[ this is it, this is how they'll die. not because of hypothermia, or from falling asleep with a fire still going on; no, they'll die from a stampede of animals, all spurred on by all the noise they're making.
with a sharp grunt, lance presses the flat of his palm against the underside of keith's jaw, trying to force enough distance between the two of them that he can wriggle out from underneath the other boy's weight. lance has at least two, maybe even three inches on the guy, surely he has enough strength and weight that this shouldn't even be an issue? and yet, somehow, keith's got him. pinned with a hand at his other elbow and the other one holding down his shoulder, the full brunt of his weight on lance's right hip.
at this point, all he has left is plan e, a tried and true method he has long since perfected as being the youngest child of five:
twisting his neck, he leans over just enough to run his tongue over the hand keith's got on his shoulder, because if similar squabbles with his siblings have taught him anything, it's that saliva is always a deal breaker. ]
Let no critical, or exceedingly simple task go without some kind of giant farce between red and blue. If asked directly, he wouldn't be able to provide a concrete excuse for keeping Lance away from the fire; surely he's gone camping before. More than that, cave people were capable of maintaining warmth -- so says the discovery channel. For all intents and purposes, this is probably one of their most superficial slapfights to date...
Now that he's got Lance wedged beneath him, he's trying to figure out how to keep him there. Maybe if he just keeps him like so, he'll drift back to sleep naturally? The plan backfires almost immediately as something slimy, and wet crosses his exposed fingers.
A sick feeling wells up in the pit of his stomach. Same as when you're not quite sure if you've left the stove on in the midst of galaxy-hopping.]
Did you just lick me..?!
[It's an accusation that comes with swift response; he's smearing his fingers against Lance's face thereafter. It worked as a distraction, though he's still sitting on Lance, weighing awkwardly on his hip. It'd be possible to topple him.]
[ ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR, KEITH, and no please do not read too much into that okay the point is you left yourself open, and so you must suffer the consequences.
funny how those consequences also involve lance suffering, but there's always collateral damage in war... he makes a strange, squawking sort of sound when his face is suddenly smushed by damp fingers. he turns his face away in an attempt to mitigate the damage, but he definitely got poked in the eye at least twice. ]
Quit it!
[ he pushes a little more with his hand right under keith's chin, trying to force the boy's head back enough that he wouldn't be able to see where he's smearing (which is probably what leads to all the eye poking, tbh). the struggle persists, because they're alarmingly fairly evenly matched as far as strength goes, if only because the distribution of keith's weight has him at a disadvantage. he tries to thrash around beneath the boy, resorting to the old bucking bronco trick and hoping maybe he can disrupt the other enough to throw him off.
he isn't given much time to really see if this will work out for him, for in the next second there is a sound so startling it causes him to go entirely still. ]
Hang on, hang on — do you hear that?
[ some rustling outside, and another sharp keening sound. an animal, of sorts... almost squeaking?? ]
[Literally, kinda. If he'd just sit still and let him go about his business. Of course, he doesn't have to be so relentless in his counterattack. Speaking of counterattacks, the chin-shove has him biting his tongue -- an uncharacteristic yelp follows.
Weakened, he's in the process of sitting up to at least prevent a second wave of rust from rushing his mouth; he doesn't get very far, though. Both due to their low ceiling and Lance's sudden hush-hush air.
This is probably a ruse; Lance is going to headbutt him any second.]
No. [It's a firm, quick response. He's not even trying...] You made me bite my tongue!
[Quick to follow is a louder, hamstery noise. It isn't coming from him, nor does it look like Lance is doing it. Likewise, the noise seems to be coming from outside; a shadowy figure -- like a badger or something, is just-perceptible in the triangular opening of their tent. Why couldn't it just be a ruse?
KNIFE. Knife, he's going for his knife, subtly, as if they haven't already outed themselves. Of course Keith would immediately think to try and gut something small and rodenty.]
