Sheets tangled, fingers clutching at blond hair, open mouths panting against sweat-slick skin, tongue tasting where it caught in corners - neck, throat, shoulder.

A palm slides over a hip, taking the shirt resting there with it, fingertips groping up stomach, chest, resting at the base of a throat, teeth nipping down the column of skin exposed. That groping, exploring hand moves further down, cupping through sweatpants, thumb at the waistband, as one of them groans —

Angelo's stomach rolls as he's flung into reality. A reality. It's dark, at first. He almost thinks he's awake, the lights in his room gone off, but he isn't cold, despite his breath misting around him.

Then, something moves.

A figure. Tall, furry. Cloven hooved. Large horns, the kind that curled toward the sky and back. Cow's ears, bovine nose....

....fuck.

"He is cute," the voice says, amusement dripping off every word, accent thick and voice thunder-rolling deep. "But it is a little on the nose, yes?"

Angelo glares as Pan laughs.

"Just wanted to say hello, lamb. Sweet dreams."

Angelo wakes, again.

This time he can feel the sweat, his heaving chest beneath tangled covers and more evident...problems at hand. Groaning, Ange runs a hand down his face and glances at the clock.

The numbers wink, fluorescent green. 5 o'clock.

He could do that.