Or the teapot to steep. Or Eugene to finish making breakfast.

[The mere hint of a memory comes like a wisp of smoke from kindling, and Jack finds himself nursing it just as carefully, torn between frustration and gratitude when Zevran doesn't kiss him. He's not sure he entirely wants that, not with Zev in that place between knowing him and not, between predilection and infidelity. Lacing his fingers behind Zev's neck, he looks down over the plane of his body, so close to complete familiarity but not quite.]

Sometimes I'd be half falling asleep on you if you didn't move a little. Especially early in the morning.