[ a ready apology was sitting on the tip of his tongue (because he did feel bad about actually hurting the guy, despite all the previous and current roughhousing going on), but that apology quickly dies the moment he sees keith's hand reach for something shiny. lance tenses up considerably, having enough of his senses to know that that thing, whatever it is, is definitely close enough now to know something's gotta be up. ]
You dummy! [ he hisses this is typical stage-whisper style. ] Don't do anything stu—
[ but it's too late. they've angered the rodent gods. no more than a few seconds after keith makes his move and lance tries to dissuade him from it, the creature in question lets out a chatter not unlike a small laugh...
and then suddenly the inside of their tent is filled with some sort of dull-colored gas, and lance yells sharply in response, reaching up to try and clamp down on his nose and mouth. oh my god, oh my god they're gonna die of fart, and it's all keith's fault— ]
[This is how they die; whatever's been blown into their tent is, decidedly, not very skunky. His eyes aren't at all watering, but the uncertainty of it all has him pulling the collar of his shirt up over the bridge of his nose and cupping his hand over both that and his mouth. He's squinting through the fumes, trying to catch a glimpse of wherever that thing scurried off to, and despite having revenge on his mind for all of three seconds...
That sentiment's leaving him in a hurry; there's a calmness filling that gap, even as he's strangling the handle of his knife.
....So maybe they are being poisoned. This is how he dies. Semi-straddling Lance in a tent that's way too small for them, on a planet they don't know anything about. At least the blue paladin's last words weren't borderline whining about an injured tongue -- excluding that scream, anyway. Speaking of, he suddenly finds himself more rapt on the guy beneath him than he is focused on the gas or the fact that they're dying.
He won't dare try to speak. Not until the smoke becomes grows distilled and translucent. For now, he'll just quietly stare at Lance. Like in this scene from Lady and the Tramp.]
[ lance is a swimmer, and so he manages to hold his breath for all of three minutes. that's two and a half minutes longer than keith bothers to, meaning the effects of the gas get to him a lot slower. there are two entire minutes wherein lance just stares back at the other, brow arched sharply in question. he has to think something is wrong, or something has happened, because keith is suddenly so still, and staring at him so intently—
when he finally breathes in, he realizes the gas doesn't smell. like, at all. still it lingers, making the air between them slightly foggy, slightly misty. but as it clears, as he breathes in more, he feels a similar fog sort of settle over his own mind. his heartbeat slows from panicked to something else entirely. not quite a calm, but a very different, very specific sort of peace.
slowly, he swallows. he's suddenly very, very aware of how close keith is. ]
[It's the same motion, when Keith decides to slip his knife back onto his waist and also pull away from Lance. The latter takes longer, and he ends up being borderline clumsy about both pulling away and creating about an inch (if that) of space between them.]
[Let it be known that, when Keith's assessing something he finds attractive, he'll end up regarding the person like they've got three heads or an extra eye. More importantly, what were they arguing about before? Shouldn't they still be concerned about the (fading) canary-yellow fog stagnating in their tent? How on Earth is he supposed to borrow a fuck about either of that when he's so suddenly, starkly realized how perfectly Lance's bangs frame his forehead and how expressive he is with his eyes. It's...
Causing him to dig his fingers into the ground, looking for some physical leverage.]
[ you don't look good, nearly comes lance's ready response, because all of his retorts basically amount to a five year old's repertoire, but for once he had a legitimate reason for such playground taunts. keith didn't look good, at least in the way that someone usually looks after they'd just remembered they were allergic to the pb&j they just scarfed down.
but at the same time, lance found he couldn't say the words, if only because he becomes very suddenly aware of the fact that keith, objectively, subjectiveley, adjectively.... did look good. just. overall. past the slightly uncertain, queasy look making the lines of his face softer and more wobbly than usual, lance wonders if his eyes had always been that big. even his hair, his dumb, stupid hair — since when did it fall over his face like that? were those wisps at his cheeks always that long? if he reaches up and pushes it aside, would he be able to tuck it behind an ear and—
[I was lying down -- it's there, a snappy retort at the tip of his tongue, prepared to go over the how's and why's as to why he wasn't soundly asleep at the moment, but he can't. It's beyond not really worth it and is ebbing territory he's seldom (if ever?) touched upon. It's bigger than suddenly just wanting to be polite for the sake of upholding camaraderie. It's -- admiration, but worse?
Rather than clutching his stomach, a hand comes up to hold his collar -- differently from before. He's ruffling at it, a nervous tick he's never had until this very moment?!]
I...don't think that's such a good idea.
[Not with you in here. Sleeping alongside Lance is, unexpectedly, one of the most taboo things ever. On the other hand, he can't bring himself to move any farther away. It's...nice? It's nice, sharing this extremely shitty, tiny tent with Lance, even though a giant part of himself wants to flee and make a diagram about it.]
