"Okay, shhh. Shhh!" A muffled whomp, and the headboard hits the wall. "God, you might as well just string neon lights around a sign that reads 'we're trying to have sex' on the door—"

Elijah giggles and breaks their lips apart and the mattress pad comes off the right upper corner of the bed. He sings, "Let's get it on..."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Sean flings a hand out for balance as his shirt is plucked off his shoulders. Fingers disturb the careful slick of his hair, purposefully undoing the work the hairspray has been doing all day.

"Oh, you're one to talk," Elijah mutters, mouth wet and warm at the rise of Sean's collarbone. "Blah blah blah—hey, ow." Sean pinches again, throwing Elijah off to his side with the motion, who promptly climbs back on top, wriggling his hips between Sean's. The tussle goes still for a short second, and prompts Elijah to take a breath. "Like I was sayin'..." Sean kisses him soundly, but the moment they break for air, Elijah goes on. "You really have no right to—" Wet kiss. "—be all calling the kettle black, here."

It gets very warm, and Sean is still laughing.