#I spent the last two hours listening to the duck song on loop

[halfhissandwich]

It’s funny how the dime is so small yet can hold much power. The weight of the worth is meaningless but when needed for a decision, it could be worth millions. But what is worrisome is how the people can react to a coin toss. There could be someone impassive win or lose. There could be someone who wears their heart on their sleeve and could kill over the outcome. And there’s always the one who is happy either way. Because there isn’t just a winning and losing side to a coin toss. There’s also the one tossing the coin. When we live our lives, are we one of the feuding groups, or do we toss the coin? Fiction doesn’t have a choice. But we do.

Ok I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that was so edgy and over the top, WE’RE TALKING ABOUT A WEDDING HERE- (/ref) (/lh)

[burntoutmatchstick]

Are you excited to see me, or is it hypothermia?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31498151

Slightly AU-ish - Robbe and Sander have to keep their relationship a secret because Sander has just broken up with Britt. Everyone is in college. It's cold, but Sobbe is hot. Mostly just fluff and a little bit of smut.

“Robbe Ijzermans, you are the greatest person to ever walk the planet!”

“Zoë Loockx, you are drunk.”

Zoë laughed, her breath warm against the side of his face. She pressed her lips against his cheek and then pulled back, grinning. Her mouth was stained red, from her lipstick or that neon cocktail she clutched in her hand Robbe couldn’t be sure. Probably a combination of the two. The bar’s pulsating lights were reflecting off Zoë’s pale hair as she tugged on his arm.

“C’monnnn” she whined, face close to his ear again to try and make herself heard over the thumping music. “You’re here now, just stay for one drink!” She gestured to the other side of the bar, where a group of girls were waving enthusiastically at him.

He could see Amber and Luca beckoning him over. Yasmina was there too, and she caught his gaze across the dancefloor, rolling her eyes slightly with a wry smile as Luca began a series of... animated... dance moves beside her.

Robbe groaned. He absolutely did not need another late night; he was working an early shift tomorrow and he had two assignments due the next day. He’d only stopped by the bar in the first place to drop Zoë her forgotten keys, specifically so he could avoid waking up at an ungodly hour to let her into the apartment. But now that he was here, and if he only had one drink...after all, he hadn’t hung out with the girls in ages. He was just about to give in to Zoë’s insistent pull, when Amber stepped back, allowing Robbe a view of the rest of the group. Britt was with them.

He felt something sink to the pit of his stomach, and he planted his feet more firmly against Zoë’s pull.

“Zo, Zoë, no listen - I can’t. Really, you know I’ve got work in the morning.” He laughed at her pouty sad face, gently extracting himself from her grasp.

"Fine," she huffed, wobbling backwards slightly.

He laughed. "Are you going to be okay to get back across the dancefloor, or do you want me to give you a little push?"

"Asshole," she replied, flipping him off with a big grin.

"Enjoy the rest of your night," he said, suddenly very eager to be out of the suffocating bar.

Love you! She mouthed against the loud music, moving back into the throng of people.

Robbe stood on his tiptoes, waving goodbye to the girls. He tried not to look at her, but he couldn't help it, Britt was waving at him too. He shot her a quick smile, hoping it didn't look forced, and then ducked back through the crowd. He didn't know if it was his guilty conscience talking, but he thought Britt seemed sad.

It wasn't really his fault if she was, he tried to tell himself as he pushed his way towards to door, trying to avoid sweaty armpits and overflowing drinks. She hadn't been happy in her relationship for a long time before Robbe showed up, and it had ended before anything became too serious, Robbe had made that a clear condition. But still, there was definitely some hazy timing around who had done what, and when, and Robbe had definitely known enough to know better. Hell, his guilty conscience was the whole reason he was still keeping the best thing that had ever happened to him a secret; he didn't think it was fair on Britt to shove their happiness in her face so soon after the messy breakup. And also, there was a part of him that was scared, and ashamed of that fear, because once Britt knew they were together, Robbe knew it was only a matter of time before she put two and two together herself and had some realisations about that hazy timeline of who was doing what with who, and when.

He knew they'd have to own up to it eventually, because it was getting harder and harder to keep it a secret, especially when all he wanted to do was shout from the rooftops that he was desperately, passionately, fiercely falling for Sander Driesen.

And then, almost as if Robbe had summoned him, Sander was there. Robbe actually stopped short in surprise, almost tripping over his own feet. Had he really become that obsessed with Sander that he was hallucinating? It was a possibility, but no, this time, it really was Sander leaning against a door frame, leather jacket clad, drink held lazily in one hand, devil-may-care aura radiating around him.

Robbe simply stood and stared for a moment, taking him in, admiring the way his Bowie t-shirt clung tightly to his lean frame beneath the leather jacket, the way the lights danced against his white hair, reflecting the changing colour with every beat of the music. Sander's expression was amused as he bent his head to listen to whatever his friend was saying, Robbe watched as he rolled his eyes and laughed, almost spilling the drink he was waving around. Robbe could tell from the way Sander held himself, relaxed and slouchy, that he was drunk.

Robbe had known Sander was going out with college friends tonight, and Sander knew that Robbe was working in the morning, so they'd agreed to catch up the next day. Sander hadn't seen him, and Robbe knew he could slip away unnoticed. It was the smart thing to do, especially with Britt and their other friends in the same room.

He didn't move.

He'd spent so long watching Sander in this very way, from across rooms filled with other people, with Britt, untouchable, that now that he could touch him (and God, he couldn't get enough), it was almost impossible to walk away. And then, like a magnetic force, Sander looked up, through the pulsing room full of people and music and bouncing lights, and directly into Robbe's eyes.

Robbe laughed to himself as Sander struggled to work through his surprise. Sander's brow crinkled in confusion as he registered Robbe's presence, his blond head tilting to one side, before his face exploded into a dazzling smile that shot straight to Robbe's knees, filling his stomach with butterflies. Robbe was a smitten schoolgirl, and he couldn't fucking care less.

He watched Sander lurch unsteadily from the door frame, and away from his friend, who called after him in confusion. Sander didn't seem to hear him though, or just didn't care, as he made his way determinedly, if a little wobbly, towards Robbe.

Robbe followed suit, not caring as he shoved his way past people until Sander was in front of him.

The boys stopped, taking each other in with stupid smiles plastered to both their faces, before Sander said, "you're here!" and crashed into Robbe's waiting arms. Robbe staggered back against the force of Sander's embrace, wrapping his arms tight around Sander to steady them both. Sander had his head bent into Robbe's shoulder, but Robbe could practically hear the crooked grin in his voice as Sander said "wait, am I that drunk, or are you actually here?"

Robbe laughed quietly into Sander's hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and the beer on his breath. "I think you might be that drunk, but I am here too. Except not for long, I have to go."

"No!" Sander whined, twisting his hands into the front of Robbe's hoodie, pulling them closer together.

Even with Sander this close, their entwined bodies forming a little bubble among the crush of people around them, Robbe was acutely aware of Britt and the girls' mere metres behind them. This was not the way anyone was meant to find out, but especially Britt.

"Sander, we can't do this here." Robbe felt his heart twang slightly as Sander pulled back and looked at him, a flicker of hurt behind his eyes.

"Wha..."

"No - I don't mean, it's just that the girls and..."

"What, I can't hear you!" Sander shouted, as a new song began, and the beat kicked in again.

Robbe laughed at the confused expression on Sander's face and jerked his head towards the door. Sander nodded, so Robbe laced their fingers together, and began the task of navigating them through the swarms of people in varying states of soberness. It felt like moving through toffee - sticky, alcoholic toffee - but finally with one last tug, Robbe pulled both he and Sander free of the clutches of the bar and out on to the street.

The cold struck him instantly, a stark contrast to inside, and he pulled Sander closer to his side as he moved them both away from the people queuing at the door to get in.

Sander shivered slightly as they came to a stop, and Robbe looped his arms around the taller boy's neck, drawing them into each other's body heat.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear myself think in there," Robbe said, finally getting a good look at Sander away from the unnatural fluorescent lights.