I'm fine like this.
[Just as the very faintest hue of red tinges his cheeks. Way to scandalize him...]
[ somehow, lance didn't think keith would take him up on that suggestion. not just because they make a habit of being contrary to one another (though he's sure that's still a large part of it) but because, despite a certain level of discomfort evident on keith's face, he also looked... well. like he was enjoying it.
or was that all just wishful thinking on lance's part?
wait, why is that even wishful thinking in the first place?!
keith moves, and lance finds himself watching the movement despite himself. his eyes sort of stall on the brief flashes of skin that that gesture exposes, brow furrowing over realizing how long and smooth the line of his neck was...
...
lance panics, doing what he does best in situations that aren't quite dire enough to necessitate his entire mental faculties, but still stressful enough that he knows he has to react somehow. going stock-still, he suddenly turns his head to the side, realizing he can't continue to look up at the other without feeling a similar hint of red crawl over his own cheeks (too late, it's already happening).
his voice pitches a little higher than normal. not quite a squeak, but close enough. ]
...Y-You're crushing my hip though! [ he wasn't. not at all. but what else can lance even say right now?? ]
Did you gorge yourself back on the station? You must weigh like 300 pounds!
[Did it suddenly get warmer in here? Why is it so warm? It was cold when he was wandering around outside, and it's not like the stupid tent's insulated. His mind's racing, and just as the more rational side of his brain gains in edge -- maybe stepping outside wouldn't be such a bad idea, that animal seems to be gone, he's yanked back into the moment.]
..Sorry!
[Wait, no he isn't, is he? He draws his legs back anyway, bringing his knees to his chest. Mark that as the first, and last time Keith will ever apologize to Lance about anything ever.]
What are you talking about?! I didn't eat anything!
[Which, he probably ate a bit, and he's very aware that Lance is being dramatic and shitty on purpose, but it's...different. For some reason. Almost hurtful. Almost.]
[ granted there isn't that much space between them even now that keith's finally off of him, but even just that little bit of reprieve is enough to give lance a chance to breathe. he sucks in each breath as if it were his last, head still twisted to the side to pointedly not look at keith. he falls a little too eagerly to that back-and-forth banter of theirs, if only because of how familiar it is. unfortunately he's so eager for it, he doesn't listen to the tiny voice in the back of his head that suggests that, maybe, it isn't exactly like before... ]
Let's just — Let's just go to sleep, okay!
[ he rolls over onto his side in an alarmingly rigid manner for someone who tends to drape all over everything as a default position, but at least with his back to keith, it's easier again to clear his head.
who knows — maybe they'll feel just like their old selves again in the morning. ]
[Somehow, it is much easier to settle without Lance staring right at him. His hand drops, his legs aren't so taught against himself. He can breathe again.]
I would, if you weren't taking up the whole tent.
[It's a murmured echo as he shifts close -- a natural act without much thought input, and drops onto his side, stretching and bending his knees against the back of Lance's. His hand fumbles around blindly for the blanket because, while he's warm and in a tizzy, that...probably won't last the entire night.
That, and it's weird just spooning like this with no blanket.]
[ lance tenses when he feels keith come closer. he thinks to shout, i meant back to back! but the words kind of stutter and die in his throat, likely caught behind yet another lump he can't remember having been there before. by the time he works his jaw around it, keith's already drawn up that sorry excuse for a blanket, and it's like the definitive punctuation to the end of what was one a question but is now a statement. they've come too far at this point. there's no turning back now.
he tries to keep his breaths even, slow. maybe if he fools keith into thinking he's fallen asleep he will, eventually, fall asleep as well.
and not think quite so hard about how keith's breath on his neck makes his stomach feel. ]
[Once he's arranged the blanket over them, his hand awkwardly hovers between them. There's a weird inclination to..hug him? Just let it fall over his ribs and rest there. He does not give into temptation, however, and rests it somewhere between Lance's shoulder blades and his chest.
There's no help for the breath at his nape, though. He's left staring awkwardly at the back of Lance's head, unable to even truly consider sleeping after the...the rush of whatever this is that he's still enduring.
[ lance hadn't even gotten as far as closing his eyes by the time keith speaks up, but upon hearing his name his eyes snap shut as if getting caught doing the alternative would be some kind of grave offense. ]
Shh, [ he says after a full two seconds. ] People are sleeping...
