Mikael opened the lounge room door to soft, deep snoring. He sighed, running a hand through his sleep-tangled hair. Snoring in the lounge room could mean only one thing -- Kael had come home drunk again and had not made it as far as the bedroom, but had simply passed out on the sofa.

Mikael frowned. This was becoming a regular occurrence, and he was getting tired of it. All he wanted to do was eat some breakfast and watch a bit of morning television in peace. He did not need his morning ruined by a drunken idiot invading his lounge room.

He stalked across the room to the sofa, where sure enough, he found Kael. The boy lay upright, one arm flung half across his face, the other draped behind his head. One of his impossibly long legs hung over the sofa's armrest, and the other was stretched down and dragging on the floor, making his unconscious sprawl almost indecent. His pouty lips were parted, his snores soft and sonorous, and even in sleep he still wore his sunglasses.

Mikael clenched his teeth in frustration and leant over Kael, reaching out to roughly shake his shoulder.

"Hey, you. Wake up." He shook harder, enough to skew Kael's sunglasses out of place and reveal his still-closed eyes. "I said, wake up!"

Without warning, Kael's arms moved, slipping up and around Mikael's bent form, linking behind his neck. And in the next moment, he found his lips pulled down against Kael's soft, pliable lips, and Kael was kissing him, warm, full, and with a sensual knowing that was nothing like Zafkiel's sweet innocence.

For a moment, Mikael was too stunned to do anything. Then the full brunt of what was happening hit him, and he reacted; he bit down, hard, on the lips that were trying to possess him. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Kael, and the arms that held Mikael locked in place, retreated.

Mikael stood up in a rush. He looked down.

Kael yawned, blinking hazy, drunk, sleep-filled eyes up at him. He seemed completely unaware, or uncared, about the blood oozing from his top lip.

"Oh," he said, his voice light and amused, "it's you."

His tone seemed to challenge Mikael.

"Stop sleeping on the damned sofa and use your room," Mikael snarled, and he spun about and stormed into the kitchen. He went straight to the tap, filling himself a glass of water, and washed the taste of Kael and Kael's blood out of his mouth, rinsing once, twice, again, again.

Behind him he heard unsteady footsteps retreating, a sound that might have been soft laughter, and then the distant slam of the study door. He cursed softly, and rinsed his mouth out again.