The first thing Robbe noticed was that Sander was even drunker than he thought. The second was how goddam gorgeous he looked anyway, his eyes slightly hooded and unfocused, his lips glistening under the streetlights as he leaned against Robbe to keep himself upright. Robbe had seen Sander in a similar state before, after they'd....

Robbe swallowed hard.

"What are you even doing here, I thought you were meant to be sleeping?" Sander said, his voice thick and deep. He twisted his hands into the front of Robbe's hoodie again, his iron grip pulling them closer.

"Zoë forgot her keys, I was just dropping them off."

"Mmm, I'm glad Zoë is forgetful," Sander said. He dropped his head, and suddenly his mouth was at Robbe's neck.

"Sander, Sander wait..." Robbe gently pulled his head back, despite every nerve in his body telling him not to.

Sander froze, and looked down at Robbe, his face going blank.

"Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Baby, no - " Robbe laughed softly, unwrapping Sander's hands from his shirt, and pulling them up to gently kiss his knuckles. "It's just that - did you know the girls are here too? With Britt?"

Robbe tried not to laugh at the confused expression on Sander's face, heightened by his drunkenness as he tried to decipher the new information.

"The girls..." Sander said slowly. "...and Britt?"

"Yes," Robbe said, annunciating carefully. "Britt. Here. Britt is here."

"Fuck," said Sander with a sigh, though he made no attempt to move.

"My thoughts exactly," Robbe agreed.

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. Robbe gave Sander's compromised thoughts a chance to catch up with their current situation.

"Wellllll...." Sander said, his slow drawl drawing out the word. "She's going to find out eventually..." and with that, he tugged Robbe closer, dropping his mouth down to that fucking spot again, that spot that even drunk Sander knew could get Robbe to do just about anything.

"Sander," Robbe said, except that it came out as less of a protest and more of a moan, and Sander responded as such, his own moan vibrating against Robbe's neck as he continued to pull Robbe even more firmly into his space.

Robbe wondered whether intoxication was catching, as Sander's hands made their way down and under his hoodie, cold fingers against his waist causing him to gasp. Sander lifted his head then, swallowing Robbe's gasp into his mouth as he crashed their lips together. Robbe could taste the beer on Sander's breath as his mind began to go blank, any thought of Britt, or the cold, or the time vanishing from his mind as Sander's tongue pushed clumsy but insistent against his own.

Suddenly, a group of girls emerged from the bar, their laughter erupting into the cold night air. Robbe jerked away from Sander as if he'd been electrocuted, putting a good three feet between them in a millisecond. His eyes scanned the exiting group quickly, and he let out a tiny sigh of relief when he realised he didn't recognise any of them. It was enough to break the spell, and Sander and Robbe looked at each other, guilt written on both their faces.

"Shit," Sander breathed out, his breath clouding against the cold air. He ran his fingers through his recently tousled hair and looked down at Robbe. "On second thoughts, I really don't want her to find out this way."

"Me either," Robbe agreed quickly.

They looked at each other, the thud of music from the bar bleeding out into the quiet between them.

"I'm going to tell her soon, Robbe," Sander said, his voice suddenly quiet. "I can't keep this a secret much longer... I don't want to keep you a secret much longer..."

"I know," Robbe said, giving him a small smile.

"The world deserves to know that I have a really hot boyfriend named ROBBE IZJERMANS!"

Sander shouted Robbe's name, and Robbe tried to hush him, laughing, as the butterflies erupted in his stomach again. He didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing those words fall so easily from Sander's mouth.

They started at each other a moment longer, but neither dared to breach the physical gap again.

"You should get back to your friends, and I should get to bed," Robbe said finally.

"You're right," Sander said, but he looked so miserable about it that Robbe couldn't help but laugh.

"You looked like you were having a good time before I showed up!"

"I was, but that's only because I didn't know what I was missing!"

"We can grab lunch on my break tomorrow?" Robbe suggested hopefully, but Sander shook his head.

"I have a better idea. Why don't I walk you home?"

"Aaah, maybe because your friends might wonder where you've gone, and also, you live closer to here than I do?"

"Both of these points are irrelevant in light of the fact that you currently have an empty apartment..." Sander said, raising an eyebrow, his gaze suddenly intense.

"You know, for a drunk man you make a lot of sense."

***

"Hurry up Robbe, it's fucking freezing," Sander complained as they stood on the landing while Robbe fumbled for his keys.

In retrospect, they probably should have taken an uber. It really wasn't a long walk from the bar to his apartment but adding a drunk Sander who couldn't easily move in a straight line and freezing temperatures to the mix, and, well...they probably should have taken an uber.

Finally, Robbe flung open the door and ushered them in, flicking on lights and kicking off his shoes as he went. He fumbled with the thermostat on the wall for a moment, cranking up the temperature. It took him a second to realise that Sander hadn't moved down the hallway with him, and instead was still standing by the doorway, struggling to stay upright as he did battle with his shoes.

Robbe laughed quietly. "Need a hand?"

He didn't wait for Sander's answer, dropping down to his knees to help yank off the offending items.

"I like the view," Sander said, his voice suddenly low and deep. Robbe looked up at Sander, registering his compromised position as something struck a chord low in his stomach.

"I'm surprised you can see straight at the moment," he said, finally releasing Sander from his Doc Martens prison.

"Believe me, there's nothing straight about what I'm seeing."

Somewhat unwillingly, Robbe got up from the floor, but before he could step back, Sander pulled him in close, pressing their lips together. It was at that moment Robbe registered the slight tremor to Sander's frame, and how icy his skin was.

"Sander, you're freezing!" Robbe said accusingly.

"I know! That's why I'm trying to warm up!" Sander replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You were definitely too drunk to walk home in this weather," Robbe said, pulling Sander down the hall. "Come..."

"I'm trying to," Sander said, with a mischievous wink which Robbe steadfastly ignored.

Robbe pulled the taller boy into his bedroom, closing the door behind them, trying his best to ignore Sander's grabby hands.

"Robbe," Sander whined, his voice cracking slightly as Robbe began pulling the blankets back from his bed.

"Jacket off," Robbe commanded.

"That's more like it," Sander said, ungracefully shucking out of his leather jacket and tossing it to one side. He reached for Robbe again once it was off, but Robbe was prepared this time, and quickly wrapped Sander in a blanket. Sander laughed, wriggled, and fell, pulling them both down onto Robbe's bed.

"Hi," Robbe said with a smile, his nose pressed against Sander's cold one.

"Hi," Sander answered with a content sigh, his heavy eyes closing slightly.

"Are you closing your eyes because you're tired? Or because you're drunk? Or because you have hypothermia?" Robbe asked, suddenly slightly concerned.

Sander laughed and pulled one arm out from his blanket cocoon, wrapping it around Robbe's shoulders."I'm closing my eyes because you're so beautiful up close, it hurts to look at you."

Robbe groaned and rolled onto his back, so he was looking at the ceiling, Sander's arm now draped across his chest. "Drunk Sander unlocks corny Sander, noted."

"You love it," Sander said with a laugh, and honestly, Robbe internally agreed.

They lay in silence for a while, their breathing slowing until it was in synch. Robbe was still surprised at how the simple act of just being with someone you cared so much about, without talking or doing anything, could bring so much happiness. It was still all so new, but he really didn't think he would get tired of this, of just existing in Sander's orbit. After so much time spent resisting its pull, he was so grateful now to just bask in the force of it.

They were quiet for so long that Robbe began to think that Sander had fallen asleep. He hated the thought that he'd have to wake him up again soon, so that he could leave before Zoë got home. Not that she'd care. She'd be happy for them, in fact Robbe was pretty sure she'd already guessed, but it wasn't fair to expect someone else to keep their secret as well.

They needed to tell people, and soon. But not right this second. Right this second Robbe could just soak in the warm glow of the lean, blonde boy taking up so much space in his bed, and even more in his heart.

