#persianflaw

Hawkeye lost his grip on the edge of the mattress. “Beej,” he complained, laughing, as BJ dragged him back under the duvet, holding Hawkeye to his chest. 

“I can’t have a hug?” BJ asked, kissing the back of his neck. He resettled the blankets so Hawkeye was tucked in up to his chin.

“Of course you can.” Hawkeye turned in his arms. BJ tossed a leg over his hip and drew him in tighter, nosing into the hollow of his throat. “But just for a second. I don’t want to jog to the bakery again.”

“Mm,” BJ said, breath warm against Hawkeye’s neck. He slid a hand up the back of Hawkeye’s thin sleeping shirt. It wasn’t a bid for anything more, unless a nap counted as an ulterior motive. 

“They’re going to run out of the good baguettes,” Hawkeye said. It was a reminder to himself, too; the blankets were still sleep-warmed and cozy. BJ’s arm was comfortably heavy over his waist. It was more tempting every second to stay in bed. 

“So get the less-good ones,” BJ murmured, rubbing his face against Hawkeye’s chest. “I don’t mind the sesame.”

“I mind the sesame,” Hawkeye tried to convince himself. It seemed a weak argument, comparatively, when BJ was rubbing circles into his lower back. The touch was warming him through, and he pushed himself more tightly against BJ, despite his determination to get out of bed soon. “One more minute,” he brokered, glancing at BJ’s watch on the nightstand. 

“One more minute,” BJ agreed. 

Hawkeye relaxed against him, curling into the blankets, closing his eyes against the midmorning light. He grasped BJ’s upper arm where it rested across his waist, and held it. BJ kissed his collarbone. Hawkeye realized it was almost impossible to open his eyes. It was far easier, and more comfortable, to melt against BJ. 

BJ’s breath slowed, and his hand stilled under Hawkeye’s shirt. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Hawkeye warned them both, though he was certain he’d allowed the one-minute mark to come and go. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes to check. Sleep was holding onto him even more determinedly than BJ. “We’re getting up. Any minute now we’re getting up.”

BJ sighed, more than half asleep. He rolled over, pinning Hawkeye under his weight, a full-body press that threatened to snuff out the last, weak flicker of Hawkeye’s willpower. 

It felt phenomenal. Hawkeye sighed, basking in the totality of the contact, BJ’s warm presence soothing something deep within him. “Damn. I can’t let go of you,” he confessed, rubbing their faces together. 

“It's a mutual problem.” BJ inhaled deeply, pressing Hawkeye flatter against the mattress.