[With confidence, although he didn't give Lance (or himself) much of an opportunity. He's propping himself onto an elbow, vague-glaring at the boy to his side.]
You're, you feel weird too, right? It's not just me.
[NOT LOOKING AT HIM WON'T MAKE HIM GO AWAY. HE'S NOT A MONSTER FROM UNDER THE BED.
Maybe Lance is right, and if he is right, not unlike a Smith's song, he doesn't actually mind dying if he gets to die here. Like this. Which is bogus and uncomfortable. Just as quickly as he propped himself up, he's deflating, dropping back onto his side without a word in edgewise. He probably should...just...try harder. To sleep. And not be the top bunk kid here.
He tucks his chin in, effectively ruffling the back of Lance's head with his forehead. At least he's not directly breathing on the back of his neck anymore...]
[ keith settles back behind him, and lance finally lets out the breath he'd been holding onto. this is fine. this is all fine. they just need to shake it off, sleep on it, and once morning hits everything will be a-okay, back to normal.
in the dark of the tent, he waits until he feels keith's breathing grow slower, steadier. only when he feels it safe to, whether or not keith has actually fallen asleep entirely, he lets his own head tip back slightly, tucking keith there against the crown of it.
[For how frazzled he'd been moments ago, actually putting some effort into settling ends up...working? He's calm and cozy, happy to let himself slip into unconsciousness--
Only for it to be disturbed. Slightly. There's some automatic shifting in turn, he's nestling closer, automatically attracted to the bodily warmth Lance is providing. He's not fully awake, though some distant part of his brain is aware of how odd the arrangement is. Keith's probably never had to share a mattress with anyone in his life before, while they're not on a mattress...
It's the same idea. And while it's an odd concept, it isn't as awful as it should be.]
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[ this is it, this is how they'll die. not because of hypothermia, or from falling asleep with a fire still going on; no, they'll die from a stampede of animals, all spurred on by all the noise they're making.
with a sharp grunt, lance presses the flat of his palm against the underside of keith's jaw, trying to force enough distance between the two of them that he can wriggle out from underneath the other boy's weight. lance has at least two, maybe even three inches on the guy, surely he has enough strength and weight that this shouldn't even be an issue? and yet, somehow, keith's got him. pinned with a hand at his other elbow and the other one holding down his shoulder, the full brunt of his weight on lance's right hip.
at this point, all he has left is plan e, a tried and true method he has long since perfected as being the youngest child of five:
twisting his neck, he leans over just enough to run his tongue over the hand keith's got on his shoulder, because if similar squabbles with his siblings have taught him anything, it's that saliva is always a deal breaker. ]
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Let no critical, or exceedingly simple task go without some kind of giant farce between red and blue. If asked directly, he wouldn't be able to provide a concrete excuse for keeping Lance away from the fire; surely he's gone camping before. More than that, cave people were capable of maintaining warmth -- so says the discovery channel. For all intents and purposes, this is probably one of their most superficial slapfights to date...
Now that he's got Lance wedged beneath him, he's trying to figure out how to keep him there. Maybe if he just keeps him like so, he'll drift back to sleep naturally? The plan backfires almost immediately as something slimy, and wet crosses his exposed fingers.
A sick feeling wells up in the pit of his stomach. Same as when you're not quite sure if you've left the stove on in the midst of galaxy-hopping.]
Did you just lick me..?!
[It's an accusation that comes with swift response; he's smearing his fingers against Lance's face thereafter. It worked as a distraction, though he's still sitting on Lance, weighing awkwardly on his hip. It'd be possible to topple him.]
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funny how those consequences also involve lance suffering, but there's always collateral damage in war... he makes a strange, squawking sort of sound when his face is suddenly smushed by damp fingers. he turns his face away in an attempt to mitigate the damage, but he definitely got poked in the eye at least twice. ]
Quit it!
[ he pushes a little more with his hand right under keith's chin, trying to force the boy's head back enough that he wouldn't be able to see where he's smearing (which is probably what leads to all the eye poking, tbh). the struggle persists, because they're alarmingly fairly evenly matched as far as strength goes, if only because the distribution of keith's weight has him at a disadvantage. he tries to thrash around beneath the boy, resorting to the old bucking bronco trick and hoping maybe he can disrupt the other enough to throw him off.
he isn't given much time to really see if this will work out for him, for in the next second there is a sound so startling it causes him to go entirely still. ]
Hang on, hang on — do you hear that?