"What are you thinking about?" Sander asked, startling Robbe slightly.

Robbe shifted onto his side so they were facing each other. "You," he said with a smile. "Always you."

Sander smiled back at him and craned his neck forwards to press his lips against Robbe's. They were much warmer now, Robbe noted with a happy hum.

They stayed that way for a while, gently kissing, Robbe peppering small pecks all over Sander's face to warm up the cold spots. Robbe propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over Sander's chest to press kisses to his ear, his neck. Sander laughed, and Robbe felt the vibrations in his throat.

Suddenly, without warning, Sander snaked his arms up beneath Robbe's and with a skilful manoeuvre, flipped them so that Robbe was lying flat on the bed, caged beneath Sander who hovered above him.

"How's the view from up there?" He asked Sander.

"Definitely not straight," Sander said, and his mouth was on Robbe's again, except this time there was nothing gentle about it.

Sander still tasted like beer, but Robbe didn't mind, as their mouths crashed together in a jumble of lips and teeth and enthusiasm. Robbe slipped his tongue out and traced Sander's wet lips, licking away the last of the cold evening. Sander sighed deeply, his eyes closing, head rolling back to allow Robbe access to his neck. Robbe obliged, his mouth insistent against the points that he was learning drove Sander wild. Not close enough for his liking, Robbe pulled Sander down. The force of it caught Sander by surprise and he crashed against Robbe's chest, their ribs flush against each other, hips meeting in a motion that caused both boys to gasp slightly.

"You certainly seem to be warming up," Robbe said breathily, as Sander ran his hands down his chest, stopping at the hem of his shirt and pulling. There was a jumble of limbs and fabric as they both wrestled with their clothing until finally, shirts and jeans were discarded on the floor, and they were pressed together again in nothing but their boxers. Robbe's mind was blissfully empty, filled with nothing but Sander, his taste, his smell, the feeling of him growing harder beneath his hand as he palmed at the front of his boxers. Sander's fingers plucked at the waistline of Robbe's own underwear, but Robbe put a gentle hand against his wrist and pulled it away, flipping them over again so Sander was on his back.

"You're the one that needs warming up," Robbe said, by way of explanation, one of his hands dropping to Sander's upper thigh, lightly tracing the hairs that painted a line up to Robbe's goal destination.

On cue, Sander shivered, but from the way his head fell back and his eyes rolled, Robbe thought it was probably from something other than the cold. He'd been so excited, so nervous, the first few times they'd done this, so worried about making sure Sander felt good. It was amazing how fast those nerves had been replaced with complete confidence; the noises coming from deep in Sander's chest as he squirmed beneath Robbe's mouth providing all the proof Robbe needed that he was on the right track. Robbe gripped Sander's thighs as Sander wound his own hands tightly in Robbe's hair, panting and gasping Robbe's name as Robbe's pulled him deeper and deeper into his mouth, until Sander was bursting, hot and fast over Robbe, leaving no doubt in Robbe's mind that he wasn't at risk of hypothermia anymore. Robbe didn't move until he was sure Sander was done.

"Robbe,' Sander moaned, pulling him back up to kiss him, deep and slow.

Robbe leaned down into him, and Sander, no longer cold, traced down Robbe's side until he found his mark. Sander took Robbe into his hand, not breaking their kiss even as Robbe began to pant jaggedly into his mouth. It didn't take long; seeing Sander come undone always pushed Robbe right to the edge. With a groan, Robbe came, gripping Sanders shoulders tightly as Sander moaned his name.

They lay panting next to each other until their breathing slowed, taking their time to come back up for air. Once Robbe had regained the semblance of a thought, he rolled away from Sander, feeling around for something on the floor. Sander whined at the sudden absence of warmth, his hands scrabbling weakly against the mattress, grasping for Robbe's return. He did, after a moment, pulling the hastily discarded blanket up with him and throwing it carefully around Sander, making sure he was fully covered before he dropped back down next to him, kissing him softly.

"No chance of hypothermia," Robbe said, his voice slightly raspy.

Sander sighed contentedly into Robbe's shoulder. "Nope. But there's now a very real risk of heat stroke -" he paused for a moment for dramatic effect, " - get it? Because you're so damn hot."

Robbe's groan turned into a laugh. "Oh my god, you're the worst."

"You love it, though," Sander said, eyes closing gently.

"Yeah," said Robbe after a moment, voice soft, his own eyes beginning to droop. "Yeah, I do."

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and dating Dean Portman

(Not my gif)(requested by @rschelberry )

- You saw Dean before you met him. You were stood off to the side watching the new recruits when he first came out onto the ice. You watched apprehensively as he threw people down and made an interesting first impression. He was entertaining that’s for sure.

- You; just like the other ducks, were unsure of the newcomers and not so keen on sharing the ice with a bunch of strangers. But you stayed back when they went to argue with each other knowing that nothing you said or did would change the predicament you were in.

- Dean “first saw you” or rather first paid attention to you when you smoothly skated over as Bombay and Tibbles spoke. You shared looks with your fellow teammates while he caught his first glimpse of your face and what a face it was.

- It wasn’t until later that you spoke to him for the first time. It was right after Les tried to ask about his tattoo that you stepped in, stretching out a hand and introducing yourself. He put on his best tough guy face and gave your hand a firm shake.

“Enforcer huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I’m a left wing so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Welcome to the team Portman.” You said as nonchalantly as you could while you walked away. Oh he liked you.

- Like Fulton said: “Deans not scared of anything” and once he’s set his eyes on something he’s going to find a way to get it. You just happen to be that something.

- At first he just watches you a lot especially when the team isn’t exactly a “team”. Your fellow Ducks don’t take too kindly to the brutes infatuation. They glare at him and warn you to stay away from him, often purposefully trying to block you from view.

- When (and before) the team starts to bond you notice that Dean acts differently around you or at least to you. He’s nicer, slightly quieter, and more helpful. There’s definitely a visible difference between how he treats you and everyone else.

- You two are on friendly terms before anyone else which slightly irritates the Ducks. They don’t want you around him, much like an older sibling/parent doesnt want you around a “bad influence”. They don’t trust him.

- But, it’s only when everyone’s on good terms that he actively starts to pursue you. One day things just sort of … change? He starts flirting with you which throws you for a loop; you think he’s just kidding at first but then you realize he’s being serious. You’re confused but at the same time you…sorta like it?

- His flirting consists of teasing you, twirling your hair, complimenting you, flexing and winking when he catches you looking at him. And you let it go on for a while because it makes you feel good and you kinda like him back until one day he decides it’s time to confess.

- You’re hanging out with him in your room and he’s messing around with your stuff while you do your homework. You’re both just in a comfortable silence until he speaks.

“Hey y/n/n?”

“Mhm.”

“What would you say if I told you I loved you?” You sort of freeze as you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“Well I don’t know,” you smile. “Why? Is there something you want to tell me?”

- He looks at you and shakes his head with a smile. “Y/n y/l/n I am completely, madly in love with you.”

“Well Dean Portman, it’s a good thing I’m in love with you as well.”

- He nearly tackles you onto your bed before the two of you share your first kiss. The whole time you’re thinking that any minute now you’ll wake up but you don’t and you open your eyes again to find him staring back at you with a smile.

- Technically that was your first date but you don’t really count it as such. No, your first date was at a theme park. He bought both of you tickets and the two of you had a blast screaming your lungs out on roller coasters. He even won you a prize on one of the games they had which you still have sitting on your bed to this day.

- After he won you the prize he asks if he’s “won your heart too” and you guess he really has because the two of you have been together ever since.

- He’s honestly the sweetest guy you’ve ever met. Behind his tough exterior he has a heart of gold.

- Soo many pet names. Babe, baby, honey, sweetie, angel; he rarely ever says your name.

- You call him your/a big teddy bear and he never outright denies it even though he has his bad boy reputation to keep up.

- The instant you seem even the slightest bit sad he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong and getting all soft on you. This boy turns into the human embodiment of comfort. His voice softens, he hugs you, kisses your forehead, listens intently, just everything and anything you could ever want when you’re upset.

