Mark Webber has never woken up next to a man before. It's far less startling than it should be, but maybe that's just because he's still a little drunk from the night before. Still, it's a little strange to say the least.
Said man is currently squirming about tiredly, long legs kicking at Mark as he tries to get some sort of purchase.
"Hngh, did you take the duvet?" Comes the grumble from beside him, it's got a slight Scottish lilt to it that's suddenly all too familiar.
"No, piss off," He grumbles.
"You bloody did! I've got no duvet and you've got all of it!" Well, at least DC seems to be taking this waking up together thing in his stride.
"That's not true!" Mark says indignantly, turning over in his cocoon of blankets to glare at David, who just glowers back at him and shivers pathetically. He's got a t-shirt and underpants on. That's something at least.
"How can you even say that? I'm freezing!" David folds his arms, rubbing them theatrically in a show of just how cold he is.
"The heating's on you wuss," Mark sniffs, rolling out of the way of a flailing fist that still catches his shoulder.
"How do you know? You're baking away in the duvet!" Okay, so the fact that they're having banter despite the obvious situation is a little disconcerting, but it's easier to just roll with it than try and think too hard.
"Christ, do you want some doona you bloody whinger?"
"... Some what?" David stumbles, mid sulk, suddenly trying to keep the smirk off his face and failing.
"Doona..." Mark repeats unsteadily, frowning slightly.
"It's a duvet!" He splutters, laughing.
"Not in Australia it isn't! And now you aren't getting any either," He adds as an afterthought, rolling over sullenly.
"Oh come on!" David kicks him repeatedly until he's forced to roll back over to glare properly for the full effect.
"Not until you ask for it properly." Mark scowls, face the epitome of sullen.
"Can I please share the..." It's obvious that David's trying not to laugh, and not doing a particularly good job of it to boot. "... Doona." He sniggers, but Mark, true to his word, throws out a part of the cocoon to the other man, albeit with an expression that's nothing but acerbic.
"Very." David assures him, grinning. Admittedly, being snuggled up next to a smug David Coulthard is far comfier than being hit repeatedly by a disgruntled David Coulthard. Not that that makes this situation any less weird.
"This should be odd, shouldn't it?" Mark finally embraces the strangeness of the situation in his usual, subtle way.
"Hnh, probably." David says into his shoulder, breath warm and tickly against the bare patch of skin.
"What actually happened last night?" He tries to get a slightly more solid answer out of the Scotsman, who instead gives an equally frustrating shrug.
"I dunno. There was beer. I think I tried to start a fight with Eddie Jordan."
"You tried to start a fight with Eddie Jordan and now we're in bed together..?" Mark asks incredulously.
"Something like that, yeah."
"You're an idiot." Mark snorts, trying to refrain from wrapping an arm around David's shoulders, because that would not be proper.
"You're only jealous that I've got the balls to start a fight with Eddie Jordan." David grunts absent mindedly.
"Oh, yeah, that must be it," He rolls his eyes and decides to wrap an arm around the other man anyway. The Scot burrows into him encouragingly.
"It is!" He insists vehemently.
“You’re still an idiot,” Mark frowns, tilting his head down disapprovingly. David glares back at him. “And who’s duvet is this?”
“Is it bright yellow with the word ‘Jordan’ across it?” David asks, attempting to peer over the edge of the duvet to get a decent look at the room.
“Then we’re not at Eddie Jordan’s place.”