissing!"
Jack held Avery's foot again. "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"
"You dork, I'm spending it with you. We could go to my room."
"Big adventure!"
"It's cleaner. And when I go to the toilet you can poke through my drawer and do unspeakable things to my underwear."
"Possibly steal them! There's no use, you know. Just makes it harder for me."
"I get cold!"
"Harder for me to warm you up proper with them on, too."
"Jack!"
"Avery?" Avery sat up and resettled himself into what Jack had once called his snuggling spot. He liked to listen to Jack's voice from his chest, and it was a delight when his name buzzed against his ear. Avery wished he had more 'r's in his name. R was a special treat. He liked hearing his name during sex, too, though it seemed that Jack was the one with a fetish for his own name. What Jack liked best, though, was when Avery went quiet. And Jack could do that to him, make him arch up and part his lips and forget every language and sometimes breath.
Maybe Jack could tell what he was thinking. "Lube in your room." He grinned at Avery, who squeaked and burrowed closer. Jack wrapped an arm around him and took his hand.
"Is that hand also yours?"
"You are all mine!"
"What do I get?"
Jack paused. "Um. Me." Avery decided that that was good enough. They stretched out quietly, and Jack wiggled down to the end of the bed to find a cigarette. He looked up at Avery, watching him through mostly-shut eyes, and left the pack on the floor, though he couldn't have explained why.
Avery reached for one of his feet.