- He scares off anyone that annoys you. You don’t even have to say anything, he just senses your impatience/discomfort and acts.

- You think you’ve seen protective, you’ve seen nothing yet. If he even hears about someone bothering you he’s immediately ready to kick ass. He offers to fight them which you laugh at but he’s only slightly kidding.

- It’s a good thing it’s sort of his job to take care of you on the ice because he’s constantly making sure no one gets to you and putting people who knock you down in their place.

- He’s like a moderate to severe on the jealous scale. If there’s a real reason to be jealous then he’ll get jealous (and will probably take it up with the guy). But if there’s really no reason to be he won’t be, like when you’re being platonic with a guy friend or just talking to a guy at lunch.

- He’s well aware that he’s good looking and…athletic; especially for his age, so he isn’t really all that worried about you running off with someone else. Just his appearance alone keeps people away from you, let alone his reputation. It’s rare that a guy is genuinely flirting with you.

- And regardless the both of you make it obvious that you’re only interested in each other which means you don’t have to worry about any girls getting to him either.

- He’s a cuddle bug; he can’t last a day without cuddling. He’ll always deny it but time and time again he’s the one pulling you onto the bed. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter when; he’ll find a way to cuddle you.

- Tracing his tattoo.

- Sitting on his lap.

- Straddling his stomach while he runs his hands up and down your thighs.

- Makeout sessions while listening to rock music. He’s probably made a makeout mixtape for the two of you.

- He just loves making you mixtapes. He’s genuinely spent hours making you; what he thinks is, the perfect mixtape.

- Dancing and yelling out the lyrics to your favorite songs together.

- Doing stupid reckless shit together.

- I’m convinced that he’s the type of guy who buys cheap glass/porcelain and invites you over to smash it with him.

- He always makes sure he’s next to you when you’re sitting with the team on the benches or hanging out with friends.

- Obviously being really close to Fulton. He never minds being a third wheel or having you tag along on “bro nights”.

- The two of you share looks at each other constantly. Someone does something stupid or weird you’re immediately giving each other side eyes and looking to see if the other person saw.

- Bear hugs.

- He’s always touching you in someway. Arm over your shoulders, hand on your waist, hugging you from behind, etc, etc.

- Swatting his hands away when he tries to touch your butt.

- Ice cream and fast food dates.

- Taking long walks together. Sometimes you find something to do along the way, other times you just enjoy each other’s company.

- Having your own handshake.

- Matching bandannas? Matching bandannas.

- Wearing his clothes even though they’re huge on you.

- He always loves when you wear his old jersey. He just can’t stop staring at you and smiling whenever you have it on.

- Giving each other pep talks and having little pre game rituals.

- Calming him down when refs make a harsh or ridiculous call. It’s honestly pretty easy since the moment he sees you he just naturally calms. He’s a big tough guy but he was raised right and that means no taking your anger out on others and not taking things too seriously.

- Even though he’s a total macho man he loves when you take care of/baby him. Want to bandage the tiny cut he got on his hand? Be his guest; he’ll subtly play up the pain just to get an extra “Aw” and a kiss.

- Beach dates.

- Theme park, carnival and amusement park dates; just places with that general chaotic aura.

- Bowling dates.

- He always carries your things for you. Doesn’t matter how light, doesn’t matter how heavy, he’s taking it.

- He likes to pick you up at random. Just throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes or lifts you off the ground and places you a foot or so away from where you were previously standing. He feels very satisfied when you shriek in surprise, lightly smack him on the arm or break out laughing.

- He constantly tries to flex and show off in front of you. …yummy….

- He takes great pride in making you flustered.

- He likes teasing you in any way he can. Holding something over his head, tickling you, straight up (playfully) making fun of you, all that good shit.

- Soo many compliments and ‘I love yous’. He wants you to know that you’re his world goddamnit!

- He genuinely cannot wait you make you Mrs. Portman and will tell it to your face.

[cuorepietoso]

Things you said when Ivan was 19

requested by and ft. @ivanrahal

     mid-2011.

     Tahan has his arms crossed, leaning back against the hood of the humvee, half out of uniform-- his tank top still on, but his jacket is folded up behind his head. The bared skin of his arms and shoulders is kissed by the sun, freckled and golden, and dark shades sit firmly on his face. He might be asleep, for how still and quiet he’s been. 

     Rahal, smirking and rail thin in the way that teens always are, long healed and standing tall, flicks at his boot to get his attention. Lazily, the older man lifts his head with a grunt, brows furrowed as he focuses on him, and then he sighs. “Can I help you, kid?”

     The sharp line of his jaw tightens, and he looks away. Rahal is a mask maker, has some considerable talent with word games and tongue lashings, but he’s young yet, still getting a feel for it. Tahan suspects he’d be better at it if he’d let himself learn how to be human, instead of whatever little hungry jackal lives inside him now. “I’m being transferred,” the words come bursting out of him like a waterfall, a little too fast. I, not we. Tahan has to take a moment to process them, still a little addled on painkillers, and when he finally gets it he deigns to sit up on his elbows, brows furrowed.

     “Oh?” He watches the kid for a long moment, before slowly sliding off the hood of the humvee, slipping a little when his feet hit the ground with a heavy thump. Rahal catches him, rights him, and skitters one step away when he stumbles, and then pushes close once more to tuck Tahan against his side, his body heat nearly intolerable in the fading afternoon light. The rocky dirt slides under their feet. “Why don’t you walk with me?”

     He doesn’t ask where the kid is going, and the information isn’t offered. Tahan knows he himself is due for a station change-- he’d not been close enough to death to get discharged, or even shuttled off to Milan’s military hospital, but it had been a near miss. A lot of time was spent insisting he was fine through grit teeth, picking fights with the doctors on base until they’d knocked him out. But Libya was too hot, now, too many powder kegs and too much attention. They were going to start the bombing runs in earnest, to ‘limit the loss of life’, like that made any sense. All it meant for them was a different duty station in another country. 

     Tahan is still moving slowly, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind matching his pace, quiet for once. He tries to enjoy the peace while it lasts, knowing damn well the kid has something on his mind. Occasionally, their shoulders bump, and he tells himself it’s because he still struggles to walk in a straight line. He apologizes every time, and Rahal only sighs exasperatedly in response. The crushed pack of cigarettes he’s been struggling to hide from Rossi makes an appearance, and as he pulls one out of the pack and lights it up, Rahal eyes him doubtfully.

          “Are you sure you should be smoking right now?”

     So much for the peaceful walk. Tahan feels a spike of irritation, and he groans dramatically, “God, not you too.” He reaches out to rap his knuckles against his chest, casually. “I’ll take medical advice from you when you’re a doctor, eh?” It’s a lie-- he doesn’t even listen to the doctors on base, stubborn and restless as he is, snapping when they council caution.

     Rahal rolls his eyes, knowing damn well he isn’t inclined to listen to any medical advice but his own, and even that is generally made up as it suits him. His fingers gesture vaguely towards the side of the base where the med tent is set up-- where Battista has very nearly been banned from entering. “I have a feeling not even an MD would be enough to persuade you to listen to me, Tahan.” Battista scoffs, and holds out the pack as an offering, a silent bribe to keep any more commentary to himself. The sun falls further on the horizon, coloring the kid rose gold-- skin, eyes, the sun-bleached tips of his hair taking on the color like he was meant for it. “Besides, I don’t have the bedside manner to be a doctor. That’s your job. I prefer to give the injuries, not fix them. Not all of us have a debilitating savior complex, hm?” 

     “I’m not a doctor either,” Tahan mutters. Finally Rahal takes one, doubtfully, and ducks his head when the lighter is held up for him, cupping his hands around the end. He coughs a little on the inhale, skitters away when Tahan reaches up to pat him on the back. The hand lingers in the air for a moment, and they eye each other, and then carry on like nothing had happened at all. 

