Work Text:
As much as he feels bad about it (no he doesn’t), Subspace always dreads the nights Ban Hammer sleeps over.
He can’t ever get a good night’s sleep when the other is around. He tosses and turns and wreaks absolute havoc on the bed. Tearing the sheets off Subspace enough to the point where he gives up on grabbing them back, somehow rearranging to be sleeping on the end of the bed. Splaying out on top of Subspace, which feels comparable to having an elephant crush you to death.
It’s almost as if Ban Hammer doesn’t know his own strength. Which is ridiculous, because Subspace knows he does. But all of that knowledge seems to vanish during the night. The bed becomes a battleground. Subspace is left to fight to not get crushed and suffocate. He doesn’t sleep. He never sleeps.
“Ban Hammer.” Subspace grouches under his breath, snorting out a plume of smog. The other demon had ripped all of the covers off of him. The heater may be on full blast, but it’s still cold. Blackrock is cold. It’s always snowing, so it’s always cold. It’s that simple. Subspace blindly reaches over and grips the corner of one of the blankets, claws digging into the plush fabric and pulling it back over himself. He tucks it underneath him so the demigod would have a harder time ripping it off again, sighing in contempt. He has to get up early to go to work. Gods damn it all.
Ban Hammer almost stirs from the action, and Subspace freezes, going perfectly still. One of the demigod’s ears twitch, and he growls quietly from the back of his throat, but ultimately he stays asleep. One leg shoots out to rest on top of Subspace’s stomach, claws flexing dangerously close to his face, and all Subspace does is sigh and attempt to get comfortable regardless.
But it doesn’t end there. He has to bite back an annoyed hiss when Ban Hammer readjusts again, rolling over and nearly crushing him. The stupid oaf throws an arm across his chest and pulls him closer, chuffing in his sleep, and Subspace has to just sit there and let it happen. Waking him up is like disturbing a nesting drakobloxxer; it’s a bad idea. The first time Ban Hammer slept over and Subspace attempted to wake him up when he’d started his bullshit, he’d nearly bit the remaining rest of his face off.
Subspace tried to be rational at first. Maybe his behavior is because of the whole running-Banland thing. Maybe he has to wake up ready to fight in case of a prison break. Maybe he’d been attacked in his sleep once and developed the habit as a result.
Or maybe he’s just fucking stupid. That one is by far the most reasonable option, and one that’s seemed to hold up well for as long as Subspace had known the demigod. It makes sense. It’s probably a habit Windforce never corrected.
Ban Hammer’s grip tightens, and he pulls the other onto his stomach and wraps his arms around his waist with a rumbling, crackly purr. Please. Subspace is tired. He has work. He wants to sleep. He does not want to cuddle. He would rather go sleep in an alleyway in the bad part of Blackrock’s capital like a junkie.
Subspace growls, ears pinning back as he’s stuck on top of him, held in place. He couldn’t break free even if he tried. At least it isn’t the other way around this time. And Ban Hammer is warm. But Subspace is still cold. He casts a mournful look to the pile of blankets that Ban Hammer had pushed off the bed. They’d fallen off in a way that looks comfortable to lay down on. But even if Ban Hammer repositioned himself and let go of him, he’d know that the other is no longer in bed. Subspace doesn’t know how, but he’d tried it months ago and it didn’t go well.
Whatever. Ban Hammer hadn’t moved for a solid minute and that’s the most still he’s been all night, so Subspace will take it. He rests his cheek on the demigod’s collarbone and lets his eye fall shut. He’s actually almost hopeful he’ll get some sleep tonight.
He’s abruptly woken up who knows how long later (it probably wasn’t even thirty minutes) by Ban Hammer chucking him off of him with a grunt. It wasn’t very forceful, but still Subspace yelps as his upper half lands on the edge of the bed. His claws scrabble at the comforter in order to pull himself back up, and he ends up tearing straight through it and into the mattress itself. Awesome. Mattresses aren’t cheap. Cool. Two thousand dollars down the drain.
He drags himself back onto the bed with a snarl he isn’t able to keep down and looks over to Ban Hammer, who’s still asleep without a care in the world. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’d nearly flung Subspace across the room. He had stolen his pillow and was curled around it, one leg stretched out and his back contorted at an angle that seemed uncomfortable at the least, and unnatural at the most.
Subspace huffs. Being without his blanket is bad enough. But his pillow? Thank you, Ban Hammer, for absolutely nothing. He stays on the edge of the bed, curling up and pillowing his head on his arms. He’s so close to waking him up despite the repercussions. Banishing him to the couch wouldn’t be a good idea, though, would it? That beast can’t stay on a couch with the way he thrashes.
He casts a warning glare over to Ban Hammer when he moves slightly from his current position, but it goes unnoticed. His jaws part in a silent yawn, and then he collapses onto his other side with a half-hearted stretch. He’s already asleep and stole the better half of Subspace’s night. How can he be more tired?
“Stupid,” he mutters under his breath, about to close his eye — but a loud growl rips itself from Ban Hammer’s throat, and he looks up blearily to peer at him again. He’s still asleep. One of his legs is kicking like a dog’s.
Is he dreaming? Did he have that much of an unconscious visceral reaction to the word stupid? Subspace shifts carefully, poised to jump away if the other suddenly lunges. This is ridiculous. He just wants to sleep. Why can’t he sleep without the dumbest things happening to him? Is his entire life a joke?
He lays his head back down onto his arms with a grunt, eye hurting in a painfully-heavy-and-tired-but-can’t-sleep kind of way. He hates this. He’s tired and grumpy enough to say he hates Ban Hammer, too.
“Stupid,” he repeats. Another growl rises from the demigod’s throat, but Subspace doesn’t even turn to look at him this time. He shuts his eye. He’s expecting to be woken up again.
He hates Ban Hammer.
His alarm blaring causes him to shoot awake before long, and he lets out the most defeated, tired sigh of his life as he moves to turn it off. Before he does, he checks the time. He knows what it’ll say, but he checks anyway; 4:00. In the morning. He’d managed at least two hours of sleep.
Subspace slams his head back down onto the mattress with an exhausted groan. He’s tired. He has to get to the lab at 4:30. He can’t even snooze the alarm.
He’s not going to let that meathead stay over again. Not when he has work. Not while he still has any dignity left.
Ban Hammer yawns. Subspace wearily lifts his head to look over at him just as he blinks open his eyes with a stretch. He has to stop himself from lunging at him. Stupid. Stupid. Ruining his sleep. He’s lucky he didn’t turn him into a lab rat a long time ago.
“Sleep well?” Ban Hammer asks, blinking over at him.
Subspace shoots him an exhausted glare, and the demigod has the gall to look sheepish.
“…’M goin’ back t’ sleep.”
He better go back to sleep if he knows what’s good for him.
Subspace sighs as he wisely turns away from him. He casts one last look at his clock; 4:05.
He’s screwed.