[ some rustling outside, and another sharp keening sound. an animal, of sorts... almost squeaking?? ]
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[Literally, kinda. If he'd just sit still and let him go about his business. Of course, he doesn't have to be so relentless in his counterattack. Speaking of counterattacks, the chin-shove has him biting his tongue -- an uncharacteristic yelp follows.
Weakened, he's in the process of sitting up to at least prevent a second wave of rust from rushing his mouth; he doesn't get very far, though. Both due to their low ceiling and Lance's sudden hush-hush air.
This is probably a ruse; Lance is going to headbutt him any second.]
No. [It's a firm, quick response. He's not even trying...] You made me bite my tongue!
[Quick to follow is a louder, hamstery noise. It isn't coming from him, nor does it look like Lance is doing it. Likewise, the noise seems to be coming from outside; a shadowy figure -- like a badger or something, is just-perceptible in the triangular opening of their tent. Why couldn't it just be a ruse?
KNIFE. Knife, he's going for his knife, subtly, as if they haven't already outed themselves. Of course Keith would immediately think to try and gut something small and rodenty.]
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You dummy! [ he hisses this is typical stage-whisper style. ] Don't do anything stu—
[ but it's too late. they've angered the rodent gods. no more than a few seconds after keith makes his move and lance tries to dissuade him from it, the creature in question lets out a chatter not unlike a small laugh...
and then suddenly the inside of their tent is filled with some sort of dull-colored gas, and lance yells sharply in response, reaching up to try and clamp down on his nose and mouth. oh my god, oh my god they're gonna die of fart, and it's all keith's fault— ]
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That sentiment's leaving him in a hurry; there's a calmness filling that gap, even as he's strangling the handle of his knife.
....So maybe they are being poisoned. This is how he dies. Semi-straddling Lance in a tent that's way too small for them, on a planet they don't know anything about. At least the blue paladin's last words weren't borderline whining about an injured tongue -- excluding that scream, anyway. Speaking of, he suddenly finds himself more rapt on the guy beneath him than he is focused on the gas or the fact that they're dying.
He won't dare try to speak. Not until the smoke becomes grows distilled and translucent. For now, he'll just quietly stare at Lance. Like in this scene from Lady and the Tramp.]
is that what you used your new ps on...
when he finally breathes in, he realizes the gas doesn't smell. like, at all. still it lingers, making the air between them slightly foggy, slightly misty. but as it clears, as he breathes in more, he feels a similar fog sort of settle over his own mind. his heartbeat slows from panicked to something else entirely. not quite a calm, but a very different, very specific sort of peace.
slowly, he swallows. he's suddenly very, very aware of how close keith is. ]
...what?
yes...now i'm deleting it
What, what?
[Uhm.]
I didn't say anything.
[Let it be known that, when Keith's assessing something he finds attractive, he'll end up regarding the person like they've got three heads or an extra eye. More importantly, what were they arguing about before? Shouldn't they still be concerned about the (fading) canary-yellow fog stagnating in their tent? How on Earth is he supposed to borrow a fuck about either of that when he's so suddenly, starkly realized how perfectly Lance's bangs frame his forehead and how expressive he is with his eyes. It's...
Causing him to dig his fingers into the ground, looking for some physical leverage.]
I -- don't feel good.
[In short.]
no takebacks!!
but at the same time, lance found he couldn't say the words, if only because he becomes very suddenly aware of the fact that keith, objectively, subjectiveley, adjectively.... did look good. just. overall. past the slightly uncertain, queasy look making the lines of his face softer and more wobbly than usual, lance wonders if his eyes had always been that big. even his hair, his dumb, stupid hair — since when did it fall over his face like that? were those wisps at his cheeks always that long? if he reaches up and pushes it aside, would he be able to tuck it behind an ear and—
and? and what?
suddenly he feels pretty nauseated too. ]
Maybe you should lay down.
it's a lot of responsibility though
Rather than clutching his stomach, a hand comes up to hold his collar -- differently from before. He's ruffling at it, a nervous tick he's never had until this very moment?!]
I...don't think that's such a good idea.