     Rahal has to save face, after showing such a weakness. He bares his teeth and holds up the cigarette, perfectly placed between two fingers, an imitation of the way Rossi holds his. “All that work to keep alive just to kill me slowly?” Another winded cough, “how poetic.” 

     They wander on, shoulder to shoulder. Tahan smokes, unbothered. Rahal tries to pretend he’s finished a cigarette before in his life, instead of just foisting the half-smoked things off onto his new friends. Tahan breaks the silence again. “Bene-- whatever you do, don’t die.” He raps one knuckle against the stiff fabric of his uniform, under the collarbone, right there he knows the long scar is, healed over. This time, Rahal doesn’t flinch away from him, instead bunching up and narrowing his eyes as if he were about to strike. 

     There are no talons today. “Nine lives, my friend. Well—eight, now, since you let me bleed for a good half-hour. ” No, no talons. Only stupidity, it seems. “I can’t die. Not yet, anyway. I have plans.” 

     Tahan huffs out a laugh around his cigarette and pulls it from his mouth, sighing out a great cloud of smoke that blows away with the cool wind. “Plans? Death doesn’t give a shit about your plans, or mine, or anyone’s. Death comes for us all, eventually. No ‘can’s or ‘can’t’s about it.” 

     Rahal puffs his chest out, shoulders straightening into something proud. He looks childish with the pout that won’t quite leave his face. “And what if I am death?” 

     An outright laugh bubbles out of him at that, though it sends a spike of pain shooting through his side that nearly doubles him over-- the kid is kind enough to let him catch himself on his arm, gasping for air through his chuckles. “You are so full of shit.” 

     A noise of vague offense escapes him, but he doesn’t shove him to the ground. Just mutters a low, “Telhas teeze,” and stands guard, keeping an eye out over the top of his head while he finds his breath and clutches at his side, straightening again with a great groan and the creak of his joints. 

     They don’t know how to say goodbye. Tahan isn’t quite sure why they have to-- orders change all the time, he knew they wouldn’t be around each other for long, but he appreciates that the kid wants to. He gets the sense he hasn’t had many people to say goodbye to, if he ever had any at all, and he’s unfamiliar with the protocol of it. He’s moody, and pensive, bunched tight like he doesn’t quite want to let go.

     The joke that Rossi likes to make nearly clobbers him in the face: he’s got a crush on you-- sing-song and openly amused. He knows it’s something more like hero-worship, has seen something like it on plenty of other young men whose lives he’s saved, but the joke always manages to fluster him anyway. He’s the kid’s shadow, tonight, footsteps cat-quiet, as they become thoughtful once more. 

     An entire loop around the base. He thinks he’s going to die by the end of it, breathing nearly labored. Rahal stops still as a statue by the humvee he’d been half asleep on, looking strangely innocent. He feels like maybe he’d just been on the receiving end of some supervised, enforced exercise, and he tries to experience some irritation-- something, anything other than a vague fondness. 

     He’s unsuccessful. Reaching out, he straightens Rahal’s uniform, and counts it as a victory when he doesn’t flinch away from him. “I’m serious, you little shit.” It’s easy to ignore his bitter mutter of ‘I’m fucking taller than you,’ because the skin at the nape of his neck is warm, and he’s almost pliant when he pulls him into a brief hug. “If you die, I’ll kill you.”

     They pull away from each other, and Tahan nearly falls back against the hood of the humvee. Rahal watches him, his hands out like he half expects to have to catch him, naked amusement curling his lip. “I can think of no better way to go than by those your own capable hands, Tombarolo-- but if you want your face to be the last I see, you’ll have to be able to walk more than a mile without getting winded first.”

     Tahan barks out another laugh, fingers curled into a fist and pressed into the still aching wound at his side. “Don’t you worry about me kid, I can’t die either.”

[itsnewstome]

Mrs. Jacobs... I Can Explain...

@newsiestober day 29: Les!

This one went in a bit of a different direction than I intended, but we’ll all d e a l.

Uhm. So this was highkey based off of this post from @the-donnynova-band

@jaywasablindpirate thanks for the title bab <3

Rating: Gen

Summary: Les employs Jack to help him dye his hair on the down low, and David realizes that he is dating a child.

In which Les’ hair is pink, David’s entire being is suffering, Mrs. Jacobs’ knocks Connor’s mom dead and Jack certainly does not drink coffee.

read it on ao3

        There was something up with Les. Maybe it wasn’t anything major, there were no glaring signs, really; it was in the way he wore the beanie Sarah gave to him for his last birthday (something he never cared for before) and the way how whenever he would come out of the shower, he would have a towel tightly around his hair, something Davey never really noticed before.

   It took Davey a while to notice it. Which he really couldn’t be blamed for, because he really only came home on the weekends, now. Things like college and living in-dorm will do that to a person.

    David thought he was just being weird until Jack began to point it out.

    Jack would do things like duck in the room as David and his brother were FaceTiming, which was a normal ordeal, except that he would complement Les on his hat, or mention the possibility of hat-hair, with a tone that suggested some kind of secretive inside joke. David could just see Jack tapping the side of his nose, winking suspiciously.

  And, suspicious is what it was! Especially since any inside jokes involving Jack Kelly usually more often than not ended up with people getting in trouble. He, of course, spoke from experience.

   David didn't say anything about it, though. He kept it all to himself, which was probably a bad thing, because then  it all came together, giving him all sorts of ideas about what Les was hiding. Things like premature hair loss and early receding hairlines plagued David’s thoughts, making him fear for his younger brother.

    Not wanting to approach a rather… delicate matter like that over the phone or through text, David decided to let it rest until the weekend, where he could question Les properly.

   The weekend came quicker than David expected it to, really. Early Saturday morning had David (and Jack by extension) throwing a few weekend bags together before travelling upstate to the little suburb where the Jacobs family lived.

    David’s mother was going out for the day with a group of her friends. David remembered something being said about a movie and a bottle of wine, but that was the extent of the details he was given.

   Sarah was usually the one to watch Les in occasions like that, since Les could happily hang out in her apartment for the afternoon. They would make dinner and watch some sort of Netflix show. But, since she was caught up in her girlfriend, that weekend marking their one-year anniversary, David's mother decided that it was much better to call the favor out of David instead.

   And so, coming into his mother's house that Saturday afternoon, Jack trailing behind him, David thought he was prepared for anything.

    Les came down the stairs two at a time, the same maroon beanie snug over his head, calling out names excitedly. Of course, none of them were David’s.

    Predictably, Les crashed into Jack and hugged him tight around the middle.

    “What’re you tryna do, knock me down?” Jack laughed, ruffling the hat on his head, shiting it, but not enough to dislodge it.

    “And if I am?” Les said in a huff. He pulled back grinning. “I could take you down in less than a second!”

    Jack laughed. “I’d like to see you try.” He knocked the side of his fist affectionately against Les’ temple.

    “Oh, come on. What am I, chopped liver?” David asked after he slipped his shoes off near the matt.

    Les crinkled his nose in disgust at the thought. “That’d be a pretty nasty thing to be, Davey,” he said. He hugged his brother in a much less aggressive manner.

    “I guess it would,” David admitted.

    Les rattled on to Jack about some kind of new computer game he had gotten, while David looked around the living room, listening for sounds of their mother. “Where’s Mom?” he asked when Les stopped to catch his breath.

    David’s little brother grinned at him. “Getting ready for her hot date,” Les said, giggling.

    “‘Hot date,’” Jack echoed, his eyebrows slowly rising.

    “Yeah. Say, what do you mean by that? I thought it was just her night out with Connor’s Mom.” David frowned in thought, especially at the way Les’ face screwed up in such a way David knew he said something he shouldn’t have. Or, rather, he said something he wasn’t sure if he was cleared to share or not.

    Les puffed his cheeks out, looking closely at his brother. “I thought you knew about it.”

    David paused, trying to think back. “She just said she was going out, she didn’t say anything about a date.”

    Les patted his arm sympathetically. “It must hurt to be so out of the loop.” His tone was wistful, as was his sigh.

