As expected, Quentin had gotten to Eliot's from work and been pretty well wiped, only really up for some sleepy kisses and Eliot rubbing his back a little, and even that felt almost wildly decadent. He was sleeping soundly, arms up over his head on the pillow and holding onto the top of it, one over the other. He hadn't, like, intentionally fallen asleep that way, but he wouldn't blame Eliot for taking the opportunity presented.

The first finger made his forehead draw in a little and a small noise emit from his throat, shifting slightly as he started to wake. The second had his eyes blinking open, squinting as he tried to figure out what was happening.