[Not with you in here. Sleeping alongside Lance is, unexpectedly, one of the most taboo things ever. On the other hand, he can't bring himself to move any farther away. It's...nice? It's nice, sharing this extremely shitty, tiny tent with Lance, even though a giant part of himself wants to flee and make a diagram about it.]
I'm fine like this.
[Just as the very faintest hue of red tinges his cheeks. Way to scandalize him...]
too bad... this is your bed now...
or was that all just wishful thinking on lance's part?
wait, why is that even wishful thinking in the first place?!
keith moves, and lance finds himself watching the movement despite himself. his eyes sort of stall on the brief flashes of skin that that gesture exposes, brow furrowing over realizing how long and smooth the line of his neck was...
...
lance panics, doing what he does best in situations that aren't quite dire enough to necessitate his entire mental faculties, but still stressful enough that he knows he has to react somehow. going stock-still, he suddenly turns his head to the side, realizing he can't continue to look up at the other without feeling a similar hint of red crawl over his own cheeks (too late, it's already happening).
his voice pitches a little higher than normal. not quite a squeak, but close enough. ]
...Y-You're crushing my hip though! [ he wasn't. not at all. but what else can lance even say right now?? ]
Did you gorge yourself back on the station? You must weigh like 300 pounds!
i'll manage...i guess
..Sorry!
[Wait, no he isn't, is he? He draws his legs back anyway, bringing his knees to his chest. Mark that as the first, and last time Keith will ever apologize to Lance about anything ever.]
What are you talking about?! I didn't eat anything!
[Which, he probably ate a bit, and he's very aware that Lance is being dramatic and shitty on purpose, but it's...different. For some reason. Almost hurtful. Almost.]
You're the one taking up the whole tent-!
good luck...
Let's just — Let's just go to sleep, okay!
[ he rolls over onto his side in an alarmingly rigid manner for someone who tends to drape all over everything as a default position, but at least with his back to keith, it's easier again to clear his head.
who knows — maybe they'll feel just like their old selves again in the morning. ]
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I would, if you weren't taking up the whole tent.
[It's a murmured echo as he shifts close -- a natural act without much thought input, and drops onto his side, stretching and bending his knees against the back of Lance's. His hand fumbles around blindly for the blanket because, while he's warm and in a tizzy, that...probably won't last the entire night.
That, and it's weird just spooning like this with no blanket.]
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he tries to keep his breaths even, slow. maybe if he fools keith into thinking he's fallen asleep he will, eventually, fall asleep as well.
and not think quite so hard about how keith's breath on his neck makes his stomach feel. ]
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There's no help for the breath at his nape, though. He's left staring awkwardly at the back of Lance's head, unable to even truly consider sleeping after the...the rush of whatever this is that he's still enduring.
He lasts about twenty seconds.]
Lance.
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Shh, [ he says after a full two seconds. ] People are sleeping...
[ ????? who ]
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Wh--no one's sleeping!
[With confidence, although he didn't give Lance (or himself) much of an opportunity. He's propping himself onto an elbow, vague-glaring at the boy to his side.]
You're, you feel weird too, right? It's not just me.
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Yeah. [ though to his credit, he does answer honestly. ]
I'm pretty sure we're dying.
[ ...mostly. ]
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Maybe Lance is right, and if he is right, not unlike a Smith's song, he doesn't actually mind dying if he gets to die here. Like this. Which is bogus and uncomfortable. Just as quickly as he propped himself up, he's deflating, dropping back onto his side without a word in edgewise. He probably should...just...try harder. To sleep. And not be the top bunk kid here.
He tucks his chin in, effectively ruffling the back of Lance's head with his forehead. At least he's not directly breathing on the back of his neck anymore...]
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in the dark of the tent, he waits until he feels keith's breathing grow slower, steadier. only when he feels it safe to, whether or not keith has actually fallen asleep entirely, he lets his own head tip back slightly, tucking keith there against the crown of it.
this is fine. ]
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Only for it to be disturbed. Slightly. There's some automatic shifting in turn, he's nestling closer, automatically attracted to the bodily warmth Lance is providing. He's not fully awake, though some distant part of his brain is aware of how odd the arrangement is. Keith's probably never had to share a mattress with anyone in his life before, while they're not on a mattress...
It's the same idea. And while it's an odd concept, it isn't as awful as it should be.]