    “Oh, get out of here,” David said, pushing his shoulder.

    “Fine, but I’m taking Jack with me!” Les declared. His hand was already clasped around Jack’s wrist and was trying his best to drag Jack away and up the stairs.

    “Good luck,” David said, laughing. He kissed Jack shortly on the mouth, and it had Les faking a gag and pulling harder on Jack’s wrist. Jack was dragged up the stairs in the matter of seconds. He looked over his shoulders at David, a silly grin slapped across his face.

    David himself went farther into the house, taking a corner and going down a short hall until he came to the master bedroom. He knocked heavily on the doorframe.

    “Come in,” his mother called. “I’m just finishing my hair.”

    He came to stand in the doorway of the en suite.

    His mother caught his eyes in the mirror and smiled brightly at him. She had an aerosol can of hairspray in her hand, and David could see little particles gently falling around her.

    “So a hot date, huh?” he said, smiling suggestively.

    She looked at him, lifting an eyebrow before she puffed her cheeks out in a very comical way, considering how immaculate she currently looked. Les took after her in the ffunniest of ways. “Les call it that?” David nodded, trying to stifle a laugh. She made a small frustrated sound. She puffed her cheeks out again, looking herself in the eyes in the mirror.

    “You’re going to ruin your base,” David said, still biting at the inside of his cheeks to reign in a smile.

    She deflated instantly, swapping exasperation for a smile. “Good point,” she said, resigned. She put her hairspray down onto the counter with a little noise. “It isn’t so much of a hot date as a… a trial run. Seeing how it plays out.”

    He leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles in front of him. “I’m sure it’ll go well,” he assured her, pointing out “she already loves you.”

    “Let’s hope she can still see that when I accidentally smear alfredo sauce all over my face.”

    David looked at her with a level gaze. “You never smear things over your face,” he pointed out helpfully.

    She hummed, looking like she wanted to fidget again. “Well, Les has warned me so many times of it, I’m sure it’s very much a possibility, now.”

    David laughed aloud that time.

    The next ten minutes were spent with idle chatter with his mother, whilst trying to sneakily sooth her nerves, because if it was obvious, she would just get nervous again. Jack popped in just as she was gathering up her handbag. He gave her a big smile, told her that she’ll do fine.

    Well, his real words landed somewhere around “Damn, Mrs. Jacobs. You look fantastic. Connor’s mom ain’t gonna know what hit her!” but that’s neither here nor there.

    Nevertheless, soon Mrs. Jacobs was out the door and the boys were left to themselves. Les was wearing his ridiculous slouch beanie and acting as suspicious as ever, but David let it slide, berating himself for being so suspicious of his brother.

    Surely David was just being… oddly paranoid.

    It was a late dinner; one of pasta and homemade spaghetti sauce. They took turns playing their favorite songs with the bluetooth speaker that sat in the cupboard that housed all of the plates, dancing and fooling around as they went. Almost everything went extremely well, which was certainly a win in David’s book.

    Almost everything.

    Almost.

    There was a slight hiccup when David went upstairs to rid himself of his chest binder. With the realization that he had worn it for a bit more than his eight and some hours, he had excused himself upstairs, telling Jack to watch the pot on the stove. He was trying to break the habit of wearing it longer than he was strictly supposed to - a nasty habit that was trying to form. He changed out of the binder and pulled a sweater (one of Jack’s. It used to be a solid white, but it was now stained with a million different paint flecks) over his tee, as the thicker fabric concealed more.

    He came back downstairs to find half the pot of unfinished, still reducing sauce splashed over the floor while Les and Jack desperately tried to mop it up with various kitchen rags and paper towels.

    David was horrified. The kitchen was a mess, there was tomato and little green bits and chunks of onion stuck to the knees of the boys’ jeans, and even after they had cleaned it all up, the floor was still slightly slick afterwards.

    It had turned out well, though, so David didn’t worry too much about it. He still made Les mop up the floor, so the sweet smell of their cooking was somewhat tainted with the odor of Clorox cleaning spray.

    The sauce continued reducing, giving them about a quarter of the original pot. But it was enough for them all, if a little stretched.

    All in all, everything went very well.

    David was just waiting for the other foot to drop.

    And eventually, it did. It stomped through the delicate, wafer-like balance of the evening. Like a toddler’s greedy hands snapping a cracker in half in their carelessness, David’s sanity all but snapped at the completely asinine actions of his idiotic boyfriend and conniving little brother.

    David shifted from his position on the couch, tucking a throw pillow up under his cheek as his eyes struggled to focus on Sabrina playing on the television. In all honesty, he could barely see the television past Jack’s shoulder, as his boyfriend sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against the bottom cushions. Les was wrapped up in a blankets nestled happily in a recliner off to the side.

    It was nearly midnight, and on-screen David was only just getting around to sitting on a pair of champagne flutes. David didn’t think he was going to last the full movie. Jack was fully invested in the film, his eyes all but sparkling as he shoved popcorn in his mouth. Les was less interested, checking his phone frequently.

    David only lasted until Sabrina slapped Linus in the garden (Jack cheered, pumping a fist in the air, obviously getting deeply invested in the movie), and then tapped Jack’s shoulder to grab his attention.

    Jack turned half way around to look at his boyfriend, eyebrows raised in question.

    “I’m going to go to bed,” he said, voice quiet.

    Jack hummed, kissing David. “You want me to turn this off?”

    David shook his head. “No, you can watch the rest of it. Just gonna head upstairs.” He leaned in and kissed him.

    “I love you,” Jack murmured against David’s mouth.

    David smiled sleepily. “I love you, too,” he replied. “Get Les in bed after this movie’s over, okay?” Jack nodded. “He’ll try to con you into staying up later; stay strong, alright?”

    Jack laughed. “Alright, Dave. I got it.”

    “Good.” Another heavy kiss, Jack’s fingers combing softly through his hair. He made a little sleepy sound. “Okay. Bed. You’re missing your movie.” Slowly, David forced his sleep-addled limbs into pulling himself up from the couch and eventually up the stairs. He flopped down onto his bed. He could barely remember falling asleep.

         The next morning began, and David found it all very routine. His phone alarm woke him up a quarter after seven, and Jack sleepily batted at him while he shut the annoying thing off.

    David was left to take in the morning streaming in through the parted curtains, Jack curled around him. Well. More under him, if David was being honest. His right leg was burrowed up under David’s side, with David half lying on him. They had shifted in their sleep, so Jack was bent at an awkward angle against the headboard, his arms thrown over David, while David himself was a little farther down the bed, with his feet hanging off the end of the mattress, hanging in midair.

   Deciding that he was ready to get up, David carefully extracted himself from Jack and rolled off the bed; his knees hit the floor with a hard thump. He didn’t get far beyond that, as David ended up flattening himself down on the tacky rug Sarah once bought for him and looked at his ceiling as he tried to get his brain up and working.

    "Babe," Jack groaned from above him. A hand flopped over the side of the mattress, lazily grabbing for David. "Come back." His hands were splattered and stained pink. David wasn't sure how the color came to be, but he honestly just never questioned it anymore. It came with dating an artist, he supposed. Jack's body was always streaked with color, whether it be a blot of blue oil paint on the bridge of his nose, green behind his ear, or an odd sweep of yellow up his ribs (David still had no idea how he had managed that one), the color was a fixture on Jack's body and that would never change.

    David sat up, groaning at his sleep-stiffened back as he went. He leaned over and placed a little kiss to Jack's knuckles before he hauled himself up on unsteady legs to stand.

    "Dave," Jack tried again. He looked up at David from the quilts and pillows with a pout on his mouth, eyes going for the doe eyed look. "Come 'eeeeree." He reached his arm up, hand flexing.

    "Can't. If I do, I'm never gonna get up." David did get back on his bed, kneeling precariously on the edge while he leaned over to take Jack's face in his hands and kiss him softly. He blanched a bit at their combined morning breath, and was soon pulling away.

