It was a few more hours before Avery, who usually woke at dawn, stirred. He usually didn't sleep so late, but after last night...
Well, he could have slept a lot later, but his inner clock wouldn't let him.
With a soft groan, he cracked his eyes open and squinted against the light. It wasn't too bright since his curtains were closed, but compared to the pitch black of sleep, it was a little painful. He reached up and rubbed the sleep out his eyes, yawned, stretched--and winced when he moved to sit up. Erk. Ow. Sore.
He'd admit it had been a while since he'd had to, ah, bend that way. And Cyma had not been satisfied with just one round, so there went his sleep. It hadn't been bad, though, and Avery hadn't had to fake a thing, so props to Cyma for that. It had been fun, he'd gotten a good chunk of coin--but oh gods was he going to be out of business for a good day or so now. No matter what precautions were taken, there was still only so much his body could take--and that was not an issue that Elon could help him with, nor one he'd let her help with even if she could.
Oh right, speaking of his patron...
Avery glanced over to his right at Cyma and eyed him, eyes squinted and bleary, hair disheveled (he was not looking forward to grooming it), with dark circles under his eyes. Huh. A lot of the time they left when they were through, and Avery preferred it that way. Last night (or this morning, who knows) Avery had passed out as soon as it was over and couldn't have cared less what Cyma did after.
Now, he felt a little annoyed to find him still there--mainly because he knew he probably looked dreadful, and because he wanted some time to himself that his job was fulfilled. There was always a lot of distance between the client and himself, and Avery liked it that way.
He didn't let any of that show on his face, though. The only thing that showed was exhaustion. Sitting up in bed, sore muscles protesting, he pushed strands of tangled hair out of his face and cracked a weary smile. "Good morning," he said, and covered his mouth to yawn. Then he grimaced. Blech, his breath was rank. Oh, forget his breath, he felt gross and filthy all over, sticky and smelly, he was sure. "Ugh...I need a bath."
This was awkward, which was strange considering what they had done. But he never knew what to say after the fact. Pillow talk and sweet nothings just weren't his strong point. He could fake a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.