Dry humping on a couch
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It’s cliché as shit, Stiles thinks. The nerd in love with the punk. He figures he wouldn’t want Derek Hale so much if he didn’t have those fucking tattoos everywhere, didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, and didn’t wear those stupid leather jackets. They’re not the same jacket either, Stiles has counted at least four different ones that the resident punk owns
07 Aug 2018
"Excuse me while I die of embarrassment." Kuroko's voice was muffled by Akashi's hoodie.
"Why would you be embarrassed?" Akashi asked. "I belong to you, therefore this body belongs to you." Kuroko was quiet, as Akashi brushed a kiss to Kuroko's temple. "You're mine, Tetsuya."
"So you're mine?" Kuroko asked, tilting his head.
"No, you're mine and I'm mine. Everything's mine." Kuroko rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. Pressing against Akashi's chest, Kuroko pushed himself up and gave him a deadpan look.
Really? Kuroko asked with his eyes. Akashi smiled sheepishly in return. Slipping from Akashi's grip, he stood up to walk away, even as he heard a noise of protest from Akashi.
"I'm kidding..." Akashi complained, drawing out the last couple syllables. "I love you, Tetsuya. Don't leave me."
"If you say something like that again don't think I won't hesitate to send out the pictures of you to the others." Kuroko threatened. Akashi's eyes widened, and he scrambled to get off the couch, nearly falling over in his haste.
"Wait, Tetsuya! What photos?!"
"Come on, Akashi-kun."
"Don't ignore my question!"