    "Thing is-," David paused to listen to his boyfriend. He didn't suspect Jack surging up and hooking his arms up under David's so he could take him back down to the lower part of the mattress. "-that's the fucking point of coming back to bed. Not getting back up."

    David groaned, struggling in Jack's grip.

    "Oh, come on. I've - I've gotta go - Hey, quit that. - I have to go make coffee, Jack, oh my God." He pushed at Jack's face to divert the man from his self-given mission to press tickling kisses all across his face.

    "Or you could not. Who's even going to drink coffee? Hm?" Jack challenged, rising up to lean on his elbows, looking down at David.

    "Mom will. I might." He rested his hands on Jack's arms, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

    "Dave, you don't drink coffee unless the deadlines are so serious, you might actually end up dead. Hey!" Jack yelped in surprise when David took hold of Jack's shoulders and rolled them over so that David was on top. Jack’s grabbing hands were useless against David, as he had already rolled off of him and the bed, and was out the door like a shot.

    The ritual of coffee making and setting up for breakfast was routine. Pancake batter was mixed up before Jack even decided to make an appearance.

    Jack's hair stuck out at odd ends right off the top of his head, and his eyes were still groggy, but it didn't deter him from marching straight up to David and kissing him against the counter. He had brushed his teeth before he came down, a fact David very much appreciated(even if it made him conscious of the fact that his breath was still as stale as could be).

    "I'll get you next time," he said, like a two bit villain. David snorted with laughter as Jack took the bowl of pancake batter from David's hands and a spatula from the drawer next to the stove. He shifted everything to one arm so he could flick the stove range on with his free hand, and adjust the griddle on the burner.

    David stepped back, letting the man be as David himself worked towards getting a pair of glasses from the cabinet and filling them with orange juice.

    This was a certain unspoken agreement they had come upon in the early days of their relationship. They had learned that David was excellent at preparing the ingredients and mixing things up, but was utterly horrible at cooking them. He didn't know how, but everything he attempted to cook turned out either under or overcooked. It never failed.

    It was in just the opposite way that Jack could do anything from bake amazing cupcakes, to fry pancakes into a golden brown perfection - he just couldn't ever mix anything. His recipes were bland at best.

    David insisted that he simply didn't read the recipes right, but Jack argued the same thing to David.

    And so they came to a stalemate.

    And an agreement.

    David mixed, Jack cooked. It worked for them and they ate well.

    Sooner than later, David’s mother made her appearance in her silk robe and curly hair fastened in a low pony tail.

    She practically sneaked up on them as they squabble over the possibility of characterized pancakes(“You cannot do that, Jack.” “Just fucking watch me, Dave. Y’all got a squeeze-y condiment bottle?”). They took turns grilling her over her date (“It went well, okay? We might be going out again.) just before Les joined them too a beanie snuggly down to his eyebrows.

    David looked warily at his brother as they all sat down for breakfast.

    “Les, what’s up with all the hats?” he asked finally. He sat down next to his brother with a little sighed and took a sip of his orange juice.

    Les simply shrugged. “I dunno. Marcus made me one month before last in class, and I just decided that I really liked them. Started wearing Sarah’s again.” The answer was easy, practiced.

    ...but David didn’t quite miss the conspiratorial look Jack shot to Les.

    “Huh.”

    He wasn’t quite convinced.

    Les stabbed his fork into his short stack, ducking his head. And that was when he saw it. The pink stain was behind his ear, spreading, and following down his hairline until it went under the collar of his shirt. David caught Jack’s eyes and suddenly… everything pieced together.

    Jack seemed to realize that David figured them out and blanched, paling under the realization that they’d been caught.

    David couldn’t believe it. “No,” he mouthed, disbelief spread thick over his face, “you didn’t.”

    Jack ducked his head and suddenly made himself very busy with a cup of coffee - a tell, if David’s ever seen one. Jack did not drink coffee.

    David pulled himself out of his chair and crossed the floor to stand very close to his boyfriend.

    “Did you dye Les’ hair?” he hisses from between his teeth, quietly so that his mother wouldn’t hear. Jack didn’t answer. “Jack?”

    “I plead the fifth,” he croaked. He jerked his spoon through his cup, stirring in way too much milk for his coffee.

    “Jack.” David reached out and grabbed Jack’s free hand, brushing his thumb lightly across the pink splattered skin. “Babe.”

    Jack made a low groaning sound, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout. “David.”

    “Jackie.”

    Jack whined, looking torn. “Babe.”

    David wilted. “You did, didn’t you.”

    Jack vibrated for about three seconds before he jumped back away from his coffee, and David’s fingers, to vault across the room.

    “Scram kid! We’ve been discovered!”

    Les was a half a heartbeat behind him, and they were out the door in four seconds flat.

    “What in the world?” David’s mother gasped.

    David melted once again. “Mom, before you see, I apologize for my awful, awful boyfriend.” And with that, David gave chase after the. He made it halfway up the stairs when he heard the clatter in his bedroom. He opened the door to see the window thrown open and Jack’s shoes gone from beside the closet door.

    David looked out the window and saw Jack hanging off the lip of the garage roof, just before the man dropped down.

    Les!” David shouted to the boy still on the roof.

    Les turned back to him, eyes fearfully wide. “Tell Mom I love her!” he yelled. He hopped down into Jack’s waiting arms.

    David watched, utterly defeated as the two of them got into David’s Jeep and drove away.

    Downstairs, he sat back down at the table, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

    His mother slid him a cup of tea and he took it gratefully.

    “Want to tell me what happened?” she offered.

    David sighed. “I am dating a twelve year old, and we are never having kids,” he announced. He let his head thump the table top, trying not to let how his mother laughed hit him too hard. She didn’t understand.

    His phone made a little noise and David dragged it out of his pocket. The message was a Snap from Les; a selfie of both boys in a cafe not too many streets away. They were grinning madly and Les’s nose was all scrunched up.

    The beanie was nowhere in sight, and Les’ neon pink hair was proudly on display.

    David wordlessly passed the phone to his mother.

    She giggled madly, and that was the end of that.

    If there was one thing David learned that day, it was to never again bring Jack along when he was supposed to watch Les again.

    When Les and Jack made it back to the house an hour and some later, Jack looked properly sheepish. Les didn’t even have the grace to look small. He was all bright grins and loud, proud attitudes.

    Their mother was tickled with the color, picking at the strands of his hair and asking when the pink blotches on his skin were going to fade.

    “We’ve yet to figure that out,” Jack answered sheepishly.

    “When did you have time to bleach his hair?” David asked. “You can’t exactly do all that in one night.” He’d seen Spot dye her hair. That took quite a while for all the natural color to lift from her hair.

    “I bleached it a week ago,” Les confessed.

    Their mother frowned. “Why didn’t I notice?” she asked. “You’d think I’d catch that.”

    David’s eyes filled with understanding. “He wore the beanie to get everyone used to the fact we haven’t seen his hair in two months,” he said, a little awed. “This took a lot of planning. How long were you two planning this, huh?” He prodded Jack’s ribs with an elbow.

    Jack threw up his hands. “The little sucker came to me two weeks ago with a proposition I couldn’t refuse! What was I supposed to do?”

    “What did you offer him?” David asked Les, narrowing his eyes at him.

    Les lifted his chin proudly. “I saved up a slice of my allowance and bought him those fancy lollipops he likes.”

    David looked at Jack, and he could do little more than throw his hands up again. “It’s the good stuff! How’s I supposed to refuse?”

    “Oh my God. I am dating a child. An honest-to-God child.”

[abalonetea]

spdrabblebomb - treat

Prompt – treat Word count – 1,738 Characters – Kenny/cartman, Karen Notes – for @lilcrimestoppers and @spdrabblebomb.

