(Untitled)

[dingdongdoodily]

 The room was rather like the interior of Mordhaus, considering that the elder Pickles made sure to specify exactly how he wanted the room, instead of getting a blank slate. However, it wasn't vast in proportion, and was actually something near comfortable. On the desk were scribbled lines of songs that Pickles hadn't yet written, so he ignored

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[cheevy]

Miniver kisses back, leaning against him a bit.

"Man," he mumbles at some point, "this place is cool."

At least, the little he had seen of it.

Mmmmm cherry lipgloss.

[dingdongdoodily]

Pickles finally looked around, "Whoa. Okay, Old-Me, tune down the Bauhaus a little." He snickered, and tossed his hat over the papers on the desk so he wouldn't be tempted to read them.

Somehow, he'd never imagined this very moment, and just took it in, running a thumb over Miniver's jaw. "Y'know, I've been sorta.. kinda waitin' for you to show a sign, anything that'd say you... Well, hell. I'm no good with expressing myself like this." He said, shaking his head, and pressed another quick kiss to Miniver's lips before slipping his hand in the other man's, leading him towards the bed.

[cheevy]

Miniver laughs, leaning his head against Pickles' shoulder for a moment.

"Draco was the first and last person to ever seem to really like me. I think he got tired of me a long time before he let me go. I kinda hoped after that there might be someone... Then people convinced me to stop looking for anyone to give a damn, so I finally did, and here you are. Ain't that the way of it?" He slips his arm around Pickles' waist and gives a tight squeeze. "You're like me, aren't you? Better when it rhymes and gets written down." A tighter squeeze, a lingering kiss.

[dingdongdoodily]

"Dude, just fuckin' forget Draco , that guy's nothin' but a dumb douchebag. And fuck what others say, yer worth it." His words, though scathing in actuality, were said in a comforting, soft voice.

He exhaled lightly at the kiss, eyes fluttering momentarily. "Yeah, at least you can erase or rewrite what you say then, make sure it counts."

He slipped his fingers away from Miniver's to trail them up his wrist and sleeve, into the poet's hair, leaning in for another, longer, more passionate kiss.

Body language, however, was a hell of a lot easier than writing or talking.

[cheevy]

He grasps Pickles' hips as he kisses back, thumbs circling and sliding towards his belly.

"Does this count?" he asks, eyes glinting with mischief.

[dingdongdoodily]

Watch as Pickles is slightly surprised, only enough to huff out a chuckle, moving to lean back on one hand, his other working slowly to bunch up the back of Miniver's shirt.

"I'd say so, yeah."

He had an impish smile, one which might have meant that he 1. knew he'd be pounced, or 2. that he was going to strike first.

[cheevy]

Miniver ducks hs head forward a little and stares at Pickles through the cascade of curls in front of his eyes. His expression is a hard one to misinterpret.

You have me. What are you going to do about it?

[dingdongdoodily]

FlailmadlyNO!

He maintains composure, smiling slyly as he leans foreward as well, easily adjusting his position from beside Miniver to straddling across his lap, tugging the poet's shirt up to his shoulders.

All he could really say is "Grr." That actual word, too, not growling.

[cheevy]

Miniver squirms until the shirt simply comes off. Now the strange, jagged stars spiralling around his right arm are visible. Miniver barely notices -- he's forgotten it was the older, not the younger Pickles who was introduced to them before.

[dingdongdoodily]

Even if he had been introduced to the scars, he'd have reacted the same way. Minor acknowledgement by running his thumb over one portion of them before slipping down and pressing an openmouthed kiss to Miniver's neck, rocking his hips foreward slightly.

Tight pants are tight.

[cheevy]

He notices, and grins, and slips his hands down to play with the buttons of his pants as he gives gentle kisses and nibbles to Pickles' neck and shoulders. And yes, he really is just PLAYING with the buttons, his hands straying accidentally into convenient fumbles and wanderings. It's quite evil.

[dingdongdoodily]

If that passes for evil in Miniver's book, he's doomed.

Pickles huffs out an impatient, almost pained breath against Miniver's neck, his hands slipping down across the man's chest to his beltline, and then back up. He's just soaking this in, drinking the moment slowly and savoring each second. But that didn't last long, as he finally took off his own shirt and started working at the belt on his own pants. The damn thing had three buckles.

In this moment, he's considering wearing much less complicated clothing from here on in.

[cheevy]

Miniver... does not laugh. But it's so CUTE so he does help. It's awkward and inefficient but there's the lovely, flirty closeness of their fingers tripping over each other and hands together and still the insistant teasing and groping through leather as Miniver licks and leans in to suckle Pickles' neck in the mist DISTRACTING way.

[dingdongdoodily]

Pickles smirks and presses a kiss to Miniver's shoulder, "Dork." He mutters lightly, before the belt is loose and he starts on the button fly, because once you got the first one undone, you can rip the rest open and well, that didn't take much effort at all.

His fingers finally rest against Miniver's wrists before he decides that well, pinning the poet sounded like the best plan ever, so he did.

For being so thin, he really was rather strong.

[cheevy]

Miniver is pinned! It's fairly easy -- he's scrawney AND not very strong, despite Will and Mia's lessons. He's not practiced enough to have built himself up more than the library mouse psysique. He squirms a little, for show, for interest, for fun, because he's not THAT easy. And maybe he squirms to one side enough to bite Pickles' wrist. Not too hard.

[dingdongdoodily]

Call it a test of how strong Miniver was, for future reference. He smiled, figuring it out for the most part, before dipping back down and leaving a hot trail of kisses and licks down Miniver's neck and chest, his hands working steadily to unbutton the poet's pants.

Honestly, if he were in any rush, Cheevy would have known.