  "Right this way, m'lady." Cartman gives a sweeping gesture with one arm. The walkway is lined with bright orange fairy lights. "Your chariot awaits!"   Kenny titters. "How charming! I knew that picking you as my prince was the way to go. Tell me, Sir Cartman. Where is tonight's destination?"   "Treats and tricks, hidden in the lowly boroughs. We won't have to worry about poison in your apples there, Princess Kenny."   Karen trots gamely after her brother. The bright blue skirt she's wearing is a little too short. Her wings bounce every time she takes a step. Considering that Kenny's been out with her for almost half an hour, the red candy bag that she's holding is pathetically empty.   But then, that's always the case out here. No one in South Park ever bothers to do anything for Halloween. The school costume contest is still the biggest event of the night, and a few half-assed jack-o-lanterns are the closest thing to decorations.   She slips a small, white gloved hand into Kenny's. "Is Eric going to come with us?"   "He sure is," answers Kenny, cheerfully. His own bag is a worn pillow case, folded down at the edges. There's a bleach stain at the bottom of it. "I knew that you'd be the reason my shining knight came, Karen. And lo, he even arrived with a glorious steed!"   Karen giggles. She has to tilt her head back to smile at Cartman. Her red lipstick is smeared. "You make a really nice knight."   "Of course I do," huffs Cartman. "I'm the best damn knight South Park's ever seen." He jogs a few steps, just enough that he can duck in front of them. A knight has to get to the horse first, after all, and Cartman can't deny that he gets a thrill out of seeing their faces when he pulls open the door to the back seat. "My ladies."   Kenny has to help Karen into the car. Her skirt is pretty full, and she can't quite scramble in like she might normally be able too. After a moment, Kenny gets in the backseat with her. They don't bother with seatbelts; no one does on Halloween. Instead, Kenny hooks an arm over the back of each front seat and pulls himself up between them.   "Hey," he says, cheerfully. "Thanks for driving us. Sorry we didn't wait for you."   "You should be sorry," sniffs Cartman. He rolls down the window opposite him. "I tell you to wait, Kenny, you should fucking wait. Thirty minutes obviously didn't break you. Your bags are empty as fuck."   "Yeah, but Karen didn't want to wait. She has school tomorrow, dipshit. She shouldn't be out too late tonight."   "It was half an hour," grumbles Cartman, ripping the steering wheel to the left. It's not that he isn't careful about driving, but it's late at night and not a lot of other cars are out. There's a bit more lee-way then most days.   Karen presses her face against the window. Her breath leaves thick smears of fog on the glass. "Kenny? Why're we going into town?"   They turn onto seventh court; it's the road that leads into Shitty Part Town. The few houses that have been wedged between the stores have their porch lights turned off. No one ever gives out candy in this part of town, not even the baggies of loser candy that Kenny's gotten most of the night.   "Uh, Cartman? We actually need to go to peoples houses if we want to trick or treat." Kenny pulls himself farther into the front seat, like getting closer to his boyfriend might change something.   Cartman snorts. "No shit, Kenny. Trick or treating's kind of the whole plan."   "So - houses?"   "I'm not spending all night knocking on the doors of assholes who can't be bothered to buy actual candy. And that garbage you have isn't candy."   "Okay," says Kenny, dragging out the word. "It's not great but - where do you think we're going?"   Shitty Part Town is still the most popular place in South Park. Most of the stores are still open, and the few eateries that have cropped up are all cram packed. The parking for Skeeter's bar over flows into the street, and Cartman has to swing into the other lane so he doesn't hit any of them.   Someone's strung up a loop of orange lights on the outside of City Wok. It's the only decoration in the entire district. It's probably going to be the last decoration for a while, too, because Shitty Part Town bleeds out into the edges of South Park; the old gym and the forgotten stores; crumbling apartment buildings and the truck-stop diner.   There are definitely no places to get candy out here.   "Dude," insists Kenny. He jabs the other boy in the shoulder. "What the fuck?"   "Just sit down, Kenny. You're bothering me." Cartman turns up the volume on the radio. It's got to be one of his mix tapes, because no station has played this song in years. "If you wanted a say in where we went, you should've waited for me. Now you're just stuck going wherever."   Kenny does drop back into the rear seat, but only because Karen has flopped down and started going through her candy bag. Biting back a rather sour groan, he flings an arm around his little sister's shoulders. "You get anything good?"   "Someone was giving out kisses," answers Karen, holding up one of the foil wrapped bits of chocolate. It's not Hershey's, but one of those off-brand dollar store imitations. She still looks happy with it.   Her plastic tiara is crooked. Kenny pushes it back into place. "You know who else is giving out kisses?"   Uncertain, Karen tilts her head back and blinks up at him. "Who?"   "I am!" He descends on her in a flurry of purposefully sloppy kisses and tickling hands. Karen squeals loud enough that he can't hear the music; to his credit, Cartman doesn't turn the volume up.   By the time that Kenny surfaces, Karen's cheeks are ruddied and she's breathing hard. They've pulled onto the old mountain road that leads out of town. It's snowing out, just a little. The flurries of white pass over the front windshield; headlights casting twin shadows on the otherwise dark road. If the streets in South Park are crumbling, these roads fell apart years ago.   No one's done anything out here in years. The road is a mess of divots and pot holes, these crumbling chasms where the edge just falls away into a snow filled ditch. People hate driving them, hate it even worse at night; but childhood dreams don't ever fade completely, and Cartman's always loved coming out here when no one else is around, slamming on the gas and seeing how much speed he can pick up before he hits one of the turns.   He's good at driving. He's good at being out here.   But it's Halloween, and there are literally no houses outside of town boundaries. Jimbo has an old hunting cabin, but that's about the extent of it. Kenny squirms back up between the two front seats, trying to get close as he can to Cartman. The folds of his skirt get hiked up around his thighs; white glove standing out when he grabs hold of Cartman's black button down. "Dude, what are you doing?"   "Going trick or treating. Relax, babe. I just figure, what's the point of taking the car if we're just going to hit up Mackey's house and go home?"   “You know that the trees aren’t going to give us anything, right?”   “What, seriously? Here I thought that you all would be happy with some magic apples from the forest.”   “Dude, it’s great that you’re bringing the car out, but my sister actually wants to get some candy tonight.”   Cartman rolls his eyes. He adjusts the rearview mirror so he can get a better view of the back seat. When he smiles, it’s big enough to show off his slightly crooked teeth and dimples. “Hey, Karen. You trust that your prince is going to take you somewhere really great, right?”   Karen looks up from her bag. There’s discount chocolate smeared over her lips. “Huh? Oh, yeah! The brave knight always knows how to get to the castle! Right, Kenny?”   “Princess Kenny,” he corrects, lightly. Kenny stays wedged between the two front seats. Quieter, he asks, “seriously, Cartman. Where are we going?”   It’s snowing out, just a little bit. The roads twist and Cartman steers the car through the turns without problem; has spent hours our here, days, weeks, enough time to amass to months spent out driving on these desolate roads because there’s something utterly intoxicating about the complete silence. The main highway breaks off into several smaller roads, little things that lead out to hiking trails and hunting cabins, to towns smaller than South Park that haven’t even made it onto the maps.   And then there’s County Road Seventeen, which branches off the highway to the right, goes up a steep hill before leveling out. Cartman wants to ask you trust me, right? He doesn’t, though, because he loves Kenny but will always be just a little bit afraid of those sorts of questions.   Instead Cartman gives in and says, “I figured we’d hit up Cherry Creek. It’s been ages since we went all the way out there, right? You remember the huge ass candy bars they gave out when we were in Garrison’s class? I bet anything they still give them out. I just figured that’d be a better use of our time then hiking around our dump of a town. ”   Kenny’s teeth smack together hard enough that it’s audible over the music. Kenny blinks, opens his mouth, closes it again. The roads are a little better taken care of it here. Cherry Creek is eight steps up from South Park as far as decency is concerned, and the people actually care a little bit about the city that they live in. In the end, Kenny sits back down without saying anything and they spend the twenty minute drive listening to music off of the Top Fifties list from 2012.   Street lights show up before the actual town comes into view. A few of them have white ghosts hanging off the post. Cartman says, “alright, my ladies. The kingdom approaches!”